Journey of the Scholar

Fan's childhood was marked by an unbearable weight that he could never quite escape. In the beginning, his world had been ordinary, filled with the laughter of children and the warmth of family.

But all of that was shattered in a single moment of betrayal, one that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Fan was born into a prestigious family of cultivators, the Yuwen clan.

The Yuwen were renowned for their swordsmanship, and their ancestral techniques were coveted by many.

From the time he could walk, Fan was trained rigorously in the ways of the sword, with his father and older brother overseeing his every move. There was pride in his family's name, and great expectations placed upon him. But there was also a coldness, a harshness that turned love into duty and affection into control.

Fan's father, Yuwen Jian, was a man who valued strength above all else. He saw Fan not as a son but as a tool, a means to continue the family legacy.

"You will be great," his father would often say, though the words were delivered without warmth. "But only if you shed your weakness."

Fan's older brother, Yuwen Feng, was the golden child. He was the prodigy, the one who could do no wrong. In his father's eyes, Feng was the future of the Yuwen clan.

And while Fan admired his brother's strength, he couldn't help but feel the growing chasm between them. His brother never treated him as an equal, only as a subordinate—someone to command, to manipulate.

One fateful day, when Fan was just twelve, a powerful enemy sect attacked their estate, seeking to steal the Yuwen clan's most sacred technique, the Obsidian Moon Slash.

The clan's forces fought bravely, but they were outnumbered.

In the midst of the chaos, Fan found himself separated from his family, cornered by enemies who were far stronger than him.

Fear gripped him—fear of death, of failure, of disappointing his father and brother.

But then Feng appeared, his sword glowing with power as he cut through their attackers with ease. For a brief moment, Fan felt a surge of relief.

His brother had come to save him, just as he always did.

But the look in Feng's eyes was not one of brotherly concern. It was cold, calculating.

"Fan," Feng said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You are weak."

Fan blinked in confusion. "But… you saved me."

Feng shook his head, stepping closer. "No. I've only come to see what you're truly made of."

Before Fan could comprehend his words, Feng struck him.

The blow wasn't meant to kill, but it was enough to knock Fan to the ground, his sword clattering out of reach. Fan looked up at his brother in shock, blood trickling from his lip.

"What… why?" Fan stammered, clutching his side in pain.

"You're a liability, Fan," Feng said, his tone sharp. "Father has always known it. I've always known it. The Yuwen clan cannot afford weakness, and you… you are our weakness."

Fan's heart raced, confusion and betrayal swirling in his mind. "But… I'm your brother…"

Feng's expression didn't change. "Family means nothing if you're weak."

In that moment, everything shattered.

The brother Fan had idolized, the family he had been born into, the expectations he had tried so hard to meet—it all crumbled before him.

And then, Feng turned his back on him, leaving Fan to the mercy of their enemies.

Fan barely survived that day.

It was only through sheer willpower and the last-minute intervention of one of the family's loyal retainers that he escaped with his life.

But something inside him had died. The warmth of family, the bonds of trust—they were gone, replaced by a deep, festering wound of betrayal.

As the years passed, Fan grew stronger. He trained obsessively, not for the sake of his family, but for himself.

He distanced himself from his father and brother, his heart hardened by the betrayal he had suffered.

Every sword stroke, every ounce of qi he cultivated was driven by a singular desire: to never be weak again, to never rely on anyone but himself.

His father, though disappointed, saw the newfound strength in Fan and allowed him to continue training.

Feng, on the other hand, remained the favored son, destined to inherit the clan's leadership. Fan's bitterness grew, but he kept it buried deep inside, never letting it show.

He wore a mask of indifference, pretending that the betrayal didn't matter.

But it did.

Years later, when Fan was older and had finally mastered the Obsidian Moon Slash, he was given a mission by his father—to retrieve a powerful artifact from a distant sect. Feng, of course, was to lead the mission, while Fan was merely a follower.

During the mission, things went wrong. The sect they had been sent to infiltrate was prepared for them, and a deadly ambush was sprung.

Feng, in his arrogance, had underestimated their enemies, and as the fighting grew more desperate, Fan found himself face-to-face with a choice.

Feng, injured and outnumbered, called out to Fan for help. His once unshakable confidence was gone, replaced by fear. "Fan! Help me!" he shouted, desperation clear in his voice.

But Fan hesitated. For the first time in his life, he saw his brother not as a hero, but as a man—a man who had betrayed him, who had deemed him weak.

The memories of that day, of Feng turning his back on him, came flooding back. The pain, the anger, the sense of abandonment—it all surged within him.

For a brief moment, Fan considered letting Feng die. He could turn his back, just as Feng had done to him. He could walk away, leaving his brother to his fate. And no one would blame him. After all, wasn't this justice? Wasn't this karma for what Feng had done?

But something stopped him. Despite everything, despite the years of mistrust and agony, Fan couldn't bring himself to do it.

In that moment, he realized something painful—no matter how much he hated his brother, no matter how much he had suffered, he couldn't be the same as him. He couldn't betray his own blood.

With a shout of frustration, Fan charged into the fray, cutting down the enemies surrounding Feng. He fought with a fury he had never known before, not for his brother, but for himself—for the person he refused to become.

When the battle was over, Feng looked at Fan with a mixture of shock and gratitude. But Fan didn't wait for thanks. He turned and walked away, leaving his brother to his own thoughts.

The bond between them had been irreparably broken long ago, and no amount of saving could mend it.

From that day forward, Fan carried the weight of his past with him.

The mistrust, the agony, the pain—they were his constant companions, driving him to become stronger, to never again be at the mercy of others. He had learned the hard way that in this world, the only person he could rely on was himself.

But no matter how strong he became, no matter how many battles he won, the wounds of his past never truly healed. They remained, festering beneath the surface, waiting for the day when they would be confronted again.

And now, as Fan lay unconscious on the battlefield, defeated by Ruchir, those wounds resurfaced. The memories, the pain, the betrayal—they played out in his mind like a never-ending nightmare.