Fifteen years ago - Year 563 of the Huaxian country (華仙國)

Just on the outskirt of the border city of Qingnan, a city known for its mix of scholarly and martial varieties due to its openness to cultural influences from neighbouring nations not so long ago, a small village went blazed, alerting the border city to tightly shut its gates. First abandoned by its countrymen and now, finally abandoned by its enemy, peace taken in the form of silence finally returned to the small village that had once, in its short but proud lifetime, been a honourable and hardworking land filled with skilled hunters.

Black smokes and ashes flowed upward to the sky, as if pouring their grieving to the deities from the great beyond. As if the heaven had finally heard their cries, drops of rain started to fall, and soon, rapidly dispersing the smokes and ashes.

Amongst the corpses and fading hope, a small hand reached out and grabbed onto the back of the dead. A boy, around the age of eight years old, emerged from underneath the dead. His hairs disheveled, skin covered in ashes and mud, and clothes were torn even before the invaders arrived and burnt everything down. Scanning carefully the surrounding around him, taking in layers and layers of the greyed-out village long disassembled by three days and two nights of raging flame, he finally fell back on the back of the dead and sighed in relief. The rain hit his face and as if his body had a will of its own, he opened his mouth, taking as much rainwater as he could to satisfy his hunger.

He lost track on how many days ago since he had a meal. However, he was certain that he had almost stolen a pork bun from one of the few stands in the village a few days ago just before the barbaric invaders arrived. Even before they stepped in, his heart did not feel settled at all. One may call it paranoia, but he knew he had developed an acute sense to dangers such as this one ever since he lost his home two years prior. So, at that time, he decisively ran off into hiding without taking the bun, unknowingly confused the stand keeper who had thought he had stolen something only to find all the buns were still there and intact. When he saw that people were falling down like sacks of potatoes down on the muddy ground, he took the chance to abandon the bushes and hid himself under the corpses when no one was looking. Then, more bodies fell on top of each other, as if it was deliberate by the intruders to make for easy counting. Thankfully, he had a small stature for his age and so, he was still able to make do with the little space to breath.

No longer dwelling on what happened a few days ago, he looked past the dead nonchalantly and started searching for any food left that he could find. He knew that for now, he could still stay for a couple more days to fill his stomach full before he decided on where to go next.

Cautiously, he walked up the steps of one of the houses and peered inside from behind the door. His dark brown pupils dilated at the sabre planted solidly on the old man’s head. Down on the dried-up bloody ground beside him, his daughter’s body faced down and barely any clothes were on her. Swallowing down the sensation of fear, he slid the door wider and walked in. He stepped carefully around them, as if worried that they might wake up at any moment. He walked towards where he assumed the kitchen would be at.

It was not a coincidence that he chose this particular house first amongst others. The woman lying by the main entrance had been one of the few people in the village who showed him kindness whenever she saw him by stuffing a freshly made candied hawthorn stick in his hands. He wondered if there were still some candied hawthorns in the kitchen. It was not that he was completely devoid of emotions, but he was just too hungry for finer details now.

Unfortunately, no freshly made candied hawthorns anymore as most were toppled over and stepped on. He picked up whatever full pieces of hawthorns he could find and lay them on a flat wicker basket and continued his food hunt. Luckily, he was even able to find some sweet potatoes under the stove. Once satisfied with his findings, he sat casually on the ground with the flat basket resting on his lap and started popping the hawthorns pieces in his mouth.

When his tummy was filled, he decided to explore the rest of the village. He figured he should see what he could still savage and take with him on his journey.

However, now that his hunger was satisfied, his brows furrowed and he felt like crying. He was, once again, alone in this world. Just as he slowed down his steps, he thought for a moment that his body somehow willed itself again and that he was making weak sniffling sound on its own. However, when he tried to wipe off the tears from his face, he noticed that nothing was pooling around his eyes. The wetness was all from the rain. No mucus around his nose either. He was certain about that since he could still feel the sensation of the rain hitting on him. He was not losing his mind, was he?

Then, there it was again, a small and weak sniffling sound. He listened closely this time.