Past and Present.

"Man does not become a demon by choice or pure will but by the pressure of circumstances that drag him down. In this world, everything is about survival, and sometimes even the firmest will is forced to yield under the weight of the inevitable."

I saw the blood spill, overflowing like an endless river, staining the ground and tainting the air with its metallic scent. The blood fell from their bodies, blending with their screams, like an unending lament. Drop by drop, the blood marked my skin, bathing me in its searing red. Now I am covered in their blood.

How did this happen? Why did this happen? Why my home, my family? Why did they have to die? Why does their blood cover me? Why?

—Pathetic, truly pathetic, just like your father. Both of you are pathetic; both sacrificed yourselves to save others, and still, you failed. Hmph, like father, like son.

—SHUT UP!

Lying on the ground, in a pool of blood, was Bai Xuebing; his face, pale as snow, was smeared with mud, and his worn-out clothes were stained and soaked with blood. He could barely move, dragging himself across the ground like a wounded dog.

Bai Xuebing, surrounded by enemies and so injured that he had to crawl on the ground. Even in that state, he still wanted to fight, to struggle against them, but it was useless; he was far too weak.

Despite such a pitiful appearance, his expression, his gaze could only be described as hateful, a hatred for these people—not even the word "people" was worthy of these demons in human form.

How deep was Bai Xuebing's hatred, his anger, his desire to kill these demons? His condition didn't matter, nor did the fact that he was on the brink of death. Nothing mattered anymore; all he wanted was to kill them.

These demons simply watched Bai Xuebing's pitiful state, laughing and mocking him. Their laughter and taunts continued until their leader struck Bai Xuebing in the face with a kick, splitting the skin on his cheek and nearly knocking him unconscious.

Grabbing him by his black hair, the leader pulled him up until their faces were inches apart: one filled with amusement and the other with rage, resentment, and hatred.

—Why, why are you doing this... why my village, my family, why did they have to die?!

The man's lips curled into a diabolical, mocking smile; this scene filled him with pleasure.

—You ask why? Haha, fine, fine, let this venerable enlighten you.

His words were as clear as water, and the truth was bitter. In a whisper to Bai Xuebing's ear, he gave him the answer he so desperately sought.

—Because we wanted to, because we could. Nothing more than that—simple fun.

Bai Xuebing's eyes darkened, descending slowly into the abyss of despair.

—Fun... it was just for fun...

For mere amusement, his village was consumed by flames. For fun, so many people died in agony. For fun, his father perished. For simple amusement, he watched his two brothers brutally murdered before his eyes. Everything he loved died for simple fun.

As his gaze grew darker, his despair, rage, hatred, and madness swelled, accompanied by diabolical, mocking laughter. Before him now stood a demon.

—But if you want another reason, it's simple. You'll die just like them, so at least take the truth with you to the grave.

The man knelt down, crouching, and whispered into his ear:

—It was ordered.

Why would he reveal the truth? Simple: he wanted to have fun, to see the hatred in Bai Xuebing's face give way to despair. Soon, demonic laughter mingled with screams of pain and hopelessness.

—Ah... I suppose this is the end.

He murmured, more to himself than to his subordinates. His tone dripped with disdain, as if he were witnessing the final act of an insignificant play. He turned around, his light steps echoing on the blood-soaked ground, and with a simple gesture of his hand, he gave the order.

Without hesitation, one of his men drove a blade into Bai Xuebing's back. The steel pierced his flesh, taking his life in an instant. His body trembled, and his gaze dimmed as blood painted the ground red.

The physical pain was brief, but the sense of abandonment and cold consumed him. In the silence, Bai Xuebing sank into suffocating darkness as his heart slowly stopped beating.

Everything grew still.

From the ground, motionless and covered in blood, he watched those demons leave, laughing. Through the red haze clouding his vision, he managed to make out the symbol that would mark his suffering: a heron. The symbol worn by those demons—something he could never forget.

