Rumble. Rumble.
It was evening.
Yet,
The sky kept roaring loudly; a chorus of thunder, shaking the earth like the wrath of an unseen force. Each peal was so oppressive, and it felt like a sign of a warning as the growl of the thunder reverberated through the bones of the very vast world.
Below—
Splash. Splash.
One could see that the people in Anter Town were scurrying here and there like frightened insects, their hurried footsteps splashing through the puddles formed on the cobblestones. They hurried frantically, escaping the fury of the tempest as they retreated to their nest.
Above them—
They still could see that the sky was looming with an oppressive blanket of… dark and thick clouds, while small sparks of lightning kept flickering within their depths, illuminating the world in brief, violent flashes.
The sky's beauty was terrifyingly remarkable.
Yet,
However, one could tell that the storm was far from over. It was only getting stronger and stronger.
Then—
CRACK!
Another terrifying jagged bolt of lightning split the very sky, only to land near Anter Town. Thus, for a single, frozen moment, the world stood in stark and white, revealing the towering, ice-capped cold mountains that cradled the town, like the jaws of an ancient beast.
And then—
Just as when the night returned once again,
BOOM!
A deafening explosion of thunderclap followed suit, shaking the very core of the earth. Thus, rooftops trembled, shutters rattled, and the very air vibrated with the force.
Witnessing this, the weak clutched their chests as if the dread was pressing hard on their hearts.
"Why must… only the weak have to suffer always?" An old man muttered angrily as he stood amidst the chaos, with a hand clenching into fists.
"Another great cultivator falls for some unknown reason, and yet it is we… who pay the price?" His lips curled into a sneer as he became fully aware of the world's cruelty.
"...What kind of twisted joke is this?"
"What kind of world punishes the powerless for the failures of those above? What justice is there in forcing the weak to bleed for the arrogance of the strong?"
"This… this is nothing but total madness!"
Five times,
That's right, he had witnessed and endured this type of catastrophe, five times now. Each time, when the great being ceased to exist or when a new enigma was woven into the fabric of the world… the world faced something new, likely something worse, like a clockwork of new horrors emerging—plagues of void beasts, storms of corrupted qi, lands withering overnight, and more.
Truth be told, this was nothing new to the cultivator, who lived in a higher food chain. Some of the events also become opportunities for them.
Well,
Except for those who were lower on the food chain. Mortal or common folks, they had to bear the afterbrunt, whether they wanted it or not, which made them realize this was nothing but sheer madness.
Although the current catastrophe was not that devastating compared to before, this time, the tempest had raged for three consecutive days, showing no sign of relenting, and with each passing hour, the suffering of mortals only deepened further.
Then—
The wind howled anew, a gale so fierce it threatened to tear everything. Once again, the heavy rain followed suit, a deluge so thick it blurred the world into a watery haze and turned the streets into rivers in no time. Thus, the Anter Town drowned under the unyielding downpour.
Yet.
Amidst the storm that was happening outside, a room still held a faint glimmer of warmth within. That's right, the flickering flame of a lantern was illuminating the small, cosy space, while the damp air carried the scent of bitter tea around.
However, if one observed the room closely, they would notice that it was somewhat messy and unorganised, with things strewn about, revealing the negligence of the person who lived there.
Moreover, at that moment, one could see… just a few inches away from the unclosed window.
A frail young man with pale skin and dark circles under his eyes was sitting on a wooden chair. And he was cradling a chipped porcelain cup in his hand as steam from the tea rose upward, releasing the herbal scent.
"Sighh…"
Fang Rui sighed wearily, gazing deeply into the surface of the teacup, only to see his dark eyes reflected back. His frame was gaunt, skin stretched thin over sharp bones as if hunger had totally hollowed him out, but his eyes, deep black like water in a well, burned not with fire but with something colder…
Something that didn't belong to the face of a starving slum rat at all.
"One more day…" Fang Rui muttered inwardly, yet his expression remained devoid of emotion, which made it hard to guess what he was thinking right now.
Still, the wind was howling relentlessly, tugging at his ragged black robes he wore and tangling his unkempt hair like a candle flame in the stormy night.
But he didn't move, didn't even flinch at the storm that was happening outside, nor did he bother to close the window.
Right now, he was too lost in his own thoughts.
