three years later
**********************
The Eastern Snow-Covered Forest:
The forest was a desolate, bone-chilling expanse of towering trees, their branches heavy with the weight of perpetual snow. The thick canopy overhead blocked out the sun, casting the forest in a perpetual twilight that seemed to swallow all light. Snowflakes fell lazily, drifting down like ghostly ashes, adding to the thick blanket of white that covered the ground. The air was sharp and biting, each breath taken here felt like inhaling shards of ice, burning the lungs with its coldness.
The trees, ancient and gnarled, stood like silent sentinels, their trunks wrapped in layers of frost and their roots hidden beneath the snow. The silence was absolute, broken only by the occasional groan of a branch bending under the weight of the ice or the distant howl of a lone wolf. The path through the forest was barely visible, a narrow, winding trail that seemed more a suggestion than a safe passage. It was a place where the unwary traveler could easily lose their way, swallowed by the relentless whiteness and the unforgiving cold.
This was not a forest for the faint of heart. The few who dared to venture here were either desperate or foolish, for this was a land where death lurked behind every snowdrift. The ground beneath the snow was treacherous, hiding pitfalls and jagged rocks, waiting to ensnare the unwary. The trees themselves seemed to conspire against travelers, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands, ready to pull anyone who strayed too close into the shadows.
But the most fearsome danger was not the cold or the hidden traps—it was the men who called this forest their home. The Blood Serpent Gang, led by the ruthless Hei Wu, ruled these woods with an iron fist. They were a shadowy presence, watching from the cover of the trees, waiting for the right moment to strike. The knowledge of their presence added an extra layer of terror to the already foreboding landscape. Even the snow seemed to carry the stain of their bloodshed, a crimson tint visible to those who knew where to look.
Few dared to speak of the horrors that befell those who crossed the Blood Serpent Gang, for their deeds were whispered in hushed tones, as if uttering their name too loudly would summon them from the shadows. The forest, with its oppressive silence and its hidden dangers, was a place that seemed to belong more to the dead than the living—a place where the cold and the darkness reigned supreme, and where the faintest sound of movement could be your last.
The snow beneath Hei Wu's boots was stained with the deep red of blood, a stark contrast to the pristine white that blanketed the forest. The man, his leg pierced by an arrow, clutched at his wound, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. Beside him, his wife, visibly pregnant, lay on the ground, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her face was pale, both from the cold and the terror that gripped her heart.
The deputy of the Blood Serpent Gang, a man with eyes as cold as the surrounding snow, approached the couple with deliberate steps. His cruel smile widened as he crouched beside the man, who looked up at him with a mixture of fear and defiance.
"Running was a mistake," the deputy sneered, his voice low and mocking. "But it's too late for regrets now."
He motioned to one of the gang members, who handed him a jagged knife, the blade glinting in the dim light. Without a moment's hesitation, the deputy slashed the man's hand, causing him to scream in agony. The sound echoed through the forest, but there was no one to hear, no one to come to their aid.
"Please... please, spare her," the man begged, tears streaming down his face as he glanced at his wife, who was now sobbing quietly, clutching her swollen belly.
The deputy's cruel smile widened as he leaned closer to the man, his voice dripping with malice. "Spare her? Why would I do that?" He paused, his eyes narrowing as a thought seemed to cross his mind. "But perhaps I can do you a small favor... a final gift before you leave this world."
The man's breath hitched in his throat as the deputy moved closer to his wife, who was trembling with fear. "Since you're going to die anyway," the deputy continued, his voice smooth and cold, "why don't I tell you something important? Your wife... she's carrying a child, isn't she? How about I tell you the gender before you go?"
The woman's sobs turned into wails of despair as she shook her head, trying to shield her belly with her hands. The man's eyes widened in horror, his tears flowing freely as he tried to drag himself closer to her. "No... no, please, don't... don't do this..."
