The Path No One Saw

Chapter 6: The Lightning Root

The clan's main training ground blazed with color and sound.

Blue ceremonial lanterns swayed gently from tall spirit poles, their pale glow catching the morning sun, casting delicate ripples of light across the polished stone platforms below. Golden rays filtered through translucent silk banners overhead, creating a radiant, dreamlike canopy that bathed the training ground in warm brilliance. Formation lines, etched with silver and jade, shimmered across the ground—subtle conduits of spiritual energy that pulsed in rhythm with the hearts of those assembled.

From the central stage to the viewing platforms encircling the training ground, anticipation thrummed like a living thing.

The Wu Clan Assembly had begun.

A tradition older than the trees rooted in the mountain's spine, the Assembly marked the rite of passage for the clan's youth. Once each year, children between the ages of eight and eleven would come forward before their elders to test their spiritual roots. A ritual of truth. A moment of judgment.

This morning, the air trembled with significance.

A sea of robes and hushed voices filled the temporary pavilions and raised platforms surrounding the training ground. Elders sat beneath blue-tasseled canopies, their gazes sharp and unmoving. The youngest candidates—eight-year-old children—stood in small clusters near the edge of the platform, their backs straight, eyes wide with barely contained nerves. Servants, siblings, and extended kin lined the outer railings, whispering predictions as their gazes drifted toward the central pedestal that shimmered with waiting power.

Above them all hung a quiet tension—one not born merely of tradition, but of stories long whispered.

This year, there was someone else in line.

The one they had called the dead root.

And now he stood among them.

A tall elder in blue and silver stepped forward onto the raised central platform built at the heart of the training ground. His beard was neatly combed, and his posture straight despite his years. When he spoke, his voice did not boom—but it carried, clear and authoritative, across every corner of the courtyard.

"Today, as is custom, we gather to test the spiritual roots of our young. All children between the ages of eight and eleven are permitted to attempt awakening—though the chances grow slimmer with age."

A breeze stirred his robes, heavy with embroidered wave motifs. His gaze swept across the platform, pausing briefly on a lone boy standing quietly in the rear of the final row.

Wu Yuan.

The elder's voice did not change as he continued.

"This year, we begin with the oldest. Eleven-year-olds, step forward."

A hush fell.

From the rows of children, five stepped forward. Their movements were cautious, hesitant. Each approached the Awakening Crystal, a translucent orb veined with fine blue-silver lines that pulsed faintly with inner light.

The first child pressed his hand to it. For a moment, the crystal flickered—then gave off a pale brown glow.

"Low-grade Earth Root," the elder announced flatly.

The next child elicited a faint wisp of water-aligned energy. Another managed only a flicker of blue light, the barest echo of water.

None drew more than a few polite murmurs from the crowd.

One girl tried twice, but the crystal remained dim.

The elder said nothing, only gestured them back with calm dignity.

"Ten-year-olds."

The line shortened again. Three boys, one girl.

The second to step up—a quiet boy with sharp eyes—placed his hand on the orb and summoned a faint ripple of water.

"Low-grade Water Root," the elder announced after a pause. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added,"Stable constitution. With proper cultivation, it could perform on par with some mid-grade roots."

This one earned a brief clap from an elder seated behind the dais, a subtle nod of approval.

But again, most results were underwhelming. The mood remained neutral.

"Next—nine-year-olds."

Here, the group was a little larger. One boy produced a weak dark brown color. Another child—nervous and trembling—elicited a brief glimmer of green, before the orb dimmed again.

Only two showed anything worth noting.

The elder kept the rhythm unbroken. "Eight-year-olds."

Now the real wave came.

Nearly thirty children stepped forward—some trembling, others brimming with anticipation. This was the group with the highest chance. At this age, the soul and body had not yet grown too far apart—alignment was easier, the spiritual gate more flexible.

The Awakening Crystal flared again and again.

