Chapter 1

Zhi Hao was frustrated and exhausted. Every day, from dawn until dusk, he swung his sword thousands of times in the vast backyard of his home, hoping for some progress in his abilities. Yet, all he felt was deep fatigue and growing frustration. His body was drenched in sweat, his muscles tense, but his swordsmanship remained stagnant. In the silence of the night, Zhi Hao sat on the edge of a pond, staring at his reflection in the water, which mirrored his deep disappointment. "Being the firstborn should be a blessing, but me? I'm nothing but a source of disappointment," he muttered softly. Shame haunted every corner of his mind, especially when he recalled the taunts and insults he often received for being deemed weak. Zhi Hao took a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil within him. "Will my life always be like this? Trapped in powerlessness with no hope of improvement?" he questioned himself. He knew his family, especially his father, expected more from him. In his despair, Zhi Hao gazed at the star-studded sky. "Should I give up? Or keep struggling without a clear direction?" His heart whispered, seeking answers. He knew he didn't want to continue being humiliated or mocked. But what could he do if everything seemed predetermined? That night, Zhi Hao made a decision—tomorrow, he would seek another teacher, someone who could teach martial arts from a different perspective. Maybe, somewhere else, in a different way, he could find a path to prove himself, not just to his family but, most importantly, to himself. --- The dawn had barely broken on the eastern horizon, yet Zhi Hao was already awake, preparing for a challenging day ahead. His sword hung at his waist, gleaming under the soft morning light. Although he was known as the Young Master of the Zhi Clan with exceptional sword skills, those around him regarded him with nothing more than pity. They looked at him, but their eyes were empty, as if Zhi Hao was merely a shadow without substance. What was the use of swordsmanship if he couldn't wield Energy? Even a ten-year-old child could defeat him in a duel—one using Energy, while he relied solely on Physical Strength, unable to strike from a distance. Zhi Hao let out a long sigh, rubbing his face, still drowsy from the night. "This is the fate of the Zhi Clan's Eldest Son. So pathetic," he murmured bitterly, his voice carrying deep disappointment. Each word he uttered bore the weight of sadness only he could feel. Suddenly, light footsteps approached, followed by a voice, "Oh, Brother. Where are you going so early in the morning?" Zhi Long, his younger brother, appeared with a broad smile. Yet behind that smile, Zhi Hao could see the insincerity. He knew that all of Zhi Long’s kindness was merely a facade, concealing his true intentions. Zhi Hao turned, his eyes staring deeply at his younger brother, trying to see past the mask Zhi Long wore. With a firm voice, he said, "Brother, you will be the heir. Take care of the Clan." His words were not just a message but also a warning and a hope that Zhi Long would carry that responsibility more worthily. With heavy steps, Zhi Hao continued his journey, leaving Zhi Long standing there, his smile slowly fading. The cool morning breeze blew dry leaves along the path, accompanying Zhi Hao’s retreating figure as if understanding the burden he carried. "Tetua Mo. Make sure he never returns!" An elder suddenly appeared—it was Zhi Long’s protector. "As you wish, Young Master." Elder Mo vanished into thin air. --- "Young Master Zhi Hao has left the grand Zhi Clan residence with a determined stride. On his back, he carries a leather bag filled with clothes and the sword left by Lady Zhi," reported a voice. Behind a curtain-covered window, Patriarch Zhi observed his eldest son walking away, struggling to hide the turmoil in his heart. With a heavy heart, he ordered his personal guards to protect Zhi Hao from the shadows, ensuring he remained unaware. "Go and make sure he stays safe," ordered Patriarch Zhi, his voice firm yet filled with worry. The guards bowed before swiftly vanishing, following the Young Master's trail from a distance. Once the guards had left, Patriarch Zhi returned to the solitude of his study. He stood by the window, gazing at the sky, which was beginning to darken as rain threatened to fall. Speaking softly to himself, he murmured, "Forgive me, Wei. I promised to protect your son, but I failed." --- In the heart of Linggau City, the Zhi Clan spread its wings of power as an undefeated force, rivaled only by one other Clan at the pinnacle of hierarchy. The Lightning Sword Technique—a deadly blend of lightning speed and the ferocity of a storm—was the pride and symbol of the Zhi Clan. Yet, tragically, the Clan’s firstborn son was known as "Trash." A title both humiliating and painful. Without him, perhaps the Zhi Clan would have long claimed the throne at the top. His name was Zhi Hao, and the reputation of "Trash" clung to him like an unshakable shadow. At that moment, amid the bustling market of Linggau City— Bang! A brutal kick landed on Zhi Hao’s back. Gasps of shock echoed through the crowd. With burning determination, Zhi Hao pushed himself up, his eyes ablaze as he shot a sharp glare at the perpetrator. "Why did you kick me?" he demanded, gripping the hilt of his mother's sword tightly. "Do I need a reason to kick 'Trash'?" the attacker sneered, flanked by two guards ready to draw their swords. Seething, Zhi Hao gritted his teeth, his anger and shame boiling inside him. Covered in dust and his dignity wounded, Zhi Hao knew that today was not just about enduring but about reclaiming the honor that had been trampled. But what could he do without power? "He's nothing. Trash not even worth touching!" Xiao Bei mocked, his arrogance spreading like a plague. Zhi Hao swallowed his rage, biting down on the bitter pill of humiliation, and walked away without a word. "Tch, how pathetic! They say they're the strongest Clan? Look at him—accepting insults without a fight!" Xiao Bei sneered, further tearing apart the last remnants of Zhi Hao’s pride. Zhi Hao clenched his teeth, struggling to suppress the fire in his chest. "Brother Bei, how dare he? Even his own family abandoned him. Going against you would be the same as surrendering to disgrace!" Xiao Lui chimed in, standing beside him, eyes filled with disbelief. Around them, a crowd had gathered, watching this pitiful scene unfold. Yet, no one cared. No one moved to help Zhi Hao—the "worthless trash of the Zhi Clan." His privacy, his dignity—everything had been stripped away in front of an indifferent public.