Ignoring his pleas, the deputy drew a jagged knife from his belt. "Let's take a look, shall we?" he said with a sinister grin, grabbing the woman by her arm and forcing her onto her back in the snow. Her screams filled the air as he began to slice through her clothes with the knife, the fabric tearing away to expose her bare skin to the biting cold.
The man thrashed against the snow, his voice breaking as he cried out his wife's name, biting his lips so hard that blood began to trickle down his chin. He could do nothing but watch, his body too weak and battered to move.
The deputy's knife glinted in the dim light as he brought it down on the woman's exposed belly, his movements precise and unhurried. The woman's screams grew louder, more frantic, as the blade cut deeper, until finally, the deputy reached into the wound and pulled out the blood-covered fetus .
Holding the tiny body up for the man to see, the deputy's smile widened. "Look, it's a girl. Congratulations, you're the father of a daughter," he said, his voice laced with mockery. The woman's cries faltered, her strength ebbing away as life slipped from her body. The man could only stare in horror, his mind shattered by the brutality of what he had just witnessed.
As the woman's body grew still, the man's world went black. His mind, unable to cope with the horror and loss, finally succumbed to the merciful void of unconsciousness. The deputy tossed the lifeless fetus aside, his laughter echoing through the frozen forest as he turned and left the couple to their grisly fate, the snow quickly covering the bloody scene as if eager to erase the memory of such unspeakable cruelty.
Hei Wu tossed the blood-soaked fetus onto the unconscious man's chest with a disdainful click of his tongue. "Tsk, tsk," he muttered, shaking his head as if disappointed. "Such a shame, really. I expected more of a fight."
Turning away from the gruesome scene, Hei Wu sauntered back to where the rest of the gang was finishing their work. The once peaceful, snow-covered forest had become a nightmarish landscape of death and violence. Blood stained the pristine white snow, and the air was filled with the sound of pained groans and cruel laughter.
The bandits moved among the bodies, looting the dead and dying without a hint of remorse. Some were ripping off jewelry and collecting valuables, while others were engaged in acts of unspeakable cruelty. A group of them had cornered a few young girls, their screams piercing the cold air as they tried in vain to escape the horrors inflicted upon them. The brutality of the scene was matched only by the sick enjoyment evident on the faces of their tormentors.
As Hei Wu approached the center of the chaos, a tall, imposing figure stepped out from the shadows—the leader of the Blood Serpent Gang, Zhang Shuren. His jet-black hair was matted and unruly, framing a face marred by two deep scars that ran across his cheeks like jagged lightning bolts. His left eye was completely white, the result of a wound that had long since healed, leaving him with a permanently haunted expression. Despite the disfigurement, there was an aura of lethal competence about him that commanded respect and fear in equal measure.
A massive sword, almost as tall as he was, rested across his back. The weapon's hilt jutted over his shoulder, its presence alone a testament to the man's overwhelming strength. His movements were fluid and purposeful, every step betraying the grace and power of a seasoned martial artist, one who had likely mastered the art of Ki materialization. The energy that radiated from him was palpable, a dangerous undercurrent that set him apart from the other bandits, marking him as someone who had long transcended the limits of ordinary men.
Zhang Shuren's scarred face split into a wide, predatory grin as he approached Hei Wu. "Looks like you had yourself a bit of fun, eh?" he drawled, his voice low and gravelly, laced with dark amusement.
Hei Wu chuckled, his cruel smile mirroring that of his leader. "Just a little. They were hardly a challenge," he replied, glancing back at the carnage with a look of satisfaction.
Zhang Shuren nodded approvingly, his white eye gleaming with a malevolent light. "Good. The weak don't deserve to survive in this world. Let the strong take what they will."
As he spoke, Zhang Shuren's gaze swept over his men, all of whom were equally brutal in their methods. They were more than just common bandits; they were warriors, each one of them skilled in the deadly arts, honed through countless battles. The power of Ki flowed through them, evident in their swift, precise movements and the cold, calculating efficiency with which they dispatched their victims.