The cold night stretched beneath a black sky, without stars or moon. An absolute darkness, broken only by the distant glow of fire, devouring a home, a life, everything, along with the pain.

Dying, caught between life and death, Bai Xuebing felt his consciousness fading along with his breath.

—This is my end.

---

At the peak of Yùzhú Shān, mist envelops the mountain as rain gently falls over the bamboo. The wind caresses the village of Yunzhang, where the lake reflects the leaden sky. Everything is silent, as if time had stopped, merging with the murmur of the wind.

The warm light from the houses shone amidst the mountain's chill as the villagers sought refuge from the wind and rain. Outside, a young man ran quickly, shielding the firewood with his body. His hurried steps splashed through puddles as he headed to the edge of the village, where a small house, hidden among the bamboo, stood silently apart from the rest.

The young man entered the small house, drenched from head to toe, but with the dry firewood in his arms.

—I'm back,— he announced, closing the door behind him.

—Oh, welcome,— his father replied, smiling.

—Big brother is wet.

—Yes, he looks like a wet dog, haha.

Inside, his father and younger siblings waited around the fire, playing and chatting as the warmth of the flames filled the room, creating a cozy atmosphere that contrasted with the rain outside.

—Come, son, before you catch a cold,— his father said, offering him a blanket.

Bai Xuebing smiled, approaching the fire and wrapping himself in the blanket to dry off. Carefully, he placed the firewood onto the flames, stoking the fire. The warmth quickly increased, filling the house with a comforting heat that contrasted with the cold and rain outside.

As the heat flooded the house, the atmosphere became even cozier. There was no longer any need to stay close to the fire, so the little ones began moving freely, their laughter echoing throughout the house as they played. It didn't take long before they dragged their father into their antics.

—Papa, play with us!— they shouted, pulling at his arms enthusiastically.

—Alright, but don't treat me like a rag,— he replied with a laugh, rising from the fire and stretching with a playful smile.

—What shall we play, then?— he asked, feigning tiredness.

The children, in unison, shouted:

—Hunter!

Their father let out a soft laugh, his eyes shining with tenderness as he watched them. The warmth of the fire enveloped the room, and as my siblings ran around the floor, I couldn't help but smile. I looked at my father, letting himself be carried away by their antics with that characteristic smile of his good humor. Despite not having riches or great possessions, here, in our small house among the bamboo, it felt like we lacked nothing.

I leaned back slightly, feeling the warmth seep into my bones. My siblings, full of energy, threw themselves at him, laughing, while my father, despite his years, joined them in their play, rolling on the floor as if he were one of them. I couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

In those moments, everything seemed perfect. Although the work was hard and there were days of uncertainty, when I saw my family full of life and laughter, everything else seemed insignificant. Here, in the village, with the rain pounding the roof and the mist covering the mountains, I felt like I had everything.

It was a simple life, but one I never wished to change.

The night soon covered the sky, and with it, the day's fatigue became evident. The laughter died down, replaced by yawns and heavy eyelids. We knew it was time to sleep. My father extinguished the fire, leaving only embers that cast a final warm glow in the room.

We lay down together near the nearly extinguished fire, wrapped in the animal pelts he had hunted. They were coarse, but on cold nights like this, there was no better blanket. My siblings settled close by, their breaths marking the rhythm of the sleep that slowly drew us all in.

Next to me, my father sighed, not from exhaustion, but from peace. I felt the same. We didn't have much, but what we had was enough. Under the roof that barely held against the rain and the pelts that protected us from the cold, I needed nothing more. I closed my eyes, listening to the wind whisper through the bamboo, letting sleep take me, knowing that, for now, we were safe.

Every morning, before dawn, I was already awake. My father was always the first to rise. While the little ones still slept, he took his bow and arrows with his usual calm, ready to hunt. I prepared breakfast for my siblings. We didn't have much, but with what we had, I did my best to ensure everyone had something in their stomachs before starting the day. Most of the time, it was rice with dried meat or fresh eggs. When everything was ready, I headed to the village.

