A Farewell

Snow fell steadily over the mountain, blanketing it slowly in white. The wind, icy and relentless, whipped the summit, forcing any living being to seek shelter. Yet, amidst the snowfall, on a frozen lake, someone stood firm.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, evaporating almost instantly in the freezing air. His ragged breathing broke the silence. With swift, precise movements, he dodged the snow brushing against his tattered clothing. His skin, as pale as the snow, contrasted with the pink flush staining his hands, feet, and exposed face—a testament to the merciless cold.

Barefoot on the jade-colored ice, nothing mattered more than continuing, moving forward. His will burned with a fervor that even winter seemed powerless to extinguish.

In his hand, blood took form, crystallizing into a crimson spear. Its blade seemed to pulsate with its own life, casting flashes like a flame refusing to die.

With each movement, Bai Xuebing transformed into a scarlet streak dancing across the lake, a dazzling contrast to the frozen world surrounding him. His long black hair, nearly reaching his feet, swayed in the wind, as if sharing in his determination.

Standing with a steady stance, he allowed the flow of natural energy to concentrate in his origin core. His sky-blue eyes gleamed with fierce intensity, reflecting a resolve unbreakable by any obstacle.

—Devouring Fang!

Energy surged into his right arm, enveloping it in a dark aura that crackled like drops of blood caught in a whirlwind. He stepped forward, the ice beneath his feet cracking, spreading like a warning. Then, with a decisive strike, he launched his attack.

The tip of his spear touched a snowflake, and in that instant, the energy erupted into a voracious tornado. The crimson spear sliced through the air with a lethal whistle, advancing like a ravenous beast until it struck the rocky wall ahead.

Boom!

The explosion shook the mountain, its echo roaring, tearing through the storm's silence. The impact left a massive hole in the rock, dark and deep, as though an unstoppable force had ripped a piece of the world away.

Bai Xuebing panted, his heavy breathing mingling with the steam rising from his body, intensified by his effort. His figure trembled, pushed to the brink of exhaustion, yet he lifted his head.

His sky-blue eyes searched the sky as his wind-blown hair partially covered his face. The white clouds of his breath bore witness to his struggle against the cold and his own fatigue.

Finally, he lowered his gaze forward. His eyes fixed on the hole he had created, and a triumphant smile slowly spread across his face. The ice beneath his feet, riddled with cracks, seemed insignificant compared to the destruction he had wrought.

The explosion's echo still resounded in the distance, a reminder of his power. Bai Xuebing remained standing, a beacon of strength and resolve amid the relentless winter.

He walked slowly across the frozen lake, approaching the rock wall. Raising his hand, he admired his handiwork. To his left, small marks and scattered holes dotted the rock's surface like scars from failed attempts.

At first, they seemed like mere scratches, but as he moved forward, these cracks grew and merged, culminating in a massive breach.

The hole was as imposing as the gates of a city. Bai Xuebing stood in silence, his fingers brushing the cold rock's surface as a faint smile of satisfaction crossed his face.

—At last... I have mastered it. The Black Fangs Martial Art.

A triumphant smile appeared on his face but quickly twisted into a sadistic, almost demonic grin. Anyone who had seen him at that moment would have sworn they were looking at a creature from nightmares.

He advanced slowly down a snow-covered path, each step leaving a trail of fresh blood staining the pristine white. The wounds on his feet seemed inconsequential, as though pain was insignificant compared to what he had achieved.

Finally, he arrived at the ruins of what had once been his home. He stopped before an old, dilapidated house, its cracked walls and caved-in roof offering little shelter from the merciless cold.

He entered with firm steps and lit a fire. The flames timidly began to dance, casting a warm glow that barely held back the roaring winter outside.

Night fell, and the cold intensified.

Inside the house, Bai Xuebing sat by the fire. The warmth began to ease his exhausted body.

In his hands, he slowly drew out two books.

—The Ascending Dragon Art and Black Fangs. Three years of study, every detail engraved in my memory and body. Yet now, with my cultivation, I can only use the Black Fangs.

—But... it's time to say goodbye.

Without hesitation, he tossed both books into the fire. The flames began devouring them voraciously.

—It's time to descend the mountain. Keeping these books would be dangerous. Destroying them doesn't matter. After all, they are here, in my mind.

