Soul Land · Conversa

Outside the Tang Sect, atop Ghost Sorrow Cliff. A youth clad in white stood at the edge of the bottomless abyss, the howling wind billowing through his sleeves. He held no Buddha's Fury Tang Lotus—he had left the hidden weapon behind within the sect, counting it as repayment for his upbringing. Behind him, the shouts and curses of his pursuers grew ever nearer. He cast one final glance back at the place where he had lived for twenty years. Then, he leaped into the void. The clouds and mist tore at his body, the Mysterious Heaven Skill reversed its flow through his meridians, and his consciousness plunged into boundless darkness. When he awoke once more, the world was a blur of light. Rough, calloused hands lifted him up. The man's face was cast in shadow, save for a pair of weary eyes reflecting the glow of a hearth. Clang, clang—the rhythmic, dull thuds of a hammer striking an anvil rang out. He heard someone murmur, “We'll call him Tang San.” The voice was low, raspy like sandpaper grinding against wood. He tried to move, but his body was as limp as clay. Straining to take in this world, he could only make out swaying silhouettes and iron tools hanging along the walls. The air carried the scent of charcoal fire and rust. He had no idea where he was, knowing only that the blacksmith was the first person he had seen in this world. There was no Tang Sect, no hidden weapons—only a rundown smithy and a silent father. The furnace fire crackled, casting its glow over his clenched, empty little fists.