Even Though I Am Blind, I Am Invincible

Xiao Heng stepped into the dimly lit study. The scent of ink and aged parchment filled the air, mingling with the faint flicker of a lone candle atop a wooden desk. His father sat in silence, his expression unreadable—caught between grief and contemplation.

The room was suffocatingly quiet. Then, at last, his father spoke.

"Tell me the truth." His voice was steady but heavy with something unresolved. "My son was not blind before. What happened?"

Xiao Heng lowered his head, his fingers curling into his robe. "I was careless… Xiao Feng pushed me down the mountain. I failed to protect myself. Please punish me."

A sharp breath escaped his father. His knuckles turned white against the armrest. For a long moment, silence stretched between them before he let out a low, bitter chuckle.

"Punish you? For what? For being wronged?"

Xiao Heng remained silent.

His father exhaled deeply. "I have failed you, Heng'er." His voice, once firm and distant, now held a rare softness. "They called you useless, and I let them. I thought I had no choice. But now, I see that I was the blind one."

For the first time in years, his father reached out. There was hesitation—then, with quiet resolve, he pulled Xiao Heng into an embrace.

Xiao Heng stiffened. His father had never embraced him before.

A memory surfaced.

He was six years old, gripping a wooden sword tightly, his tiny hands aching. His father stood before him, arms crossed, watching without a word.

"Again," his father had ordered, his tone as cold as the morning air.

Xiao Heng had swung the sword with all his strength, but his father's gaze remained impassive.

"You're weak," was all he had said before turning away.

Now, standing in his father's embrace, Xiao Heng felt the weight of years pressing down on him.

"Forgive me, Heng'er."

His father's words were heavy. Years of neglect, cold indifference, and distant glances—was this regret genuine?

Another memory arose.

At ten, Xiao Heng had run to his father, beaming as he held up his first successful calligraphy scroll. "Father, look! I wrote your name!"

His father had barely spared it a glance. "A warrior's strength is in his sword, not a brush."

The words had cut deeper than any blade.

Now, after all these years, the same man who had once ignored him was asking for forgiveness.

After a long silence, his father sighed. "You don't have to forgive me. Just know that I regret everything."

Xiao Heng thought back to the countless times he had yearned for his father's approval. Now, in his blindness, he had forced his father to finally see him.

At last, he spoke. "It is not your fault, Father. I forgive you."

His father's breath hitched. His hand trembled slightly as he patted Xiao Heng's head—something he had not done since he was a child.

"Thank you, my son."

Just then, the door creaked open. His mother entered, her gaze unreadable but gentle. "Husband, that's enough. Let him rest."

His father let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh. "Of course, of course. It's late. You should sleep." He hesitated before placing a hand on Xiao Heng's shoulder. "Do you need a cane?"

Xiao Heng shook his head. "No, but thank you for your concern, Father."

His father watched him leave, brows furrowed. "He walks without hesitation… as if he can still see."