Soft blue light appeared again and again—water, as expected in a clan so steeped in that element. A few children summoned green for wood. There was a rare flicker of fire, and an even rarer gust of wind.

Polite applause echoed from the temporary seating, subdued for water awakenings but more intrigued when rarer affinities emerged.

One child awakened a dual affinity—wood and water—causing several minor elders to lean forward with narrowed eyes. Notes were taken. Names remembered.

Hope glimmered in every corner of the clan grounds.

Then the final name was called.

"Wu Yuan."

The voice echoed like a pebble dropped in still water.

The crowd rippled with hushed murmurs.

That name—

The boy who didn't speak.

The child who'd once died.

The so-called dead root.

A youth marked by silence, illness, and—until now—irrelevance.

Wu Yuan stepped forward.

His blue robe, simple yet clean, fluttered faintly in the light breeze. The path cleared before him, the children instinctively stepping aside.

He walked with neither haste nor hesitation.

No pride.

No shame.

Only stillness.

The kind of stillness that made others remember.

Gasps whispered behind fans. Parents murmured warnings to their children. Some scoffed quietly—others watched with morbid curiosity.

But Wu Yuan did not look at them.

His gaze was fixed ahead, on the crystal that pulsed softly in the sunlit air.

The elder standing by the pedestal did not raise his voice. But his words, spoken with surprising gentleness, reached Wu Yuan clearly.

"Place your hand on the crystal."

A pause—then, more softly:

"Today is your first clan gathering, Yuan. The path forward begins here. Let the heavens see your truth."

Wu Yuan inclined his head.

And reached out.

His fingers brushed the surface of the crystal—cool, smooth, humming faintly with power.

At first, nothing.

Not even a flicker.

A whisper of laughter rippled through the crowd—quickly silenced by a stern glare from one of the elders.

Then—

Crack.

The air changed.

Lightning exploded inside the crystal.

Not a flicker.

Not a glimmer.

But a storm.

Arcs of pink and white erupted through the translucent orb, turning it into a pulsing sun of electricity. The ground itself trembled as Qi surged through the array beneath their feet.

Formation lines across the platform lit up in brilliant patterns, flaring outward like veins of molten silver.

Children stumbled back.

One girl screamed.

An elder instinctively raised a barrier charm, shielding the nearest spectators.

"W-What—?!"

"Lightning?!"

"No… this isn't normal lightning—look at the intensity!"

"That's not just an elemental affinity—"

"Could it be a Lightning Vein Root?!"

"No. The energy is denser. Wilder. That crystal's foundation is melting!"

The Awakening Crystal's base glowed pink-hot, steam rising from its pedestal.

Then, as if exhausted, it dimmed.

The light vanished—but not the awe.

The runes embedded in the ground began glowing again, this time forming a spiraling pattern that resembled a thundercloud turning in on itself.

At the edge of the dais, a commanding voice cut through the noise.

"Silence."

The air froze.

Even the formation lines pulsed once—then stilled.

Wu Lingtian, the Clan Head, stepped forward.

He wore the formal robes of his office—dark blue and silver, embroidered with waves crashing against cliffs. A ring of jade water lilies circled his waist, and his hair was tied in a knot held by a sapphire pin.

There was no scorn in his eyes as he looked at Wu Yuan. No fascination, either. Only a calm, steady consideration—as though he saw something others had missed.

Sharp and cold.

"Bring the Mirror Stone."

A disciple ran to the back and returned carrying a large slab of obsidian inlaid with a silver spiral. It hummed faintly with ambient Qi.

Wu Yuan did not hesitate.

He stepped forward and placed his hand on the surface.

The stone glowed instantly.

One by one, symbols flickered into view across its face: Water. Earth. Wind. Fire.

Then—

Lightning.

The lightning symbol did not flash like the others. It remained—steady and storm-pink, pulsing with an unnatural brilliance that drew furrowed brows and whispered confusion from the elders.

The Mirror Stone flared once more, then settled into a dual-hued aura—deep blue entwined with vibrant pink, the colors spiraling slowly in perfect harmony.

