Hello , I made this to hone my writing style for my main story.
I was contemplating whether to make the story of an underdog...but it was hard to think of a plot that won't affect Yun Che's story.. maybe I'm just that narrow minded eh ?
The wasteland stretched endlessly under the dim, ashen sky, its barren expanse broken only by jagged rocks and scattered tufts of withered grass. The air was heavy, thick with a biting chill that carried an eerie whistle. It wasn't the kind of cold that came from snow or frost but the kind that seemed to seep into one's bones, a slow, gnawing sense of discomfort.
The wind howled in uneven bursts, its keening cries weaving with the distant echoes of beasts. Occasionally, their guttural roars or plaintive howls would rise above the wind, carrying the promise of danger.
Yet in this desolate, unforgiving land, one figure moved undeterred—a lone man whose presence seemed oddly out of place.
He stood at the edge of a rocky incline, his long white hair tied back in a loose ponytail that swayed gently with the wind. The snow falling from the gray sky clung to his hair, contrasting against its pale strands. His robe, simple yet elegant, bore the flowing style of ancient scholars, its fabric shifting with his movements. At his side hung a single black sword, its hilt adorned with a subtle yin-yang symbol.
The man's golden-brown eyes swept across the desolation. There was no fear in them, no trace of anxiety or weariness. Instead, they held a detached clarity, as though he were observing the world from a distance, his emotions muted. Most would feel terror in a place like this—isolated, surrounded by unseen threats—but he merely stood there, his gaze sharp and unwavering.
It had been a month since he had awoken here.
The first moments of his awakening had been a haze of pain and confusion. His body had been battered, his mind blank, save for one overwhelming sensation—a need to save someone. He didn't know who or why, only that it was vital. The thought had burned in his chest, refusing to leave him even as he lay helpless on the cold ground.
For weeks, he had remained in the same place, his injuries too severe to move. Time blurred as he drifted between restless sleep and wakefulness, watching the ever-changing sky above him. Clouds would drift lazily by, and when night fell, he would fixate on the stars, feeling an inexplicable pull toward their distant light.
The beasts had come often in those early days, drawn to the scent of blood or simply opportunistic. Their presence had been little more than a nuisance. Even in his weakened state, they were no match for him. His body had moved on its own, reacting instinctively, and each time a beast dared to approach, it met a swift and violent end.
Now, after a month of recovery, a semblance of his strength has returned. The injuries that once bound him were little more than scars, faint reminders of a past he could not recall. The sensation within him had grown stronger, a gnawing urgency that pushed him to move. He could not remain still any longer.
The man took his first steps northward, his stride steady despite the uneven terrain. He didn't know why he had chosen this direction, only that it felt right, as though something—or someone—was waiting for him there.
The silence was broken by the sound of movement.
From behind a towering black boulder, a shadow darted into view. A low growl rumbled through the air as a Wild Wolf emerged, its gray fur bristling and its yellow eyes locked onto him. The beast was lean but muscular, its claws gleaming like sharpened steel.
The man paused, his gaze shifting to the wolf. There was no tension in his posture, no sign of alarm or hesitation. The wolf charged, its body a blur of motion as it lunged for his throat.
His hand moved with fluid precision, faster than the eye could follow. The sound of a blade slicing through flesh echoed sharply in the stillness. The wolf collapsed mid-leap, its head severed cleanly from its body. Blood sprayed across the ground, dark and steaming, but he stepped aside without so much as a glance at the fallen beast.
Behind the boulder, another wolf crept forward, its posture low and cautious. Its fur stood on end as it watched its packmate fall. Letting out a piercing howl, it retreated several steps, its mournful cry soon answered by dozens of others.
The howls grew louder, closer, and from every direction. One by one, wolves emerged from the shadows, their eyes glinting with malice. They circled him, their growls reverberating through the cold air.
The man stood unmoving, his expression unreadable. As the wolves closed in, he raised his hand. A faint ripple of energy shimmered around him, and with a single sweep of his arm, the air seemed to split. Invisible force lashed out, cutting through the pack in an instant.
The wolves fell where they stood, their bodies reduced to broken, lifeless forms. Blood pooled at his feet, mingling with the frozen earth, but not a single drop touched him.
He resumed walking, his steps measured and deliberate. As he moved deeper into the wasteland, the terrain began to shift. The flat plains gave way to uneven ground, dotted with trees and rocky outcroppings. The beasts he encountered here were larger, more aggressive, their eyes filled with a primal rage.
