"Alright, let's get this over with."
"All of this is trash."
"Ugh... I hate this, picking up dead bodies like this."
The loud voices of men were the only sounds breaking the silence of the battlefield. There was no one left standing, no one breathing, no one smiling—only pain, discomfort, resentment, hatred, and most importantly, regret. The fresh scent of blood filled the air, putting even the foulest odors known to mankind to shame.
Most of the men's eyes weren't even closed, indicating their fear and shock at the moment of death. Their eyes seemed to scream, "ARE WE ACTUALLY GOING TO DIE LIKE THIS?" Some had their eyes closed, showing that they had accepted their fate.
A boy stood in front of one of those men who had closed his eyes. His skin was pale. His eyes were black, just like his hair, which had grown down to his chest. His gaze deepened as he looked at the body. He could see that the man had been brutally killed. He cupped the man's face and gently closed his eyes, sensing the final moments of his death. In his mind, he could visualize the horror, the pain. He saw the man being beaten with sticks set aflame, swords slicing his limbs, his left eye gouged out, his waist stabbed multiple times. The man had fought against three or four masters—he couldn't be sure which ones—but it had been a brutal death. He opened his eyes, but the scene remained unchanged. This man had accepted death a long time ago.
The boy stood up from his knees and looked down at the body before moving on to inspect others. Suddenly, something caught his eye. The dead man had a smile. Though he knew the man was dead, that smile puzzled him. "Who is he?" the boy murmured to himself before leaving to examine other corpses.
He stepped over the bodies of men who had died with their eyes wide open in shock, horror, fear, and regret, focusing instead on those who had died with closed eyes. There were many of them, but none like the last one.
His curiosity grew. He jumped over bodies, stepping on them, running across them, just to return to that same body. He looked again at the man, fixating on the smile.
"Oh, my... Lei Wei, even... he..." said a man.
The boy was caught off guard. He turned to see a man holding a sword. Calmly, he asked, "Lei Wei? Do you—?" but before he could finish, the man fell to his knees, bowing in respect to the fallen warrior. The boy looked down at him and asked, "Who is Lei Wei?"
The man, still kneeling, looked up and asked, "Why do you want to know?"
"I want to know... because he is different," said the boy, turning back to the body.
The man looked at the body and frowned, sighing at the sight of Lei Wei.
"Lei Wei was a husband, a father, a warrior, but most importantly, he was a man of pride. But not for selfish reasons—after all, he was the strongest among us. At the moment of his death, he didn't let himself down and fought for the village," the man explained.
The boy looked at the man, then at the body.
"Pathetic," he said as he stood up straight.
The man's expression turned to one of anger and concern. He stood, facing the boy with a stern look. "What did you just say?"
"Pathetic... his pride? His sacrifice? Love? He died with regrets," the boy said coldly.
The man's hand went to the handle of his sword. "Choose your next words carefully, kid. You don't know what it's like to be us."
The boy glanced back at the corpse. He could see something—how the man's face was partially covered by hair, the smile only visible from a certain angle.
"Okay..." the boy said, turning and leaving the scene, leaving the man and the body behind.
The man signaled a group of others to bring a cart and carefully lifted Lei Wei's body onto it. As he laid the body down, he noticed something strange: the line of Lei Wei's lips. One side of his face was smiling, but what about the other, which was hidden beneath his hair?
His curiosity grew. He used his fingers to move the hair away from the right side, revealing a line that curved downwards. "The left side is smiling, and the right side isn't. What...?" he thought, his eyes falling to Lei Wei's face. His left eye was missing, but the right eye remained, holding a hint of regret.
Xiang Village, Eastern Hillside...
On the hill stood a small house made of bamboo, with a single bathroom, a kitchen, a bedroom, and darkness. The house's lone inhabitant was the child, who called himself "No Love" or "Meiyou Ai." Meiyou walked towards the hill, gazing down at the lights of Xiang Village, then turning back to see none in his own home. But to him, it didn't matter—light or darkness, they were the same.
He looked up at the two moons of his world. His eyes reflected their glow. Those moons had their own story, a story of love.
He sighed, turned his gaze back to the village, and murmured, "The village is bright, the moon is shining, the battlefield is cold... Everyone is celebrating because the war between Xiang and the Ai village has been won. But I see, village head, I see it in the survivors' eyes—their regrets. This feast of yours, which you will hold every year, is just a pat on the back, telling them they're heroes."
Meiyou's eyes widened with anger, his fists clenching, his eyes burning with rage.
"Happy? Because there are fewer survivors? Fewer mouths to feed?"
He sighed again and slowly unclenched his hands, looking back down at the village. He murmured again,
"The sun rises in the East,
Sets in the West,
Spring nourishes nature,
Winter brings it to death.
Like all things,
They meet their end.
Looking back—pride, ego—
There is nothing left."
Meiyou stood there in silence before returning to his house.
Xiang Village, Central Hall...
The Village Head, Ian Xiang, gazed out over the village. His red robes, adorned with a green flame pattern, fluttered in the wind. His gray hair followed the movement of his robes. His tall figure stood steady and calm, his aged face focused on the village below. His eyes narrowed as he watched the people celebrate. He sighed, his gaze drifting to the silent house—the house of Meiyou. A shiver of discomfort ran down his spine.
"That child... Meiyou," he murmured. He knew where the boy had been during the celebration. But he wondered, "Why focus on the negative when there is so much good around?"
Ian's eyes returned to the village. A cold breeze shifted his beard slightly, and he smiled, enjoying the chill. He took a deep breath before fixing his eyes back on the village.
"Let's focus on the brighter side," he said.
This version maintains the original atmosphere and storytelling but with improved grammar and clarity for a smoother reading experience.