The elder closest to the stone leaned forward, voice low with disbelief.

"High elemental sensitivity… and an unusually strong resonance. It's stable."

Lightning was already rare. But pink lightning?

That wasn't in the manuals. Not even in the myths.

Another elder—older, eyes narrowed—spoke slowly.

"Absorption rate… exceptionally high. Constitution compatibility—confirmed. There's no rejection. If anything… the body is refining it."

A heavy silence fell.

Then Wu Lingtian stepped forward, his expression unreadable. His voice, however, carried the weight of river-deep thought.

"The Wu Clan has long walked the path of water. Fluid, adaptable. Gentle when needed… and destructive when called upon."

He turned toward the elders seated behind him.

"But this child—his talent cannot be confined to a river."

He looked again at Wu Yuan.

"I will contact the Lei Clan of the Stormrise Mountains. Their bloodline carries the legacy of thunder and storms. With their help, we may determine what exactly we have witnessed today."

Still, no applause came.

Only stunned silence.

Wu Yuan bowed politely.

And turned away from the platform.

He did not look back at the still-glowing orb. Nor at the dozens of eyes that followed his every step.

He had waited three years for this moment.

He didn't need their cheers.

Because now—

They had seen him.

That afternoon, the Wu Clan manor basked in the golden warmth of the sun.

Inside a quiet chamber lined with bamboo mats and polished wood, Wu Yuan sat cross-legged on a woven cushion. The jade scroll box rested before him, unopened. The scent of incense—light and floral—curled lazily through the open air.

His mother, Qing'er, sat beside him, her slender fingers brushing softly through his hair. She didn't speak at first—only watched the way the sunlight played along his lashes and the quiet curve of his brows.

"You were incredible today," she whispered. "Lightning, Yuan'er… do you know how rare that is? How noble? Even the heavens cannot always contain it."

She smiled—but her voice trembled.

"And maybe now… now your father—"

She stopped.

But not fast enough.

"...you'll help your father become Clan Head one day."

Wu Yuan blinked.

Slowly.

Then turned his head toward the lacquered pillar across the room.

His father, Wu Lin, stood there.

Arms folded. Back straight.

Expression unreadable.

But at Su Qing words, his gaze flickered.

"Qing'er."

Soft.

Final.

The room fell quiet.

Qing'er... that tone...

The memory surfaced like a blade drawn from deep water.

From his past life.

Not her name—but the story she belonged to.

The noble mother. The great elder father. The genius son.

A boy loved, praised, given everything.

Until the true protagonist appeared.

I remember this…

This isn't the hero's tale.

It's the villain's origin story.

A rival genius. Raised high, admired.

Only to fall.

Crushed beneath the weight of someone else's destiny.

His breath caught.

The warmth in the room dimmed slightly.

But he said nothing.

Then Wu Lin moved.

He stepped forward, sat before his son, and extended a jade scroll.

"This is one of the Wu Clan's high-grade lightning techniques. Adapted for your current stage. Learn it. And if it proves too complex—come to me."

Wu Yuan took it with both hands.

The scroll was light.

But it felt like iron in his grasp.

A gift?

No.

A test.

An expectation.

The subtle weight of recognition.

He bowed. Said nothing.

That night, Wu Yuan lay beneath the woven quilt of his bed. The scroll rested on a cushion beside him.

Outside, stars emerged above the tiled roofs, the moonlight casting thin silver lines across the lattice window.

The system pulsed faintly at the edge of his thoughts.

Quiet.

Waiting.

He had power now.

He had been seen.

But in whose story?

Am I the villain?

Or was I brought here to rewrite it all?

He didn't know.

He didn't need to.

Because this time…

He wouldn't fall.

Not as a stepping stone.

Not as the footnote to another's legend.

He would walk his own path.

Even if it meant burning open the sky.

He closed his eyes.

"Little brother…"

"Let's see who reaches the peak first."