He then looked outside, beyond the window, where an olive tree thrashed in the storm, its leaves torn away one by one, just like the cruel world always treated him.
"If only…"
He raised the cup,
However, suddenly a familiar searing pain lanced through his wrist.
"Ughhh!"
His fingers tightened subconsciously.
Crack!
The cup shattered as the tea within the cup splashed everywhere, and shards of the cup skittered across the hard floor.
Clang!
Fang Rui felt as if he was suffocating. His breath hitched, and his body buckled as a wet, ragged cough tore from his throat.
"Cough! Cough! Cough!"
He felt like vomiting, so he clutched his mouth with both hands to resist, but it didn't work. Unable to hold back, he collapsed onto the hard floor.
Thud!
But the cough? It didn't stop. It only grew worse.
Thus—
Whatever he had eaten… all came out at once.
"Cough, Cough—Hah… haha… Again?"
Realizing how messed up he was right now, he laughed at his own misery.
"A-Arghh… Looks like my time is nearing close…"
However, instead of fearing death, he felt strangely calm. He then looked down at his wrist and saw the same familiar yet unfamiliar strange mark. However, what was so strange was… the mark seemed to pulse—a vicious, insatiable thing, draining his innate energy like a leech.
This was yet another problem that added chaos to his already messed-up life, like fuel thrown onto a flickering flame.
Three days.
That's right, three days had passed full of struggle.
And now?
If he managed to endure it, he felt he had about one day left.
Maybe less? Who knows.
After a few minutes of intensity, the heavy cough began to subside slowly but not completely. He then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, only to see crimson blood smeared across his skin. His chest still rose and fell in uneven bursts, but his expression remained… unchanged.
No panic. No despair. Just that same eerie stillness.
Something was wrong.
Not just with his body, but with the very him.
***
High above in the sky,
Gradually, as time trickled away and night deepened even more…
The rumbling began to subside as dark clouds began to scatter like a broken dream, revealing tiny blinking stars and the pale, silvery glow of the full moon.
But below,
The storm's wrath remained still.
Some of the homes lay in total ruins, their shattered beams jutting out like broken bones, while the streets were littered with debris—shattered carts, uprooted trees, and the remnants of lives torn apart... could be seen.
"A-ahhh… Mommy! Help me, Mommy. It hurts. Huhu!"
Somewhere in the darkness within one of the broken houses, a child's muffled sobs intertwined with the agonized groans. Blood was seeping into the earth, staining it crimson as the child kept crying out loud, asking for desperate help, yet no one offered an answer.
Sadly, her parents were already dead, their bodies lay beside her.
Seeing the child bleed out, one of the man's tears dropped down. He badly wanted to help her out. However, he could not help the child because he, too, was suffering from his own misery, as three rods were pierced through his body. Ironically, he felt nothing, no pain, nothing at all; all he felt was coldness, so cold that his vision was blurring. Yet, seeing the child asking for help and him not being able to help made him tear down.
The night swallowed their cries.
No divine voice answered. No righteous savior descended.
Only the indifferent moon bore witness to their despair.
Until the man saw people flying on a sword.
'Immortal Masters. They've finally come to rescue…' the man thought inwardly as a flicker of hope rose.
"Th-there… Child… He-lp… Litt-tle Ta-ng Tang… Plea-se," the man barely voiced out, struggling to point toward little Xiao Tang.
"You go there, and you go there. I'll handle it here," one of the cultivators, the leader of the group, commanded his companions.
"Roger!" They nodded and left to carry out the mission assigned by their higher-ups.
"Okay, you… Eat this. Don't worry about the child; we're already here…" the leader said, tossing a healing pill into the man's mouth.
"Okay… Yi, help the little girl and take her to Hundred Herbs Hall."
…
***
Then dawn came—
The golden fingers of sunlight stretched across the horizon, pushing back the moon's dominion.
The world stirred, as the people began to rise once again—faces hardened, hearts calloused by the sorrow of losing their close one. They swept away the debris, tended to the wounded, and buried the dead.
Thus, life moved on once again with a heavy heart.
Because what else could they do?
Rebel? Against whom? The heavens? Fate? The unfathomable powers that treated mortals as nothing but ants beneath their boots?
No. For now… they could only endure.
Chirp. Chirp.
Birds also awoke, their songs rising in a harmonious chorus, as if they were also celebrating the return of light after the harsh night.
