Sleeping that night was impossible because Yaru killed two people, which should be enough of a reason by itself, but also the nightmare-inducing visage of the Temple Master. That fucker was hella terrifying.
Yaru moved restlessly in his bed, lightheaded and sick to his stomach. It was too quiet, and his mind was not a happy place tonight. Too loud and depressing, with a hint of despair. With a sigh, Yaru opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He huffed in frustration and slicked his hair back mindlessly.
His nightgown shifted as he got up, revealing tan skin and a back littered with scars. He hated his scars and the memories that came with them, but more, he hated how powerless he'd been to stop it from happening altogether.
Yaru took the cloth off and swapped it for the white, plain training robes. The material was coarse and thick, and it would often itch, but it got ruined less often, which meant he was punished less for ruining the temple's property. Those sons of a bitches loved their punishments too. Yaru was sure that they got off of the suffering of others.
Or, at the very least, his own.
Annoyed now, Yaru huffed in frustration and clicked his tongue. His opinion of the temple tenders had hit an all-time low, and rightfully so, but at the same time, he hated how he understood their position too. He'd likely be among them, willing to do anything to survive. Still, that doesn't mean he liked any of them.
By the time he reached the training hall, it was almost morning. Soon, the entire training hall will be filled with half-asleep, dead-looking teens.
To the right, there was a wooden box filled with practice swords, a few spears, and a single bow. Thick cushions were littered around in varying colors. Yaru picked up a sword and started swinging it until he heard distant voices. Hurridly, he placed the sword back in place and found a corner to hide in.
X I am a line breaker X
Soon the training hall started filling. Some tired disciples were using the scuttered cushions as pillows in a sorry attempt to go back to sleep, while others - the morning people - moved around, greeting everyone with a pleasant smile and a respectful bow.
Xiu Hanh was not a morning person, but that didn't change how she looked, as if she had just come out of a freaking fashion magazine. She looked delicate, with fair skin, stunning blue eyes, and long pinkish hair. She wore a light-violet, expensive silk qípáo that reached just above the knees – it was a gift from her papa, their sect Patriarch.
Her father favored her so because she successfully attained the highest rank inside their mythical-sect hierarchy. As his daughter, it was expected of her to follow in his footsteps.
Disciples are divided into a hierarchy of core disciples, inner disciples, and outer disciples – based on their level of talent and contribution to the Sect. The higher you are on the hierarchy, the better resources you'll gain. Of course, she was a core disciple.
"This is so boring," Xiu said. She scanned the room carefully, her startling blue eyes moving from person to person in an attempt to find that. Xiu turned to look up at the boy standing to her right, "Hey, Yau Ming, have you seen the weakling?"
The boy shook his head lazily, "Maybe he finally gave up...?" Yau Ming suggested while suppressing a yawn. He rubbed his eyes and blinked excessively, trying to wake up.
Xiu Hanh huffed tiredly and leaned against the walls of the training hall. She closed her eyes without seeming care. Her body trembled slightly from the cold air. She snorted in distaste and turned away from Yau Ming, "as if that idiot's going to give up."
'Yaru Wing,' The guy was an embarrassment to all material artists and a waste. Xiu didn't know how he wasn't kicked off the sect yet with his lack of progress, passable material techniques, and lousy conduct. So, it was only a given that he was an outer disciple. 'He shouldn't be a disciple at all.'
Instead of doing something productive and helpful – like farm work, Yaru attended every session without showing any results. Xiu hated his guts.
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