In the village, I would spend some time with my friends, but I never stayed long. There was always something to do: chopping wood, fetching water, or taking care of my siblings. While they played, I watched from a distance, ensuring they didn't get into trouble. Sometimes I wondered how much longer we could keep living like this, away from the difficulties that loomed over us.

As the day began to wane, my father would return, always with some catch. Sometimes it was large, other times small, but he always seemed satisfied with what he had brought. However, there were days when his gaze would drift, as if he were waiting for something or someone. He would sit by the window, silent, staring into the emptiness outside the house. Before him, my mother's empty chair remained untouched.

I watched him in silence, wondering if he still expected her return. My mother was the strength of the house, though at times she seemed as fragile as a petal. I remember her caring for us with love and determination, but also with unyielding strength. Once, I saw her kill a tiger with her bare hands, while my father screamed like a damsel in distress. I recall that with a mix of laughter and pride.

But one day, she left, without explanation. She told us she would return, and though we believed her, it's been five years now. When I asked my father, his response always changed. Sometimes he looked at me as if he wanted to tell me something, but he held back and asked me to forget about it.

Every night, my father would sit by the window, stroking the empty chair. He never said anything, but his eyes... his eyes said it all. I knew he was waiting for something, though I never knew what. And I, in silence, also waited. For something that would never come.

---

The afternoon began to wane as I carried the firewood from the forest. The weight of the logs rested on my shoulders, but it was already part of my daily routine. The sun painted the sky with warm orange tones, and the fresh mountain air brushed my face. From afar, I heard the children's laughter, and my mind began to wander, wondering what stories would fill that afternoon.

As I walked along the path, I saw a group of children gathered around old man Li, who was telling one of his stories. His deep voice resonated among them, and his gestures conveyed wisdom accumulated over the years.

—...And so, after centuries of walking upon the mother earth, Taixian achieved immortality. He was no ordinary man but a being who defied the laws of the heavens. With his strength and wisdom, he walked the path of the Dao to its end, becoming the father of humanity and immortality.

The children listened, fascinated, some with eyes shining with excitement.

—I want to be immortal too!

—Me too!— several shouted in unison.

Old Li smiled softly and raised his hand to calm the commotion.

—Patience, my little ones. Immortality is not an easy achievement, nor a desirable fate. Taixian paid a high price for his power. Immortality is not a gift; sacrifice is the key.

His words sounded more like a warning than a tale, but I didn't stop to reflect. I had never been interested in immortality; the simple life I led was enough for me. Seeing my father return from the forest or my siblings playing filled me with a satisfaction nothing could surpass. What was the point of desiring something so distant? According to old Li, immortality could strip away what truly makes us human.

The children continued dreaming of achieving the unattainable, but I was content with what I had: a peaceful life, full of simple moments.

I felt distant from those dreams of grandeur. Taixian had defied the heavens, but I only wanted to follow my path, care for my family, live in peace.

I turned to continue my walk home. The firewood I carried on my shoulders seemed more important than any story of immortality. Simple things, like caring for my siblings and being with those I loved, were the only things that mattered.

Old Li continued his tale as I walked away. His voice faded, and his words left no mark on my mind. In the end, my life didn't need those stories. It was here and now, in a tranquil place where children's dreams were just that: dreams.

Perhaps one day, if circumstances changed, I would face something greater than my own desires. But for now, I was simply Bai Xuebing, a young man who sought only peace, in this remote corner of the mountain, far from the heavens and the sacrifices of the immortals.

As I walked toward the house, I thought about what mattered most: the smiling faces of my siblings, the warmth of the fire, and the peace found only in the simplest moments. I thought this quiet life would last forever... or so I believed.

One day, returning from cutting bamboo, I saw how my entire world fell apart.