Dao Yuan Mountain loomed beneath the heavens, its peaks shrouded year-round in rolling mists. The ridges rose and fell like the spine of some ancient beast. At dawn and dusk, clouds coiled around the cliffs, and the cries of unseen birds echoed through the forest as though the mountain itself were breathing. The wind coursed through the ancient pines, stirring the scent of moss and wet earth. The fog was so thick it blurred even the shadow of the sun and moon.
Halfway up the slope stood an abandoned shrine, long forgotten by the world. Its stone steps were broken, pillars slanted, and the walls were veined with cracks. Moss covered the eaves, and when the wind passed, dust and dead leaves spiraled in the air. By night, the howls of beasts rolled through the ravines—but in this wilderness where even wolves dared not linger, a lone child made his home.
His name was Wu Chen Si.
The name came from a tattered cloth that once wrapped him as a baby, its faded ink barely legible. No one knew who his parents were or where he came from. he was thin but sinewy, his skin bronzed by years of wind and rain. Alone in the mountains, he survived by instinct—fetching water from the spring, gathering fruit, grinding stone into crude blades to hunt.
The creatures of the forest feared him. None could say why, but something in his presence made even the fiercest beasts shrink back. Once, when a wolf lunged from the brush, he neither fled nor screamed—he sidestepped, rolled, and struck back with calm precision until the animal limped away, whining.
His life was quiet, monotonous.At dawn he fetched water from behind the shrine; at dusk he built a small fire to roast what he had caught. When snow sealed the mountain paths, he survived on dried meat and bitter berries. The only hint of the human world came from the faint smoke rising from the valley below—proof that somewhere, not far, people still lived and spoke and dreamed.
At the foot of the mountain sprawled a small village, no more than a few dozen households, where chickens crowed and children laughed. The villagers worked the fields, tanned hides, traded game and grain. Every few days, Wu Chen Si would descend the narrow path, carrying pelts to barter for salt and coarse rice. Though people regarded him with unease—this silent boy who came from nowhere—they grew accustomed to his visits and his strange, quiet strength.
Among them were three children who often waited for him by the road: Ling Yun Chuan, Nie Yun Zhuang, and Yuan Qing Shan.
Ling Yun Chuan, the eldest, was steady and responsible, the sort who always lent a hand without being asked. Nie Yun Zhuang was his opposite—sharp-tongued, impulsive, eyes glinting with mockery and something darker beneath. Yuan Qing Shan, round-faced and clumsy, followed the other two like a shadow—kind, honest, and a little afraid of everything.
When Wu Chen Si came down the path, a deer slung over his shoulder, the three were already waiting.
"Another wild boar?" Ling Yun Chuan asked, taking the carcass with a grin. "You've got the strength of three grown men."
Nie Yun Zhuang tilted his head, smirking. "Or maybe the beasts are scared of him. Hey, Wu Chen Si, are you the mountain spirit's child?"
The boy's dark eyes lifted, calm and wordless. Nie Yun Zhuang faltered, forced a laugh, and turned to tease Yuan Qing Shan instead.
"He's not a spirit's son," Yuan Qing Shan said earnestly. "Spirits don't eat. He hunts every day and trades for salt—spirits don't need that."
Nie Yun Zhuang snorted. "You actually believe that?"
Ling Yun Chuan raised a hand. "Enough. Let him be."
Wu Chen Si handed the pelts over. "Trade them for salt," he said simply. "I'll take rice."His voice was quiet but steady, carrying a weight that belied his age. The others fell silent, and the four of them walked toward the village, the smoke curling above them like a promise of warmth.
That evening, by the creek, they cleaned the hunt together. Nie Yun Zhuang wrinkled his nose at the blood, muttering curses under his breath. Yuan Qing Shan fetched water, splashing mud up his legs but laughing all the same. Wu Chen Si said little, glancing now and then toward the mountain peaks where mist gathered thick and pale. The wind carried a low hum from deep within the forest—a sound that made his skin crawl, though he couldn't say why.
That night the wind changed.A strange crimson haze rose in the sky.
Wu Chen Si sat at the shrine's threshold, staring at the glow for a long time. Somewhere within the mountain, something shifted—dull, heavy, like a giant beast stirring in its sleep. The hounds in the valley began to bark. Birds exploded from the trees. The air itself seemed tainted with a sickly-sweet tang, half blood and half rot.