He made the decision silently but firmly. When winter passed, he would leave as well. In the meantime, he prepared for the journey. He continued training and studying, packing what he needed.

One morning, Bai Xuebing prepared a light breakfast and left without looking back, heading to the jade lake. He submerged himself in the emerald water, cleansing every inch of his body as if seeking to purify his soul.

While he remained there, he watched the sunrise, the glow of the first light reflecting off his wet hair. The tranquility of the surroundings and his inner stillness fused in harmony.

Upon emerging from the water, he took a black silk robe from his ring, crafted from mountain insect silk. The fabric, soft and resistant, shimmered faintly with a touch of masterful craftsmanship. Bai Xuebing was skilled with the needle, capable of creating garments fit for immortals.

The robe was adorned with the black fur of a spiritual beast he had hunted. As he donned it, the contrast with his pale skin and sky-blue eyes highlighted his seriousness, though his eyes lacked their usual luster, somber as the sky before a storm.

With slow steps, he traversed the village ruins. Silence enveloped him like a dense fog. Each step echoed the past, and at times he paused, as though the shadows of what once was whispered lost memories.

Finally, he reached his family and villagers' grave. Respectfully, he lit incense sticks and knelt. His expression was serene, and a silent prayer formed on his lips.

—Rest in peace. May you all reincarnate and find peace… a long life free of suffering.

His eyes fixed on his father and brothers' graves, and a faint smile of nostalgia appeared on his face.

—Father… brothers… I'm leaving.

As the first ray of sunlight caressed the ruins, Bai Xuebing rose, offering his final bow. He walked through the place one last time, engraving every crack, every shadow in his memory.

But just before taking his first step, a warm, gentle breeze blew against his back. It was more than a mere gust; it was almost a whisper, a murmur that filled the air with a quiet peace.

He then felt a light pressure on his shoulders, as though a pair of warm, familiar hands had touched him, offering comfort. Bai Xuebing stopped, his heart pounding.

Bai Xuebing turned, searching, but there was nothing. Only ruins, echoes of the past. Yet the warmth lingered, wrapping around him like an invisible embrace.

A silent tear rolled down his cheek. He closed his eyes, allowing himself that solace before moving on.

With a broken voice, he whispered:

—Goodbye…

The breeze faded, but his heart remained at peace. He took his first step away from his home, beginning his descent down the mountain. The rocky slopes and elongated shadows seemed distant, alien. Each step echoed in the silence, carrying with it memories, promises, and pains of a past he could no longer hold onto.

His destination was Zhēnshèng, the nearest city. There, his goal was clear: to obtain money and information, both essential for the next stage of his journey.

The journey would be long, roughly 30 days for a mortal. With a mount, he could reduce the time to 10 days. However, Bai Xuebing was no longer a mere mortal, and though he had no mount, his abilities would allow him to reach it in just 15 days.

Bai Xuebing had no need for rest. His stamina surpassed the limits of what a mortal could endure. He walked for 15 days without stopping, moving like a shadow, a specter of strength. He was not an animal, no.

His pace was that of a beast, an unstoppable force moving with a fluidity and determination few could comprehend. He only stopped to eat and drink, and when he was miles away from the city, his pace became calmer, almost leisurely. He no longer ran, no longer chased anything; he simply walked. He did not want to draw attention upon arrival.

But just as the city loomed on the horizon, a group of bandits appeared before him, their mocking laughter breaking the air's stillness.

—Well, well, what do we have here? —One of them remarked with a sly grin at the young man before them.

—Look at him, a rich little boy —another commented, his eyes scanning him up and down.

Bai Xuebing showed no reaction. "Rich boy?" he thought to himself, with a slight internal scoff. I don't even have a place to die...

One of the bandits pointed his weapon directly at him, but Bai Xuebing remained unmoved, almost as if he weren't even there.

—Come on, kid, don't be scared. Just hand over everything you've got, and you can leave, even your clothes…

—But looking at you closely, I think I'll have some fun with you first. Those girls from last night didn't satisfy me, hehehe, though their screams before dying were quite lovely —the leader mocked, his raspy laugh filling the air.

The rest of the bandits joined in, laughing uproariously, enjoying the game. Yet Bai Xuebing remained unresponsive, his expression unchanged.