But then—
A single chirp, sweet and innocent, suddenly twisted into a harbinger of death.
Thud.
Tranquillity was shattered as the small bird's lifeless body struck the ground, its wings still curled as if in sleep… just inches from the feet of a passerby.
The old man.
The bald monk halted as he looked down, his presence unassuming yet arresting. Mala beads threaded through his fingers, their polished wood clicking softly, while his maroon robe, though simple, hung untouched by the dust and filth of the world, as if the grime itself dared not cling to him.
"Om Mani Padme Hum." The bald monk muttered.
His demeanor exuded quiet wisdom, shoulders bowed as though bearing the weight of forgotten truths. But his eyes—oh, his eyes betrayed something beyond mortal perception. White pupils glowed faintly, like a twin moon piercing the veil of reality.
Then, the mala beads trembled as some kind of power radiated from them.
The moment the bird fell, the monk's gaze flickered. His luminous eyes shimmered, glimpsing something unseen… something no living mortal could perceive.
He saw… cracks. That's right, full of cracks spreading within the world, as if space itself were tearing apart.
"..."
Above, he saw the rise of a full red moon, swollen and ominous, while birds shrieked as if the sky were aflame. And the heavy fog… enveloped the entire world.
"..."
And below,
There, he saw nothing but ruins. Yes, destruction was everywhere.
A battlefield? No, this was a total slaughter ground.
Corpses were countless… mangled, limbs tangled in a grotesque parody of embrace.
The earth was no longer earth but a living wound, bleeding from every parts. Rivers of crimson carved fresh paths between the dead, their currents thick and sluggish.
"..."
The monk stood dumbfounded. He had glimpsed war, famine, the rise and fall of dynasties—but this? This was beyond.
What had caused it? How has the world come to this point?
Driven by dread, he poured more of his divine power into his eyes, the glow intensifying—
And then, he saw someone... a lone figure standing atop piles of dead bodies.
At the heart of the carnage stood a figure, white hair whipping like a storm. Killing intent radiated from him in visible waves, distorting the air. In his grip, a longsword dripped fresh blood, its edge humming with a hunger no mortal steel should possess.
"I told you all not to mess with me…"
"DIDN'T I?!" The ominous person roared angrily.
And the bald monk heard it crystal clear.
'Who—?'
However, the question remained unanswered as darkness surged suddenly.
Then—
His vision splintered.
For an instant, his pupils blazed like dying stars—then blood seeped from his eyelids, hot and thick.
"Tsk…" Pain lanced through his skull, but he did not panic. Backlash was the price of foresight; he had paid it before, and so did now.
But this time was different.
The toll was deeper, the pain rawer, almost blinding him forever. Had it lasted a second longer—
He exhaled sharply. Then the glow faded slowly as his sight returned after a brief moment, yet twin trails of crimson streaked on his cheeks.
"Phew…"
Kneeling, he brushed his fingertip over the bird's still-warm feathers, while his other hand rolled the mala beads.
"Om Mani Padme Hum."
"Do you hear it?"
"The silence beneath the song. The shadow behind the light. The truth veiled by lies. Remember… This is no ordinary death. The threads of fate are fraying."
Cradling the bird, he rose and turned toward the horizon. His steps were slow, deliberate, yet left no footprints. Each impression vanished the moment his foot lifted, as though the earth refused to remember his passing.
That's right, if someone were there at the moment, they would see that he left no footprints on the ground. Strangely, each previous footprint vanished as he took the next.
"Light always fades as the darkness creeps in…"
"Om Mani Padme Hum."
He paused, tilting his head as if listening to a whisper only he could hear. Then, softly, like a judge he delivered the sentence:
"Prepare."
"For when the veil falls, even the stars will weep themselves from the sky. Our time… is short. And though we can't save every being, at least we can do one thing… we can at least try."
Behind him, a voice, cold yet reverent, answered:
"As you wish, Master Hui Ming."
"Hmm." He nodded.
Minutes later, beneath an ancient Bodhi tree, he knelt once more. Its roots cradled the earth like gnarled fingers; its leaves rustled with the weight of a thousand prayers. With care, he then buried the small fallen bird's lifeless body there.
"Amitabha Buddha."
"Let the peace be supreme…"
Then—he walked on, roaming the world as he had been, like a specter in maroon, his footprints dissolving like secrets into the wind.