The Blood Serpent Gang, now finished with their gruesome task, began the grim work of disposing of the bodies. With practiced efficiency, they dragged the lifeless forms through the snow, leaving a trail of crimson streaks across the pristine white landscape. At the edge of the clearing, they had dug a large pit in the ice, deep enough to conceal the horrors they had inflicted.
One by one, the bodies were thrown into the pit, the dull thuds of flesh hitting frozen ground echoing in the cold air. The bandits worked in silence, their faces expressionless as they discarded the remnants of their brutality. The snow, once pure and untouched, was now a chilling canvas of violence and death.
As the last body was thrown into the pit, Zhang Shuren stood at the edge, gazing down at the heap of corpses with a satisfied smirk. He turned to his men, who gathered around him, awaiting their next orders.
"There's a village not far from here," Zhang Shuren said, his voice carrying a dark promise. "A place where some of those who call themselves Murim warriors have chosen to hide. A group of wanderers who settled here, thinking they could escape the turmoil of Jianghu. Tonight, we'll show them just how foolish they were."
The men exchanged eager glances, their anticipation palpable. However, Hei Wu, always quick to weigh the odds, stepped forward, a flicker of caution in his eyes. "But, my lord," he began, his voice cautious, "should we not be wary? These are Murim warriors, after all. Even if they've chosen a life of peace, they might still pose a threat."
Zhang Shuren's eyes narrowed at the perceived slight, and in a flash, his hand shot out, striking Hei Wu across the face. The force of the blow sent the man stumbling back, his cheek instantly swelling from the impact.
"Who are we to fear these fools?" Zhang Shuren snarled, his voice a low growl. "They're nothing more than weaklings who ran from Jianghu and chose to live here, away from the real challenges of the mainland. Yes, this land is harsh, but it's a far better alternative than the chaos that reigns there now."
He spat on the ground, disgusted by the mere thought of those who had abandoned the struggle of Jianghu for a life of supposed peace. "They'll learn soon enough that there's no escape from the Blood Serpent Gang. We'll remind them that even here, in this frozen wilderness, the strong will always prevail."
The men roared in agreement, the bloodlust in their eyes evident. They were ready to strike, to bring their own brand of terror to the unsuspecting village. Zhang Shuren's confidence was unshakable, his belief in their superiority absolute. They were more than just bandits; they were the embodiment of the chaos that had driven these wanderers to seek refuge in the farthest corners of the land. And now, they would ensure that refuge was no longer safe.
With a final glance at the pit of bodies, Zhang Shuren turned away, leading his men through the snow toward their next target. The village, with its unsuspecting inhabitants, would soon feel the wrath of the Blood Serpent Gang.
****************************
In the forest near Fenghuang Village, a lone figure stood amidst the towering trees, his presence commanding a quiet reverence. This was Jun, a man whose appearance seemed almost otherworldly. Tall and strikingly handsome, his pale face was framed by long, smooth black hair that flowed down his back in a ponytail, reaching toward his thigh. His eyes, dark and deep, held a look of longing that no one could quite decipher. He was slender, but his body exuded a quiet strength, each muscle honed to perfection.
With powerful, fluid motions, Jun wielded a large axe, cutting through the thick trees as if they were made of paper. His grip on the axe was steady, his stance firm, and with each swing, the blade cleaved through the wood with a single, decisive strike. The tree groaned under the force of his blow before toppling to the ground with a mighty crash. Jun wasted no time, immediately setting to work chopping the fallen tree into smaller pieces, each strike as precise as the last. The wood splintered and cracked under his power, forming neat piles of firewood ready for use.
With the task complete, Jun effortlessly gathered the logs, hoisting them onto his shoulders as if they weighed nothing. His movements were graceful, almost as if he were gliding through the forest rather than trudging through the snow-laden ground. The weight of the wood did not seem to burden him, his steps were sure and light as he made his way back to the village.
