Grandpa said the immortals in the capital could move mountains and fill seas, but Su Yan only wanted a steamed bun no one could take from him.
When village children’s fists rained down on him, he imagined himself as the sword immortal from the storybooks, whose blade brought frost across a thousand miles.
When bandits’ cleavers came down, Grandpa shielded him with his own body. “My grandson is only a child… Please spare him, good sirs…”
As he lay in a pool of blood, he heard Grandpa’s final whisper: “Don’t go to the capital… Don’t look for your father…”
Cultivators arrived on flying swords and slaughtered the bandits.
The Sword Sect cultivators looked at the boy huddled in the corner, unaware that this tiny spark would burn away countless lies.
