Esi.

His feet rose somewhat unwillingly and pulled him towards the mansion, Yin Yu quietly following at his side. Her role was to be a listener, to bear witness to the memories that Yin Long carried, to be the one he shared them with so that they wouldn't fade. And seeing how unwilling he seemed to be to head into the mansion, she could form a rather good guess as to exactly what memory he would dig up in there.

There were no guards around the mansion, nor were there any gardeners moving about within the land around the mansion. And as Yin Long pushed open the doors and stepped into the hallway, the thing that met him was the echo of the doors being opened. There were no subdued voices leaking out from any rooms, no sound of footsteps or work being done, it was completely silent.

When his feet started to move, the sound of Yin Yu's echoing footsteps was the only thing that accompanied them. The mansion was entirely empty, Yin Long couldn't detect a single person even within the range of his senses. The mansion felt just like his nagging stomach, empty and hollow, and Yin Long had no idea how long it had been like this.

His feet carried him through the hallways in silence, Yin Yu taking in the surroundings as they walked. This was where Yin Long ran around as a child, where he was born and lived, she wanted to take it in so that she would remember it.

Yin Long's steps brought him to the stairs to the second floor, his silent walk continuing all the way until they reached the fourth floor. His feet stopped when he set foot on the fourth floor, the sensation of his heart thudding against his chest reverberating throughout the hollow pain that coursed through his body.

He closed his eyes for a bit and drew in a deep breath, even he needed to mentally prepare himself for something like this. He opened his eyes again after a few seconds, a sliver of calmness emerging in the depths of his pupils. He had accepted it, but he still found it somewhat difficult to face it like this, to dig it up and submerge himself in the memories.

He didn't head directly for the large double doors that stood at the end of the long hallway and instead headed down one of the hallways that led away from it. He swiftly reached that familiar door and pushed it open, entering a room that was a mix between an office and a bedroom. A bed large enough to hold two people, a large window that let him gaze upon the city, two bookshelves, a single dresser and nightstand, a desk covered in papers and a lone fireplace.

The room was just like he remembered it, even the papers scattered on the desk didn't seem like they had been changed. Once his father had used this room as his office and emergency bedroom, but he had taken it for himself after his parents passed. He had never placed out any of his own items, not that he really had any to begin with, so the appearance of the room had never gotten the chance to be changed to something that you could associate with him.

But as his gaze swept the room, he realized that there had been one change since he left. There was now a hole in the wall of the room, something seemed to have pierced through it and passed through the rooms adjacent to this one. Yin Long peered through the hole but couldn't see what had made it, all he could see was that the hole continued through several other rooms.

"How curious."

He left the room without much thought, perhaps he had never really considered it his, but he couldn't dredge up a single memory or emotion from within it. The room felt just like the mansion, so hollow and empty that it was painful, abandoned and lost to time.

Yin Long moved along the doors that spread out on the side of his old bedroom, opening them to make sure that he was following the hole that had been torn in the wall. He had to move past 11 rooms in total before he finally reached the end of the hole, stepping into what used to be an archive that contained more mundane records that could be written down on scrolls or books.

The item that had created the hole in the wall had made a mess of the room, tearing down three bookshelves before it finally stopped and landed on the ground, torn paper scattered all about. Yin Long's gaze softened somewhat as he walked over and crouched down by the item, muttering quietly.

"You idiot. It was their gift to you so how could you just leave it behind like this?"

The item resting on the floor was a crimson greatsword, a blade that was nearly two metres long and nearly half a metre from edge to edge. He would never forget this weapon, for it was the same as his white blade, it was one of the final gifts his parents had given to Lang Huo. She had treasured this blade like it was her life, it had never left her side.

"This weapon, it was the final gift my parents gave to Lang Huo. She was just seven years old, but her cultivation was high enough to let her wield it with relative ease. You should have seen how she grinned, that silly joy she felt as she swung it around. Lang Ru picked out a bow back then, but she never really cared for fighting so she probably only chose a weapon since she had to. She never really cared for fighting, but the wine she made is still the best one I've ever had. I'd always come and nag her for a gourd or two before I went out, and she'd always complain but still give me one. She wasn't that much older than us, but she always kept an eye out for us, always seemed to find us no matter where we were, always made sure we had someone to lean on when we got tired. But now I can't help but wonder, who was she supposed to lean on?"

A simple Jian, a greatsword, a bow, and a rapier, those were the four weapons that were the Lang couple's final gift to their family. One had broken and one had been abandoned, only the final two were still in use. Yin Long looked down at the dust-covered weapon, his fingers tracing the dried blood that still clung to the blade.

