It happened on the night of the full moon.
The Shen Clan compound was silent, the corridors empty, the chambers dark. The spiritual energy of the Jade Dragon Mountains hummed softly in the air, a gentle lullaby that masked the violence to come.
Shen Chen was fourteen years old, asleep in his chambers, his dreams troubled and dark. He had been having strange dreams for weeks—visions of shadows and fire, of figures moving in the darkness. He had tried to tell his mother, but she had dismissed his fears with a gentle smile.
"It's just your imagination, my little dragon. You've been reading too many of those old stories."
But it was not his imagination. It was a warning, a premonition of the horror that was about to unfold.
He woke to the sound of screaming—a sound that tore through the silence of the night, a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He sat up in his bed, his heart pounding, his body trembling.
"Mother? Father?"
There was no answer. Only the screams, growing louder, more desperate.
He ran through the corridors, his feet pounding against the cold stone floor. The compound was in chaos—servants running, guards shouting, the air thick with the scent of smoke and blood. He could hear the clash of steel, the crackle of fire, the cries of the wounded.
Old Wei grabbed him as he passed, the old servant's face pale with terror. "Young master, you must hide! There are assassins in the compound!"
"Assassins? Who would—"
"I don't know! But you must—"
Shen Chen pulled away, his heart pounding. "My parents! I need to find my parents!"
He ran through the corridors, his feet carrying him toward his parents' chambers. The screams grew louder, the air thicker with smoke. He could hear the clash of steel, the crackle of fire, the cries of the wounded.
He burst into his parents' chambers and stopped, his heart stopping in his chest.
His mother lay on the floor, her body still, her eyes open and staring. Her robes were stained with blood, her face frozen in an expression of terror. Beside her lay his father, his hand reaching toward her, his eyes filled with a grief that had been frozen in death.
"Mother? Father?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "No. No, no, no."
He stumbled forward, his knees giving out beneath him. He collapsed beside his mother's body, his hands reaching for her, his tears streaming down his face.
"Please. Please don't leave me. I can't do this alone. I can't."
But there was no answer. There would never be an answer.
The healers arrived moments later, their faces pale with shock. Elder Liu was among them, his expression one of grief and disbelief. He knelt beside the bodies, his hands trembling.
"A cultivation accident," he said, his voice filled with uncertainty. "A burst of uncontrolled spiritual energy. It's rare, but it happens."
Elder Wang nodded, his expression grim. "The patriarch's spiritual energy was unstable. He had been under stress. It is... possible."
Elder Chen said nothing, his expression unreadable.
But Shen Chen knew the truth. He had seen his uncle's face in the shadows, had seen the cold satisfaction in his eyes. He knew who had killed his parents, and he knew that he was next.
He rose to his feet, his body trembling, his mind racing. He looked at his uncle, who had arrived with the healers, his face a mask of grief.
"You," Shen Chen whispered, his voice filled with a quiet fury. "You did this."
Shen Li's eyes widened, his expression shifting from grief to surprise. "What are you saying, boy? I am your uncle. I would never—"
"Liar!" Shen Chen shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "You killed them! You killed my parents!"
Elder Zhang stepped forward, his voice firm. "The boy is grieving. He is not in his right mind. Take him away. Let him rest."
The guards stepped forward, their hands reaching for Shen Chen. He struggled, his body thrashing against their grip.
"No! I won't go! I won't let him get away with this!"
But he was just a boy, rootless and weak. He was no match for the guards.
He was dragged from the chamber, his screams echoing through the corridors. Old Wei watched from the shadows, his face pale with grief. Madam Fang wept in the kitchens, her hands trembling.
And in the darkness of his chambers, Shen Chen wept—for his mother, for his father, for the life that had been stolen from him.
The manipulation began the day after his parents' funeral.
Shen Li moved quickly, his words smooth and convincing. He spoke to the clan elders, his voice filled with false grief and concern.
"The boy is rootless," he said, his voice soft and sad. "He cannot cultivate. He is a burden on the clan, a drain on our resources. And now, with his parents gone, he has no one to guide him. It would be kinder to send him away."
The elders murmured among themselves, their faces a mixture of reluctance and agreement.
Elder Zhang spoke first, his voice hesitant. "He is a child. To banish him would be cruel."
"It would be crueler to keep him," Elder Wang replied, his voice sharp. "He will never be able to cultivate. He will never be able to contribute. He will only be a reminder of the patriarch's failure."
Elder Liu looked troubled. "But he is still a member of the clan. We have a duty—"
"Our duty is to the survival of the clan," Elder Chen interrupted, his voice cold. "Resources are finite. We cannot afford to waste them on a rootless boy."
Shen Li nodded, his expression sorrowful. "I know it is a difficult decision. But sometimes, the hardest decisions are the ones that are most necessary."
The elders agreed. Shen Chen was summoned to the clan hall, his body trembling, his eyes red with grief.
"You are hereby banished from the Shen Clan," Elder Zhang announced, his voice cold and final. "You will leave the compound by sunset. You will never return."
Shen Chen opened his mouth to speak, to protest, to scream. But no words came. He was fourteen years old, alone, and powerless.
He left the compound that evening, his steps heavy, his heart broken. The servants watched him go, their faces a mixture of pity and relief. The guards stood at the gates, their eyes cold and uncaring.
But one person followed him—a young servant girl named Lin, her eyes filled with tears.
"Young master," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please. Take this."
She pressed a small bundle into his hands—food, water, a simple cloak. He looked at her, his eyes filled with a desperate gratitude.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."
She nodded, her tears falling freely. "Be safe, young master. I will pray for you."
Old Wei watched from the shadows, his face pale with grief. Madam Fang wept in the kitchens, her hands trembling.
And Shen Chen walked away, his steps carrying him into the darkness. He did not look back. He could not. The pain was too great.