Each encounter ended the same. His sword rarely left its scabbard, and when it did, it was only for a single, decisive strike. The beasts learned quickly, avoiding his path altogether, and soon the wasteland grew quieter.
Hours passed, marked only by the dimming of the light. The sky darkened to a deep gray, and the first stars began to appear. He paused to look up, his gaze lingering on the moon. It hung high above him, cold and distant, its silver light casting long shadows across the land.
Something stirred within him as he stared at it—a flicker of emotion he could not name. It was faint, fleeting, but it lingered in his chest, a reminder of something long forgotten.
He remained still, lost in thought, until a sudden howl shattered the silence.
A massive figure burst from the darkness, its form towering over the smaller wolves he had encountered before. Its fur was thick and blue, its body covered in plates of iron-like armor. The beast's red eyes glowed with rage as it charged, its claws tearing into the ground with each step.
The man turned slowly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. As the beast leaped, he drew the blade in a single motion, its edge flashing in the moonlight.
The strike was clean, precise. The Ironback Blue Wolf fell in two halves, its body crumpling to the ground with a heavy thud. Blood and entrails spilled across the dirt, but the man was already sheathing his sword, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
Without another glance at the fallen beast, he continued forward, the pull in his chest guiding him onward.
……
Far from the desolate wasteland, winter had descended upon Floating Cloud City. Snow blanketed the region, softening its rugged edges and silencing the bustling streets. The air was crisp and cold, carrying the faint scent of pine and frost, while the occasional crunch of footsteps on snow hinted at life in this serene, frozen world. In the hills beyond the city, the quiet was broken only by the whisper of the wind, swirling snowflakes in its wake.
It was here, in this quiet wilderness, that Xia Hongyi, a merchant and a man of calm and gentle demeanor, stumbled upon an extraordinary sight.
A woman lay unconscious in the snow, her robes as white as the landscape, marred by deep stains of crimson. Her long hair, dark as midnight, fanned out around her like ink spilled on parchment. Beside her rested a naked white sword—a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Its hilt bore the ancient symbol of yin and yang, while its white blade shimmered faintly, adorned with delicate cloud patterns that seemed almost alive.
Xia Hongyi stopped in his tracks, his breath visible in the cold air. His stout frame, wrapped in a thick fur-lined coat, seemed to pause in deliberation. He had always lived by a simple principle: never get involved in the affairs of profound practitioners. Their world was unpredictable, dangerous, and far beyond the quiet life he sought as a merchant.
But as he stood there, his eyes lingered on her fragile form. Her pale face seemed almost serene despite her injuries, her presence exuding a quiet dignity that stirred something deep within him.
"Why her?" he thought, shifting uneasily. "Why did fate place her in my path?"
The wind howled, and a flurry of snow swept around them. Her stillness in the biting cold struck him like a blow. He knelt beside her, his hands trembling slightly as he brushed snow from her face. Her skin was icy to the touch, and her breathing was shallow, but it was there—a flicker of life.
"If I leave her here, the cold will take her. I can't just walk away." Yet the sword resting beside her sent a warning through his instincts. It was no ordinary weapon. Whatever power lay within it, it was beyond his understanding.
With a heavy sigh, he made his decision. Carefully, he lifted her, cradling her limp form against his chest. Her weight was light, almost ethereal, and he noted the faint scent of blood mingling with the cold. As he wrapped the sword in his cloak, he murmured under his breath, "Heaven help me… I hope I'm not making a mistake."
...
Xia Hongyi's home in Floating Cloud City was a sanctuary of warmth and comfort amidst the harsh winter outside. The villa's crackling hearth filled the room with golden light, its glow illuminating the polished wooden beams of the ceiling. The air carried the soothing aroma of herbal teas and simmering broth, a reflection of the well-off merchant's nurturing household. Servants moved quietly in the background, tending to their duties with practiced efficiency, their faces reflecting both curiosity and concern for their master's unusual guest.
In the heart of this tranquil refuge, the unconscious woman rested on a luxurious cot near the crackling hearth. Her beauty was undeniable, even in her vulnerable state. Cascading black hair framed her delicate features, each strand shimmering like silk spun under the moonlight. Her skin was pale but flawless, with a faint, ethereal glow that seemed to defy the harshness of the elements she'd braved. Xia Hongyi found himself lingering, his gaze drawn to the striking contrast between her fragility and the quiet strength that seemed to emanate from her presence.