"You fool, everything back then was my choice, you should have just washed it clean and kept using it. I never did tell you, but when you swing your sword it is like the flame, simple yet brilliant, fierce and unstoppable, too beautiful to be abandoned like this."

He swiped his interspatial ring and brought out some water that he used to clean the dust off of the blade, he then brought out a rag and some polishing solution. He sat down and rested the blade on his thighs, slowly and methodically cleaning it with the rag. He removed all traces of blood and dust from it and then polished it with trained movements, returning the crimson blade to its original sheen and beauty. This was the weapon of the Lang clan matriarch, of his sister, it should not rot away here.

He stood up when the weapon returned to its original beauty, placing it into his interspatial ring. Whether she wanted it or not, he would return this weapon to her, and he would make sure that she didn't abandon it this time.

"Alright, no more putting it off."

He sucked in one last breath and then left the room, making his way through the hallway and back to the stairs that had brought him to the fourth floor. From there, he headed directly for the set of double doors and pushed them open, not giving himself a chance to hesitate as he stepped forward.

The room he entered could be called surprisingly simple, it only contained two bookshelves as well as a rectangular table with a long couch on each side. The table was placed right up against a window that stretched from the floor all the way to the ceiling, allowing those on the couches to see all the way out to the distant northern entrance of the city if their eyes were good enough.

"...Mother, Father, I have returned..."

This was the room where Lang Huo had cultivated when she was still just a child, it was also where their family ate their meals together. And, in the end, it became the room where his parents drew their last breath and left this life.

The weak touch of his mother's hand on his cheek, the powerless and weightless sensation of his father's hand on his shoulders. The tears blocking his vision, the snot clogging his nose. Those gentle eyes filled with worry and warmth, those voices filled with pride, contentment, as well as traces of regret and apologetic intent. Those two weak rainbows that struggled to break through the thick layer of black clouds that covered the sky.

All of it flooded Yin Long the moment he entered the room. He had been able to bear it and not think about it when he still lived here, but now that he came back and dug up the memories it all hit him with full force. His eyes became red and tears ran down his cheeks before he noticed it, not a single sound echoing through the room as he walked forward.

Yin Yu stayed by the open door and just watched, her own eyes turning red. Yin Long was strong, even certain death hadn't been able to move the confidence on his face. But now, now he cried freely, now he looked weaker than ever before, now he was no more than a child that had lost his parents.

Following the flood of memories and sensations was an emotion that Yin Long was already far too familiar with, pain. And it wasn't just any pain, it was the pain he was actually already experiencing. It was as if his body had been hollowed out, as if his stomach had become a bottomless hole that swallowed up everything else in him.

He was aching and hurt, he was hollow and empty. His stomach was devoid of food so he felt hollow and pained, starving to the point of being willing to eat the bark off of a tree. His soul was devoid of warmth so he felt hollow and pained, aching to the point of cursing the world that stole his parents before it was their time.

"Ah...Mother, Father...Thank you, and forgive me..."

Tears continued to stream down his face, but his hand rose slowly, a hollow shell of a sword forming in his grasp. The sword was raised high, Yin Long's very being flooding into it. It was much like the state he reached at the very end of his display of determination, just as Hongzai threw some meat at him. It was as if his very being was entering the sword, as if every ounce of his soul and existence were becoming part of the weapon.

But now, now all that became part of the sword was pain. A hollow pain like an empty stomach, a hollow pain like an aching soul. His sword reached its zenith when all his pain flooded it, when his memories of his parents' final moments entered his mind. And then his sword cut down, it descended like a lifeless hand sliding down a child's cheek, sank down like a head lowering to greedily devour a strip of raw flesh.

Just when it looked like it reached its lowest point, the sword swung sideways in a natural manner, like a powerless arm that fell down to its final resting position, like the faint curve of a satisfied smile that was content with the life it had lived.

The blade cut through the air without any sound, it severed the wind in an unnatural manner and left nothing but hollow hunger and pain in its wake. The plants in the room withered quietly as the light breeze produced by the blade swept over them, even they could experience starvation, their nourishment taken from them.

His sword carried his woes as it swung, as it howled at the world for its unfairness and cruelty, as it dug into the world as if to tear it apart. With tears in his eyes, he swung his sword, with pain in his heart and body, he slashed out. And with a hollow sensation, a starving body and soul, Esi, the sword of starvation was born.