By dawn, the wind had turned violent.Before the sun rose, a thunderous roar split the sky. Wu Chen Si's eyes snapped open. Far below, black smoke coiled upward, and the horizon glowed red—like a river of flame winding through the valley.
His heart clenched. Without thought, he seized his hunting knife and sprinted down the mountain.
The stone steps shattered beneath his bare feet. The closer he came to the village, the heavier the air grew—thick with ash, blood, and the metallic stench of burning flesh. When he burst from the treeline, what he saw froze his breath in his throat.
The village was burning.
Dozens of homes were engulfed in fire. Roofs collapsed in cascades of sparks. The screams of men, women, and children mingled with the crackle of flames and the shrieks of inhuman things. A man was lifted into the air by something unseen—then torn in half. A mother ran with her child in her arms, but a wave of fire swept over them, leaving nothing but blackened ash.
These were no human hands at work.This was the work of demons.
Through the blazing smoke, figures moved—hulking soldiers clad in armor of bone and shadow, their eyes burning crimson. Their weapons were jagged, carved from the bones of beasts. Some had wings, skeletal and charred, that beat against the air with a thunderous pulse. Wherever they passed, the world turned to ruin.
Wu Chen Si's vision reddened.He raised his blade and charged.
The first lesser demon lunged from the side. He twisted aside, the blade flashing. It bit through the creature's spine, spraying hot, stinking blood. A second rushed him from behind; he dropped low, slashed upward, and felt his knife tear through flesh and bone. Blood splattered across his face, hot and sticky.
He didn't stop to think—he couldn't.He could only move, kill, and breathe between heartbeats.
"Ling Yun Chuan! Nie Yun Zhuang! Yuan Qing Shan!"He shouted their names, voice raw, the sound swallowed by fire.
He ran deeper into the burning streets. A falling beam crashed beside him, flames leaping high. The air scorched his skin. He rolled aside, coughed smoke, and kept running. His legs felt weightless, his chest ached, but he didn't slow. From above, something screeched—he looked up in time to hurl his hunting spear. It struck true, impaling a shrieking demon that fell and writhed before going still.
The village had become a slaughterhouse. Blood pooled like rainwater; the flames painted everything red. He could barely hear his own breath over the roar.
Then—"Wu Chen Si! Help me!"
That voice—faint, trembling—Yuan Qing Shan.
He spun and bolted toward it, heart pounding like war drums. The cry came from behind a burning house. He leapt through a wall of flame, the heat tearing at his skin, and burst into the ruins of what had once been a workshop.
Yuan Qing Shan crouched in the corner, face streaked with ash and tears. Before him stood a monstrous figure—towering, gray-skinned, armored in cracked iron plates. Its eyes glowed like molten coals. Its mouth twisted into a grin that exposed a row of jagged white fangs.
Wu Chen Si roared and charged, knife raised high. The blade cleaved through fire and struck the demon's shoulder with a sharp clang! Sparks flew. The knife had barely cut the skin.
The demon looked down at the wound, then up at the boy.A low, rumbling laugh rolled from its chest.
"Interesting," it said in a guttural voice, deep as thunder.
The next instant, its weapon—a massive bone halberd—swept sideways.Wu Chen Si barely raised his arm before the blow hit. The force sent him staggering, his shoulder splitting open, blood pouring down his arm. He gasped, teeth clenched, and charged again. One strike, then another, then another—each blow fueled by sheer will. His muscles screamed, his arms trembled, but he refused to yield.
The demon's grin widened.It lifted one foot and kicked.
"Begone."
The world exploded in sound. Wu Chen Si felt himself lifted from the ground, slammed through a wall, and thrown into the open street. He hit the dirt hard enough to see stars, his breath gone, ribs screaming with pain. Blood bubbled from his lips. Through the haze of smoke and flame, he saw the demon emerge, each step shaking the ground.
The creature dragged its halberd behind it, the blade scraping sparks from the stones. Firelight gleamed on its armor as it looked down at the broken boy.
Its smile was cold.Its voice was like a whisper from the abyss.
"Next," it said softly, "is you."