Her closed eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, gave her an air of serenity, yet Xia Hongyi couldn't ignore the faint tension in her brow, as if she were caught in a dream she couldn't escape. He adjusted the thick blankets covering her, his plump hands surprisingly gentle in their movements. For a man who had spent his life dealing in trade and wealth, this was an unfamiliar role. Yet, he couldn't turn away from the woman he had found on the brink of death.
As he stood by her side, his thoughts wandered. He had never been one to meddle in matters beyond business. His life revolved around the Xia family's flourishing trade, ensuring his household thrived and his name carried respect. Yet, looking at her, Xia Hongyi felt an unspoken pull, a sense of responsibility he couldn't quite explain or maybe it was attraction?
"Master," a servant murmured hesitantly from the doorway, breaking his reverie. "The physicians have arrived."
Xia Hongyi nodded and stepped back, allowing the elderly doctors to examine her. Each one offered the same grim assessment.
"Her lifeforce is faint," one of them said with a shake of his head. "If she does not wake soon, there may be nothing more we can do."
Despite the dire predictions, Xia Hongyi refused to give up. Night after night, he sat by her side, a silent sentinel as the firelight danced over her serene features. The sword he had found with her rested against the wall nearby, its intricate patterns reflecting the flickering flames. He often found his gaze drifting to it, wondering what kind of life she had led and what dangers had brought her to his door.
On the seventh night, as the household settled into a quiet lull, a faint sound broke the stillness. Xia Hongyi, who had been reading by the fire, quickly rose and moved to her side. Her lashes fluttered, and her eyes slowly opened, revealing irises so bright and clear they seemed to hold the essence of sunlight breaking through a winter storm.
"You're awake," he said softly, his voice thick with relief. He knelt beside her, his usually composed demeanor giving way to a rare vulnerability. "How do you feel?"
She blinked, her gaze wandering around the room, her confusion evident. "Where… am I?"
"You're in Floating Cloud City," Xia Hongyi explained gently. "I found you in the snow, near the hills. You were injured… Do you remember what happened?"
Her eyes flickered with uncertainty as she scanned the room, taking in the fire, the simple furnishings. She shook her head, her expression troubled. "I… don't remember…"
Xia Hongyi's heart ached at her words. He tightened his grip on her shoulder briefly, offering what little comfort he could. "It's all right," he said gently. "You're safe now. Take your time."
Her eyes then moved to the certain object resting against the wall, and for a moment, they softened with a flicker of recognition: it was the white sword. She struggled to sit up, and Xia Hongyi quickly steadied her, his hands firm yet tender.
"Careful," he murmured. "You've been through a lot. There's no rush."
She reached out, her fingers brushing against the hilt of the sword. The yin-yang symbol embedded in it seemed to glow faintly under her touch. "This… is this mine?"
Xia Hongyi nodded. "It was with you when I found you. So, maybe it is."
Her grip on the sword tightened, her expression a mix of longing and confusion. Xia Hongyi watched her closely, his admiration growing with each passing moment. There was something captivating about her—a quiet dignity, an unspoken resilience—that drew him in.
In the days that followed, he ensured her every need was met. His servants, though curious, were diligent in their care, preparing nourishing meals and tending to her injuries. Yet it was Xia Hongyi himself who remained by her side the most. He found solace in their quiet moments, observing the way the firelight played across her features or the way her eyes seemed to hold a world of unspoken stories.
"She is unlike anyone I have ever met," he thought one evening as he watched her by the hearth. Her black hair cascaded over her shoulders like a river of ink, and her black irises glimmered with both strength and vulnerability. "A mystery wrapped in beauty… but one that may not belong to this humble life I lead."
Though her past remained a mystery, Xia Hongyi knew one thing for certain—he would protect her for as long as she stayed under his roof. For now, the warmth of his home shielded her from the cold world outside, and in that fleeting moment, he found himself hoping that perhaps, just perhaps, she might find a reason to stay.
The deeper he ventured into the frozen wilderness, the weight of the world seemed to press heavier on his shoulders with every step. The air was frigid, sharp as a blade, each breath searing his lungs like shards of ice. The snow beneath his feet crunched rhythmically, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the vast, oppressive silence around him. The landscape stretched endlessly—hills blanketed in white, jagged rocks jutting like the bones of a long-dead giant, and the skeletal remains of frostbitten trees reaching skyward in silent agony.
The wind howled through the desolation, carrying with it the distant cries of unseen predators. It wasn't a natural sound. It was layered, mournful and angry, as if the land itself resented his intrusion. Still, he pressed on, his amber eyes scanning the horizon with a steady calmness that belied the peril around him.
