"Fang Yuan, hand over the Spring Autumn Cicada willingly, and I'll grant you a quick end!"
"Demon, cease your futile resistance. Today, the righteous sects have united to crush your den of evil. A net of heaven and earth has been laid here; your doom is certain."
"Fang Yuan, you cursed demon, for the sake of cultivating the Spring Autumn Cicada, you have slaughtered millions. You've committed sins so grave they cannot be fully recorded, beyond any redemption."
"Demon, three hundred years ago, you raped me, slaughtered my family, and exterminated my clan. Since then, I've yearned to devour your flesh and drink your blood! Today, I will make you wish for death!"
...
Fang Yuan stood amidst the carnage, his green robe tattered, hair disheveled, and body soaked in blood, surveying his surroundings.The mountain breeze made his blood-soaked robe flutter like a battle flag.Blood oozed from hundreds of wounds on his body, quickly pooling at his feet.
Surrounded by enemies, he was left with no path to life.The situation was set; death was inevitable today.Fang Yuan understood the situation clearly, yet faced death with an unchanged expression and calm demeanor.His gaze was deep and unfathomable, as always.
The righteous heroes encircling him included revered elders of major sects and renowned young talents. They surrounded Fang Yuan tightly, some yelling, some sneering, some warily narrowing their eyes, and some fearfully clutching their wounds, not daring to make a move, wary of Fang Yuan's desperate counterattack.
Thus, a tense standoff continued for three hours until the setting sun ignited the evening sky with a blaze of color.
Fang Yuan, who had been as still as a statue, slowly turned around.
The crowd stirred, instinctively stepping back.
Beneath Fang Yuan, the once grey stones were now stained dark red with blood. His face, pale from blood loss, was illuminated by the setting sun, adding a transient glow to his visage.
Gazing at the mountains and sunset, Fang Yuan softly said, "Mountains at sunset, the autumn breeze in spring. Indeed, as youth turns to snow in the evening, all disputes and achievements come to naught."
As he spoke, memories of Earth and his life there as a student in China flashed before him.
He had been a student on Earth before being transported to this world by a twist of fate. After three hundred tumultuous years, despite over two centuries of strife, the fleeting centuries felt like a mere blink of an eye.
Memories buried deep in his heart vividly came to life at this moment.
"Ultimately, I've failed," Fang Yuan sighed internally, feeling a mix of emotions but no regret.
He had foreseen this outcome. When he chose this path, he was prepared.
The way of the demon is to eschew good deeds, to kill and set fires. Rejected by the world, enemies of the world, yet living a life of unbridled freedom.
"If only the newly cultivated Spring Autumn Cicada were effective, in the next life, I would still choose to be a demon!" With that thought, Fang Yuan couldn't help but laugh out loud.
"What are you laughing at, demon?"
"Be careful, everyone! The demon seeks to lash out in his final moments!"
"Hand over the Spring Autumn Cicada quickly!"
As the righteous forces pressed in, at that moment, Fang Yuan chose to self-destruct with a loud bang.
...
Spring rain quietly nourished Qingmao(green bamboo) Mountain.
The night deepened, with a cool breeze mingling with the fine rain.
Yet, Qingmao Mountain was not engulfed in darkness; from the waist of the mountain to its foot, many tiny lights twinkled like a splendid band of light.
These lights came from high stilted buildings, not enough to light up the entire mountain, but sufficient to mark the presence of thousands.
This was the Guyue (Ancient Moon) Clan Fort, nestled on Qingmao Mountain, adding a rich, human warmth to the serene mountain range.
At the heart of the Guyue Clan Fort, a grand ceremony was being held in a majestic hall, brightly lit and resplendent.
"May our ancestors bless us, that this Awakening Ceremony might bring forth youths of excellent talent, injecting new blood and hope into our clan," prayed the middle-aged Clan Chief of the Guyue Clan, his temples touched by frost, dressed in a solemn white ceremonial robe, kneeling on the brown floor with his back straight, hands pressed together, eyes closed in earnest prayer.
Before him, a high black lacquer table held the ancestral tablets on three levels, flanked by copper incense burners from which smoke wafted gently.
Behind him, more than a dozen people, clad in broad white ceremonial robes, knelt in silence. They were the Jialao(clan elders,a position) and decision-makers, holding various powers within the clan.
After a moment of prayer, the Clan Chief led by bowing deeply, spreading his hands flat on the floor, forehead touching the ground in a kowtow, the soft thuds echoing quietly.
The jialao behind him, faces solemn, followed suit in silence.
For a while, the ancestral hall was filled with the sound of foreheads gently tapping the floor.