As Jun walked, his thoughts wandered, though they were often more like empty echoes than true reflections. Since he had emerged from the Realm of Death the first time, he had felt... lost. His emotions, once a vivid spectrum, had faded into dull shades of grey. His sense of purpose, his very compass in life, had been stripped away, leaving him adrift in a world that no longer made sense to him. The first thing he remembered upon emerging from that dark place was the sight of the great deer that had guided him to Mantra. He had followed it, like water follows the will of its master, unable to do anything else.
The second time he returned from the Realm of Death, it was no different. He had faced death countless times, each experience eroding his capacity to feel anything at all. Even the death of his own family no longer stirred sorrow or fear within him. His emotions had been severed, leaving him as little more than a shell of a man. After his most recent escape from that cold embrace, he had wandered the forest aimlessly, naked and detached from the world, until he encountered a family—father, mother, and two children—on their way to the village to open a small restaurant.
They had taken him in, offering food and shelter without question, treating him as one of their own. The young boy often called him 'brother,' and the girl, though shy, would sometimes look at him with a quiet admiration, especially when she saw his bare chest as he worked. But despite their kindness, Jun felt nothing. His heart, once capable of great feeling, was now as cold and unyielding as the snow beneath his feet.
The father of the family had died of fever a year ago, yet Jun had remained with them, helping in the tavern they managed, meeting travelers, and interacting with many who passed through the village. But still, he was lost, unable to rekindle the spark of life within him.
As he neared the village, the familiar sounds and smells began to reach him, but they brought no comfort, no sense of belonging. They were just reminders of a world that had moved on without him, leaving him to wander its peripheries, a ghost in a land of the living.
Jun returned to the small restaurant, his arms full of the neatly chopped firewood. As he stepped into the kitchen, the warmth of the hearth and the comforting smells of cooking greeted him. He carefully placed the firewood near the stove, then set about lighting the fire in the oven with practiced ease. The flames caught quickly, and soon the soft crackle of burning wood filled the room.
The mother, a kind woman with gentle eyes, glanced up from her work preparing vegetables. "Thank you, Jun. We were running low on wood," she said with a warm smile.
Jun nodded in response, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever. "It's no trouble," he replied softly, his voice carrying a tone of quiet detachment.
The young boy, energetic and always full of questions, darted around the kitchen, occasionally pausing to watch Jun with wide eyes. "Brother Jun, are you going to help serve today?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes, I am," Jun answered, giving the boy a rare, faint smile that caused the child to beam with happiness.
The girl, on the other hand, remained quiet, her eyes lingering on Jun as he worked. She admired the way he moved—so strong and graceful, yet so distant. There was a certain sadness in his eyes that drew her in, even though she knew better than to pry. Whenever Jun was around, she found herself blushing slightly, unable to tear her gaze away from him. She had seen many travelers pass through their tavern, but none were like Jun.
As the fire in the oven blazed to life, Jun helped the mother with some of the kitchen tasks. The family worked in harmony, with the mother cooking, the children assisting, and Jun moving silently between them, doing whatever was needed without being asked. The girl's glances became more frequent, and every now and then, their eyes would meet, causing her to quickly look away, her cheeks flushing.
"Jun," the mother called, handing him a steaming bowl of ramyeon, "can you take this to old man Sun? He's at his usual spot."
Jun took the bowl and nodded. "Of course." He then retrieved a bottle of the old man's favorite rice wine from the shelf, tucking it under his arm before heading out to the dining area.
Old man Sun was seated in his usual corner, his back straight despite his age. Though his face bore the lines of many years, his eyes were still sharp, and his posture was remarkably upright for someone his age. When Jun approached, the old man grinned widely, showing a set of surprisingly strong teeth.
"Ah, Jun! Right on time, as always," old man Sun said with a chuckle. "You're like a clock, I swear. If you ever missed a day, I'd think the sun had forgotten to rise."
Jun placed the bowl of ramyeon in front of the old man, along with the bottle of rice wine. "I wouldn't want to disappoint you, Grandpa Sun," Jun replied, using the affectionate nickname the children had given the old man.
Sun laughed heartily, a deep, genuine sound. "Disappoint? You? Never! Now, how about you join an old man for a drink? This wine always tastes better with company."
