Mo Tian

As Mo Tian dashed toward Lu Tzang, his mind wandered—his thoughts slipping into a vivid memory of his past.

He was back on the farm, the sun warm and golden as it spread over endless fields of crops.

The air was filled with the earthy scent of soil, the rustling of leaves in the wind, and the faint clucking of chickens roaming freely.

The farm was alive with the symphony of life—dogs barking playfully as they chased each other, cows lazily grazing in the pastures, and the distant laughter of his mother and father.

His parents were simple people, humble and hardworking.

His father, a large, broad-shouldered man with calloused hands and a kind smile, would always whistle a tune as he worked, carrying bundles of hay or repairing the fences.

His mother was smaller, her hands quick and nimble as she tended the garden or kneaded dough in the kitchen.

She had a melodic voice, always humming songs as she cooked meals that filled the house with warmth and the smell of fresh bread.

Mo Tian's earliest memories were of his mother waking him at dawn with a gentle shake of his shoulder, her voice soft yet firm.

"Mo'er, time to wake up. The chickens won't feed themselves." He would grumble, burying his face deeper into the pillow, but her laughter would always coax him out of bed.

The days were simple yet fulfilling.

He would run barefoot across the fields, his young legs carrying him as fast as they could as he helped his father herd the goats.

The dogs would follow close behind, barking excitedly as if cheering him on. His father would always laugh and ruffle his hair, saying, "One day, you'll grow up strong like these dogs, Mo'er."

At night, the family would gather around the small wooden table for dinner.

The flickering oil lamp cast a warm glow as they shared stories of their day.

His mother would tell tales of brave warriors from old legends, and his father would always add, "But remember, Mo'er, strength is not just about fists. It's about the heart."

Yet, amidst the peace, there was something stirring inside Mo Tian that even he couldn't explain.

It began one day when he was playing with the goats in the pasture.

One of them—a large, ornery billy goat—lowered its head and butted him hard in the stomach, knocking him to the ground.

As he lay there, the wind knocked out of him, he felt something awaken within him. It was a dark, fiery sensation, a desire that burned hotter than the sun above him.

Fight. Win. Prove yourself.

He scrambled to his feet, his young face contorted with determination, and charged at the goat.

They collided in a whirlwind of limbs and horns, and after what felt like an eternity, Mo Tian stood victorious, the goat panting and subdued beneath him.

His parents laughed, thinking it was just childish play, but Mo Tian felt something else entirely—a deep, almost sinister satisfaction. "This is it," he thought. "This is what I was meant for."

From that moment on, his world changed.

The farm that once felt so alive began to feel dull and lifeless.

He grew restless, seeking out new challenges.

He started fighting more goats, first one at a time, then groups of them.

When he lost—and he often did at first—he didn't feel disheartened.

Instead, the defeats fueled him, pushing him to train harder, to become stronger. Every time he overcame a challenge, the thrill was intoxicating, and he needed more.

His parents noticed the change in him. His mother would watch with worry as he sought out increasingly dangerous tasks around the farm.

"Mo'er, why do you always push yourself so hard?" she asked one evening, her hands resting on his shoulders.

"I don't know," he replied honestly, looking up at her with eyes that burned with an intensity she couldn't understand. "I just… I need to."

His father, though concerned, encouraged him in his own way. "If you're going to fight, Mo'er," he said, handing him a wooden staff one day, "then at least learn to fight well."

But as Mo Tian grew, the farm life became unbearable.

No longer satisfied with wrestling goats or chasing after dogs, he began venturing out to nearby villages.

He sought out anyone who looked strong—fighters, martial artists, anyone who might give him the thrill of battle.

The pattern repeated itself: he would challenge them, lose, train, and return to win.

The rush of victory was addictive, but so was the pain of defeat—it spurred him to grow stronger, to seek out bigger and better opponents.

The once-peaceful boy from the farm was becoming something else entirely: a warrior consumed by the need for combat.

It was during one of his challenges in a distant village that his life changed forever.

A figure in flowing robes watched from the shadows as Mo Tian fought a local martial artist, his movements raw but powerful.

The fight ended in Mo Tian's victory, and as the crowd dispersed, the figure approached him.

"You have potential," the stranger said, their voice calm yet commanding. "But your raw strength is wasted here."

Mo Tian turned to face the speaker, a tall, imposing individual with an air of authority that made the air around them feel heavier.

"Who are you?" he asked, his body tensing instinctively.

"I am an elder of the Crimson Sky Sect," the stranger replied. "And I have been watching you. Come with me, and I will show you a world where your strength will have purpose."

Mo Tian hesitated, glancing back toward the direction of the farm.

He thought of his parents, their warm smiles and simple lives. But even as the memories tugged at his heart, he felt the pull of something greater.

"A world where my strength will have purpose…"

The elder extended a hand, and after a moment's pause, Mo Tian took it.