From the mist that clung to the hills, movement stirred—a ripple in the stillness. A pack of Armored Lizards emerged, their massive forms nearly blending into the icy terrain. Each creature stood taller than a man, their scales glinting like tempered steel under the pale light of the sun struggling to pierce the dense clouds. Their deep, rumbling growls resonated across the snow-covered expanse, their crimson eyes glowing with an unnatural hunger.
They moved in unison, their heavy bodies crushing the snow beneath them as they advanced. Their presence was a force of nature, a primal challenge to any who dared cross their path. There was no hesitation in their charge, only raw aggression.
He stopped, the faint wind tugging at his cloak as he reached for his weapon. The black blade slid free with a soft hiss, its surface reflecting the muted light. The yin-yang symbol etched into its hilt gleamed faintly, a quiet reminder of balance amidst chaos.
The first lizard lunged, its massive jaws snapping shut with bone-crushing force where he had stood moments before. He shifted effortlessly, his movements precise and deliberate. His blade cut through the air in a clean arc, meeting the lizard's exposed throat. The creature's momentum carried it forward, but its life ended before it hit the ground, steam rising from the wound as its blood met the freezing air.
The others roared in unison, their fury palpable. They surged toward him, their movements a blend of brute force and terrifying speed. But he was faster. He moved like a shadow, weaving through their attacks with a grace that seemed almost unnatural. His strikes were deliberate, each one finding a gap in their armored hides.
The battle was over in moments, though it felt like an eternity. The snow was stained crimson, the massive bodies of the lizards lying still, their once-impenetrable scales now shattered. He stood amidst the carnage, his breath visible in the icy air, his blade dripping red. The faint hum of energy from his weapon faded as he sheathed it, the sound a quiet punctuation to the violence.
For hours, he continued forward, the frozen wilderness offering no reprieve. The howls of Blue Wolves soon replaced the silence, their iron like hides glinting faintly as they emerged from the shadows. They came in relentless waves, their teeth bared, their eyes burning with primal fury. Each encounter tested him further, his body growing heavier with exhaustion, his limbs aching from the constant strain.
Yet he didn't falter. His blade never wavered, slicing through the wolves with unerring precision. The snow beneath him became a battlefield, the pristine white stained dark with blood. The ironback wolves, once feared for their impenetrable hides, fell one by one, their famed defenses useless against his weapon.
By the second night, the toll of the unyielding wilderness began to show. His breaths came heavier, his steps slower, but his resolve remained unbroken. The cold gnawed at him, the frost creeping into his bones, yet the pull in his chest—a silent, inexplicable calling—urged him onward.
It was on the third day, as the first rays of dawn pierced through the gray sky, that a sharp cry broke the silence. He paused, his gaze lifting to the east. A massive black hawk soared above, its wings slicing through the icy air with effortless grace. The frost clung to its talons, glittering faintly as it descended in wide arcs.
He recognized it immediately. The hawk had been following him, its sharp eyes always watching, always appearing after his battles. Now, it circled lower, its movements deliberate, as if surveying the carnage below.
As it landed on the remnants of a Blue Wolf carcass, its talons digging into the flesh with ease, it paused. Its piercing gaze met his, an unspoken exchange passing between them. The hawk's eyes gleamed with an intelligence that was almost human, a quiet acknowledgment of the chaos it had witnessed.
He gave the faintest nod, and the hawk took flight once more, its powerful wings carrying it back into the endless gray sky.
By the fourth day, the desolation around him began to change. The air grew heavier, the silence deeper, as if the land itself was holding its breath. The snow, once soft and thick, had hardened into jagged ice, the terrain growing more treacherous with every step.
It was then that the stillness shattered. A distant explosion roared across the frozen expanse, the sound echoing like thunder. His eyes narrowed as he turned toward the source.
In the distance, a silver serpentine figure streaked across the sky, its form glowing faintly with a radiant light. It moved with impossible speed, clashing violently with an unseen foe. Each collision sent shockwaves through the air, the bursts of energy illuminating the frost covered wilderness in brief, blinding flashes.
Without hesitation, he advanced, weaving through the tangled forest as the trees thinned. Nearing the source of the conflict, he noticed an unusual phenomenon—the snow at the base of a small hill seemed untouched, as if shielded by an unseen barrier. The trees closest to the hill stood tall and unscathed, their frost-covered branches shimmering faintly.
The air grew heavy, charged with a strange energy that prickled against his skin. He slowed his steps, gripping his sword tightly as he moved closer, his senses sharpening. Whatever lay beyond that hill was no ordinary battle.
To Be Continued.