The road stretched endlessly before him, a narrow, uneven path veiled in the darkness that matched his unseeing eyes. Liang Zhen walked alone, his steps heavy with uncertainty, but his resolve unyielding. In his hand, he clutched the wooden stick that had guided him through the treacherous terrain of his life, his sole crutch in a world he could not see.
But today, he had had enough.
Standing at the edge of the road, Liang Zhen threw the stick aside with a sharp motion. The sound of it landing in the dirt echoed faintly before being swallowed by the quiet wilderness. He stood still, breathing heavily, his expression blank but determined.
"I won't rely on it anymore," he murmured to himself. His voice was hoarse from days of silence.
And so, he walked.
He stumbled almost immediately, his foot catching on a jagged stone. He fell hard, his hands scraping against the rough ground. Pain shot through his palms, but he gritted his teeth and pushed himself up.
One step. Two steps. A root snagged his foot, and he fell again.
He got up.
The pattern repeated—walking, stumbling, falling, and rising again. His body grew weary, his breaths labored, but he never stopped. He walked blindly into the unknown, his hands occasionally reaching out to feel the road ahead, but more often than not, he trusted his instincts—or perhaps his desperation.
The days blurred together. The sun rose and set, but Liang Zhen had no way of knowing. He couldn't see the light or feel its warmth; all he knew was the cold, the hard ground beneath his feet, and the emptiness in his heart.
By the third day, his steps were slower, his body trembling from hunger and exhaustion. His clothes were torn from falls, and dried blood stained his hands and knees. But he kept walking, driven by something he couldn't name—a stubborn refusal to stop, a need to escape the pain that had followed him his entire life.
He didn't know where he was going. He didn't know if he even had a destination.
By the tenth day, Liang Zhen's body was on the brink of collapse. His muscles screamed for rest, his throat burned with thirst, and his stomach clenched with hunger. Yet he pressed on. His unseeing eyes stared ahead, unblinking, as if he could pierce through the darkness surrounding him.
And then, he heard it—a sound that broke through the monotonous silence of his journey.
It was faint at first, a distant echo of cries and growls. As he walked closer, the sounds grew louder and more distinct—the snarls of wild beasts, the shrieks of prey caught in the jaws of predators.
Liang Zhen stopped, his body swaying as exhaustion threatened to pull him to the ground. He tilted his head, listening intently. The cries were chaotic and primal, a cacophony of life and death.
The wilderness. He had reached a place where men did not tread—a place ruled by nature's raw, untamed ferocity.
A small, bitter smile tugged at his lips. "Even here... I don't belong," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the wild.
The wind carried the scent of damp earth and blood, a sharp contrast to the stale air he had been breathing. He stood still, his mind racing as he considered his next move. He was weak, defenseless, and utterly lost. Yet, something about the cries stirred a flicker of resolve deep within him.
If the world rejected him, then perhaps the wilderness would be his final trial—a place where survival was the only measure of worth.
Taking a deep breath, Liang Zhen took a step forward, his feet sinking into the soft soil. The cries grew louder, the presence of life and danger becoming tangible.
He walked toward the chaos, his heart steady, his mind clear. Whatever awaited him, it could not be worse than the emptiness he had left behind.
Eventually, his steps led him to the mouth of a dark cave. The air within was cool and damp, carrying an odd metallic tang that set his senses on edge. He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, his hands brushing against the rough stone walls as he felt his way forward.