From that day forward, the peaceful life of the farm was left behind, replaced by the harsh and rigorous training of the Crimson Sky Sect.

The boy who once played with goats in the pasture was gone, and in his place was a warrior in the making.

And now, as he hurtled toward Lu Tzang, that fire burned brighter than ever. "This man," Mo Tian thought, his eyes narrowing. "He might be the challenge I've been looking for."

Why?

Why does he think so?

As Mo Tian sprinted forward, his thoughts raced to the past few days leading up to this moment.

His training in the Crimson Sky Sect had been grueling, but rewarding.

He was an anomaly—gifted with a natural talent for combat and an insatiable thirst for challenges. His master had seen his potential and nurtured it, though not without frustration.

Mo Tian recalled the moment he had confidently approached his master after months of rigorous training. "Master, I wish to challenge the senior disciples," he declared, his eyes blazing with anticipation.

His master, an old yet imposing figure, stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Are you certain, Mo Tian? These are not ordinary disciples. They are seasoned cultivators who have honed their skills for decades."

"I'm sure," Mo Tian said firmly, his fists clenched. "I need to test my strength. I need to feel the thrill of a real battle."

His master chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Your ambition will be your undoing if you do not temper it with wisdom. Come with me. I have a different challenge for you."

Mo Tian had been confused but intrigued as he followed his master and senior sister out of the sect's grounds.

They traveled for days, descending from the lofty heights of the cultivation world into the bustling, chaotic realm of mortals.

The change in scenery left Mo Tian unimpressed.

"These are just ordinary people," he muttered under his breath, watching farmers toil in the fields and merchants haggle in the streets. "How could they possibly provide a challenge for me?"

His master, overhearing his grumbling, smiled enigmatically.

"You underestimate them too much, Mo Tian. There are mortals who cultivate despite their limitations. While they cannot transcend their mortality, some have achieved remarkable strength within their constraints. Among them, you may find a worthy opponent."

Mo Tian's skepticism was evident. Mortals had long ceased to interest him; they were weak, predictable, and unchallenging. But his master assured him, "Do not judge them by their status. Strength is not always determined by cultivation rank."

Mo Tian grew restless during their time in the mortal world.

His master had business to attend to, and his senior sister was preoccupied with her own cultivation.

Left to his own devices, Mo Tian wandered the nearby towns and villages, hoping to find someone—anyone—who could entertain him.

It was during one of these excursions that he stumbled upon the Xiao Family and the Shen Family.

Their skirmishes were nothing extraordinary to him, but it was better than the monotony of watching mortals live out their mundane lives.

Then, one day, he saw him.

Lu Tzang had caught Mo Tian's attention in an instant.

At first, it wasn't his strength or presence—it was his actions.

Mo Tian watched from the shadows as Lu Tzang handed over high-grade spiritual stones to a Xiao Family young miss.

"What kind of fool wastes spiritual stones like that?"

Mo Tian thought, incredulous.

Spiritual stones were invaluable resources, even for cultivators like him.

They fueled breakthroughs, enhanced techniques, and provided the energy needed to refine treasures. Yet here was this man, squandering them on a girl.

His curiosity piqued, Mo Tian began to observe Lu Tzang more closely. He learned quickly that Lu Tzang was just an ordinary mortal cultivator.

Despite being in the fifth phase of mortal cultivation, he is nothing special.

Then came the day that changed everything.

Mo Tian had been planning a scheme to claim those spiritual stones for himself.

It was all meant to be a game—nothing serious, just a little mischief to relieve his boredom.

He had lured the Shen Family trio into confronting Lu Tzang, confident they would overpower him, and pretend he would save him and let this fool give his spiritual stones to him. But what happened next left him speechless.

Lu Tzang destroyed them.

The Shen Family trio—two seventh-phase mortal cultivators and one at the eighth phase—were no match for him.

Lu Tzang dispatched them with a precision and ruthlessness that bordered on the terrifying.

Mo Tian watched from the shadows, his heart racing. "How? How did he do that? A fifth-phase cultivator defeating three opponents, two of whom were at higher phases? What kind of martial art is that?"

His master's words echoed in his mind: "Strength is not always determined by cultivation rank."

For the first time in years, Mo Tian felt something stir within him—a sensation he hadn't experienced since his early days on the farm.

His blood boiled, his fists clenched, and his lips curved into a grin.

"Finally," he whispered, his voice trembling with excitement. "Someone who might actually challenge me."

Though Mo Tian knew he was stronger—his cultivation at the seventh phase of mortal cultivation placed him far above Lu Tzang—he couldn't ignore the raw skill and tenacity the man had displayed.

It's like he cultivated all his life just to become this good!

And so, as Mo Tian closed the distance between them, his heart pounded not with fear but with exhilaration.

This was why he had left the farm, why he had joined the sect, why he had sought strength at every turn.

He didn't just want to fight Lu Tzang.

He needed to.