—Didn't you hear the boss, huh? —one of the bandits said, approaching threateningly. —Hand over everything, or…

He pointed directly at Bai Xuebing.

—Or what? —Bai Xuebing asked, his voice soft but with a sharpness that made the bandit hesitate.

Before he could answer, the man was sent flying to the side with a crash, like a leaf carried by the wind. The impact resounded, but the young man hadn't even moved.

The bandits froze, staring at the man who had just hurled their comrade like a rag doll. Bai Xuebing hadn't moved a muscle; his cold, distant gaze bore no defiance, only indifference. Yet something within him stirred, something he hadn't fully felt in a long time.

With a sigh that seemed more like a murmur of the wind, Bai Xuebing stepped forward, as if the threat posed by these men didn't matter. He looked at the leader, who, though confident, was beginning to fear the silence emanating from the young man.

—Why don't we try that with you idiots? —he said, his lips curving into a faint smile that chilled the air around him.

The bandits hesitated for a moment, but arrogance overtook them. They were many, and Bai Xuebing was just a boy, a powerless mortal. Or so they thought.

But then, a dark decision formed in his heart. The sword that had lain dormant within his soul for so long, the one he had sworn never to use, began to glow inside him. For the first time... he thought as his hand clenched into a fist. The thirst for blood didn't overwhelm him, but it called to him with terrifying clarity.

What followed was a macabre dance. In the blink of an eye, Bai Xuebing was already before the nearest bandit, and without giving him time to react, he lifted him off the ground with one hand, crushing his neck with supernatural strength. The man, who hadn't even seen the movement coming, fell to the ground, his life extinguished before he could utter a sound.

The group of bandits barely had time to react, fear coursing through their veins. Bai Xuebing hadn't shown a single gesture of compassion. They had chosen him, he thought. There's no turning back.

With a fluid movement, he spun on his heels and reached the next bandit, his fist striking with precision and lethal force against the man's face. The impact was so brutal that the sound of bones breaking echoed in the air. The bandit fell to the ground like a broken doll, blood pouring from his mouth.

The remaining three men froze, their eyes filled with terror. Bai Xuebing approached them with an eerie calm, relishing the power he felt in dominating the situation.

—This is the price of underestimating me —he said, his voice soft but as sharp as a razor.

The last word had barely left his lips when, with a simple twist, the lives of the remaining three bandits were also in his hands. Each fell to the ground, Bai Xuebing showing no hint of emotion. It wasn't hatred that moved him, nor even justice; it was simply necessity. They had no place in his world.

Standing amidst the corpses, Bai Xuebing looked at his hands, then at the blood staining his robe. He felt no horror, no remorse. It was as if something far deeper within him had awakened, something he could neither deny nor ignore.

—Now... —he murmured to himself, as his gaze lifted towards the nearby city —Now, it's time to continue.

With a simple gesture, he extended his hand towards the corpses, and the bandits' blood began to rise, as if an invisible force pulled it. In an instant, the bodies were drained, their veins empty and flesh desiccated, leaving only hollow shells behind, as though life itself had been ripped from them.

—How foul they taste —he said softly, a slight grimace of disdain curling his lips —Truly, those who prey on the weak don't deserve to live... nor even to be called human. They are nothing but scum.

His tone didn't reflect hatred, but cold indifference, as if he were talking about an insect he had crushed without a second thought. He looked one last time at the fallen bandits, without a shred of regret. Life had escaped them, and in Bai Xuebing's eyes, there was nothing but emptiness, a cold void that knew neither regret nor mercy.

It was a void filled with power.

With firm steps, he began walking towards the city. Each footfall echoed like a distant whisper, as his eyes shone with the determination of someone who had embraced a new truth, a new path. The city awaited him, and Bai Xuebing knew he could not stop. He wouldn't, not even for a second.

The bandits no longer existed, but the memory of his actions would remain, something he could no longer erase. And though something within him stirred, he wouldn't yet understand it. What did this mean to him? What did it mean for his soul, now that he had tasted blood?

The wind blew strong, as if the world itself spoke to him, and Bai Xuebing allowed himself a brief sigh. He didn't look back. Nothing could tie him to the past, not even a simple reflection. There was only one direction: forward.