Jun shook his head gently, though there was a trace of warmth in his eyes. "Maybe another time, Grandpa. But I'll keep you company while you eat."
Sun took a deep swig from the bottle, letting out a satisfied sigh as he set it down. "You know, Jun, you're too serious for your own good. You should smile more—like that young lady over there. She smiles every time you walk by," he teased, glancing toward the girl, who immediately blushed and pretended to be busy.
Jun merely shrugged, unbothered by the old man's teasing. "I'll try to remember that, Grandpa," he said, his voice as calm as ever.
Sun grinned, his old eyes twinkling. "You do that, boy. Now, go on before I start telling you stories from my youth. You've heard them all before, anyway."
Jun gave a respectful nod and left the old man to enjoy his meal. As he moved through the restaurant, he noticed one of the monks who had recently arrived in the village sitting quietly at a table by the window. The monk was dressed in simple robes, his head shaved, and a peaceful aura surrounded him.
Jun approached the monk with another bowl of ramyeon, setting it down in front of him. "Here you go, brother. It's fresh from the kitchen," Jun said, his tone respectful.
The monk looked up, his serene expression unchanging. "Thank you, Jun. You've been very kind to us since we arrived," the monk said, his voice calm and measured.
"It's nothing," Jun replied. "I'm just doing what I can to help."
The monk studied Jun for a moment, as if sensing something deeper beneath his calm exterior. "You carry a heavy burden, don't you? It's rare to see someone as young as you with such deep eyes."
Jun paused, not sure how to respond. "I suppose I've seen things that others haven't."
The monk nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. "The world is full of suffering, but it's also full of beauty. Even in the darkest places, there is light to be found. Perhaps you have yet to find yours."
Jun remained silent, unsure if he could ever truly feel anything again. "Maybe," he said quietly, "but for now, I'm content to do what I can for those around me."
The monk smiled, a gentle expression that held no judgment. "That's enough, for now. But remember, Jun, the heart has a way of finding its path, even when we think it's lost."
Jun nodded, though he wasn't sure he believed it. "Thank you," he said, before turning to leave the monk to his meal.
un returned to the kitchen, his mind still lingering on the monk's words. As he placed the empty dishes on the counter, the young girl, who had been glancing at him throughout the morning, finally gathered the courage to speak.
"You've been working hard today, Jun," she said, her voice soft yet filled with a warm admiration. "Thank you for helping us so much."
Jun looked at her, noticing the way her eyes sparkled with genuine affection. "It's nothing," he replied simply, though there was a faint hint of a smile on his lips. "I'm just doing what I can."
The girl blushed, feeling her heart flutter at the rare sight of his smile. "Still, we appreciate it. I... I appreciate it."
Before Jun could respond, a sudden noise erupted from outside—loud, chaotic, and growing closer by the second. The girl's expression changed from shy admiration to one of concern, as did Jun's. The sounds of heavy footsteps, rowdy laughter, and shouted commands filled the air, and the atmosphere inside the restaurant grew tense.
Jun's eyes narrowed as he heard the unmistakable thud of boots approaching the door. Just as he moved to step forward, the door was violently kicked open, splintering under the force of the blow. The impact sent shards of wood flying into the room as a group of rough-looking men stormed inside, led by a towering figure whose mere presence seemed to suck the air from the room.
The leader of the intruders was an imposing man, his jet-black hair matted and unruly, framing a face marred by two deep, jagged scars that ran across his cheeks. His left eye was completely white, the result of a long-healed wound that gave him a permanently haunted and menacing appearance. Slung across his back was a massive sword, its hilt jutting over his shoulder, a clear sign of the immense strength needed to wield such a weapon.
With a sneer, he scanned the room, his gaze landing on Jun and the girl. "Well, well, what do we have here?" he drawled, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with dark amusement. He took a step forward, his boots crunching over the shattered remains of the door. "I was starting to get bored. It looks like this place might have a bit of life in it after all."