Yang Feng stood still for a moment, gazing up at his father with a mixture of emotions swirling within him. Bai Feng's eyes, dark and deep as a stormy sea, locked onto his own, and for a brief moment, an unspoken understanding seemed to pass between them. There was no warmth in his father's gaze, but neither was there coldness. It was something else—something harder to define, an intensity that stirred unease in Yang Feng's chest.
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating like a heavy fog. Yang Feng's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white. His heartbeat quickened as he waited, expecting his father to say something—anything—that would break the tension.
Then, Bai Feng spoke.
"Come up."
His voice was calm, steady, but there was an underlying weight to it, like the low rumble of thunder before a storm. Yang Feng hesitated for a brief second, then nodded wordlessly. He turned toward the path leading up the small hill to their home, his heart pounding in his chest. His father had never been one for long conversations or explanations, but this... this was different. There was a shift in the air, a feeling that something important—something monumental—was about to be revealed.
As Yang Feng began his ascent, the jagged stones beneath his feet crunched with each step. The climb wasn't steep, but the air felt heavier than usual, as if the mountain itself was pressing down on him. His mind, however, was elsewhere, swirling with questions he didn't yet have answers to.
What was Bai Feng hiding?
Was he really just a woodcutter who lived in isolation, or was there something more to him?
Yang Feng had sensed qi from his father, a power that should have been impossible for a mere villager in the lower realm. Yet, Bai Feng had made no mention of it, had never even hinted at having any sort of cultivation. And then there was the axe—the way it flew down the mountain, landing with such precision and force that it had frightened off a creature as powerful as Xiao Zhan's mother. No ordinary man could wield such a weapon.
Yang Feng clenched his fists tighter as these thoughts gnawed at him, each one more disturbing than the last.
But then his mind shifted, unbidden, to another question—one that had haunted him for as long as he could remember.
Where was his mother?
The thought hit him like a gust of cold wind, chilling him to the core. In all his years living with Bai Feng, his father had never once mentioned her. Not a word, not even a whisper. It was as if she had never existed. But Yang Feng knew she had to—he wasn't born from thin air. Yet, whenever he asked himself about her, a strange emptiness would settle over him, like a fog clouding his memories.
Had she died when he was young? Or worse—had his father killed her?
Yang Feng shook his head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts that crept into his mind like venomous snakes. No, it couldn't be. His father may have been distant, cold even, but he wasn't a murderer. Was he?
The doubts began to swirl around him, growing stronger with every step he took up the mountain. His pace slowed as the questions multiplied, overwhelming his thoughts.
Had his mother left him?
Did she abandon him because she didn't want him?
That thought stung more than anything else. The idea that his mother, whoever she was, had simply walked away from him, left him to fend for himself in this harsh world, was almost too much to bear. And yet, it was a possibility that gnawed at him, like a splinter lodged deep in his heart.
Yang Feng's gaze fell to the ground as he climbed, the rough stones beneath his feet seeming sharper, more treacherous. His brain wrestled with his heart, the two locked in a fierce battle.
His brain, cold and logical, presented the facts: Bai Feng was a man shrouded in mystery, hiding his true power. He was likely a threat, a danger lurking in the shadows. There was no telling what he was capable of or what secrets he was keeping.
But his heart, full of emotions and memories, denied it. Bai Feng was his father. He had raised Yang Feng, provided for him, albeit in his own gruff and silent way. He had taught him to survive, had protected him when no one else would. His heart told him that Bai Feng was just a broken man, a father struggling with his own demons, not a monster.
Yet, the questions refused to stop.
Was Bai Feng truly a good man? Or was he something darker, something Yang Feng had yet to discover?
The internal battle raged on, and as if to emphasize the conflict within him, two small figures seemed to appear over his head—an illusion, but a vivid one nonetheless. On his right, a small angel-like creature with delicate wings and a glowing halo floated, its tiny voice whispering words of comfort and reassurance. It argued for Bai Feng's goodness, insisting that he was simply a man burdened by sorrow, that he loved Yang Feng in his own way.
But on his left, a devilish creature hovered, its eyes gleaming with malice. It sneered, pointing a clawed finger at Bai Feng, accusing him of being a threat, a danger. It whispered dark thoughts into Yang Feng's mind, fueling his doubts. Bai Feng was hiding something. He was not to be trusted. He was dangerous.
Yang Feng shook his head again, trying to clear the images from his mind, but the doubts remained, clinging to him like shadows. As he continued his climb, he found himself lost in thought, barely noticing the sharp rocks beneath his feet or the cool mountain air that brushed against his skin.
The path was growing steeper now, the incline forcing him to slow his pace. He glanced up at the small house, its wooden structure standing against the backdrop of the mountain, looking as humble and unassuming as ever. But now, it seemed different—there was something hidden beneath its weathered exterior, something waiting to be uncovered.
With each step, Yang Feng's mind raced with questions, his thoughts swirling in an endless loop. His heart fought to maintain its belief in his father's goodness, but his brain continued to present the cold, hard facts. Bai Feng was hiding something, and until Yang Feng knew the truth, he couldn't rest easy.
The angelic and devilish figures continued their silent battle over his head, each one arguing its case, but Yang Feng tuned them out, focusing instead on the heavy weight that had settled in his chest. He had to know the truth. He had to understand who his father really was.
As he neared the top of the hill, his gaze fell to the jagged stones beneath him. The sharp edges of the rocks seemed to mirror the thoughts in his mind—rough, uneven, dangerous. His footsteps slowed as he reached the final stretch, his heart pounding with anticipation.
"Who are you really, Father?" Yang Feng whispered to himself, the question hanging in the air like a heavy cloud.
He took a deep breath and looked up at the small house ahead, the final steps of his journey stretching out before him. Whatever answers awaited him, he knew that they would change everything.
And as he continued his climb, the weight of those answers pressed down on him, even heavier than before.