As the wind whistled through the towering trees of the Primordial Beast Forest, the last trace of Yan Zi's figure disappeared into the abyss. One of the men, his voice low and devoid of any sympathy, broke the silence. "He's gone for good now. Just like his father who jumped from the abyss last time . There's no chance of survival after jumping from this height."
The group of men stood together, watching the distant horizon where Yan Zi had disappeared. For them, this wasn't just the death of a person; it was the end of a nuisance. They had seen it as inevitable. Father and son, both cast out and both gone, swallowed by the same abyss. They had no more use for such weaklings.
The leader of the group, a tall man with a sinister smile, spoke again, his words deliberate. "Let's head back to the clan. Elder Gong will want to know that his plan has succeeded. The boy is dead—just as we promised."
Without a word, the group of black-robed men turned and began to leave, their footsteps almost silent on the forest floor. The mood was eerily calm, the only sounds being their cloaks rustling in the wind and the distant calls of strange beasts in the forest. They were content. The task was complete, and there was nothing left to do but report back to Elder Gong.
After some time, they reached the gates of the Yan Clan. Elder Gong was waiting for them, standing tall and rigid, his expression unreadable but expectant. When he saw the men approach, his eyes flickered for a moment with something like impatience. "Did you finish the task?" he asked, his voice soft but carrying a chilling weight.
One of the men stepped forward, bowing slightly before responding. "Yes, Elder Gong. It's done. The boy jumped into the abyss just like his father did. There's no way he could have survived such a fall. He's dead."
The other men nodded, their faces blank, but their eyes gleamed with a dark satisfaction.
A slow, cruel smile spread across Elder Gong's face, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement. "Both father and son... they share the same fate. What a fitting end," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "They always had it coming."
The men chuckled, but the laughter seemed to carry an unsettling edge. They were pleased with themselves, but there was no joy in their expressions—only a grim satisfaction that they had rid themselves of a problem. Elder Gong's smile deepened, but it was the kind of smile one might wear when looking at something utterly beneath them. "Good," he said, his voice still filled with that cold mirth. "Now that it's done, we don't have to worry about him any longer."
The men began to disperse, their task complete. Yet, even as they walked away, a sense of emptiness lingered in the air. It was as though their actions, though final, had no true meaning. Yan Zi was dead, but they knew his death would never bring them the peace they so desperately sought.
Elder Gong stood silently for a long moment, his mind racing with calculations and the aftermath of his actions. He had rid the clan of a troublesome outcast. And yet, as the wind whispered through the trees, there was an unsettling sense that something had been lost—something he had not fully anticipated.
"Both father and son," he muttered under his breath. "The bloodline was always cursed."
Behind a tree, Yan Ru stood frozen, her body trembling. Her heart felt as though it had been ripped from her chest. She had heard the men laughing as they spoke about Yan Zi—her friend, the one person who had always stood by her, who had shared her pain, and who had always understood her. And now, those men were speaking of him in the most detached, casual way possible.
"Yan Zi... dead?" The words hung in the air, cruel and suffocating. She felt as if the earth beneath her had just crumbled away, leaving her with nothing but an endless void.
Her mind raced to make sense of it, but there was no rationalizing this. No way to escape it. Slowly, she whispered to herself, as if trying to deny it, "No... this can't be true... it can't be..." But the more she repeated it, the more it gnawed at her, a bitter truth that she couldn't ignore.
Her chest tightened, and before she knew it, her breath hitched. She fought desperately to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall, but they spilled over regardless, hot and relentless. Yan Zi, how could they? The warmth of their friendship, their shared moments—gone.
In her heart, a deep emptiness settled in. It was as if the ground had shifted beneath her, leaving her with no footing. Yan Zi was gone. The boy who had been nothing but kind to her. And now, he was gone, thrown into the abyss like his father before him.
Her fists clenched at her sides as the weight of the words slammed into her chest again and again. He's dead. He's gone... She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, only feel. Rage and sorrow collided within her, and she felt the heat of her fury rise in her chest, choking her. How could they do this to him? To her?
How could they kill him so coldly?
Without a second thought, she spun on her heel and ran, her feet pounding against the earth, carrying her to the one person who could possibly explain this madness. She wasn't sure if she was running toward answers or if she was running away from the overwhelming grief that threatened to consume her. All she knew was that she couldn't stand there anymore—she had to do something.
The wind whipped against her face as she sprinted through the halls, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. It felt like an eternity before she reached Elder Yan Gaung's chamber. The doors slammed open with a force she hadn't intended, but she didn't care. She was beyond caring.
"Father!" she cried, her voice trembling but strong with determination. "Father, they... they killed him! Yan Zi is dead! I heard the black-robed men... they said he jumped into the abyss, like his father did... He's gone, father, they—" Her words stumbled over each other as she tried to make sense of the horror.
Elder Yan Gaung didn't react immediately. He stood there, his face unreadable, as if the news meant little to him. His cold eyes met hers, but there was no trace of sorrow, no trace of regret.
"Yes," he said after a long pause, his voice oddly detached, as if he had been expecting this. "It's done. He was a nuisance. His death was inevitable. It's his fate." His words came out slow, calculated, as if he were speaking of a minor inconvenience.
Yan Ru's heart sank lower than she thought possible. What was he saying? His words didn't make sense. Was this the father who had raised her? The man she had believed in, the one she had looked up to for so long? The man who had told her time and time again to keep moving forward, to be strong? And now, this... this apathy?
"He was nothing but trash," Elder Gaung continued, his voice growing colder. "It doesn't matter. His death changes nothing. You don't need to concern yourself with it." He waved a hand dismissively as if Yan Zi's life had been a mere inconvenience.
The words hit her like a slap. Trash? Yan Zi was never trash. He was a person, a soul with dreams and hopes, just like her. He wasn't some insignificant thing to be discarded.
Yan Ru felt a rush of heat in her chest, a burning anger that flared in her gut. She was trembling now, not from fear, but from the torrent of emotions she couldn't control. Her fists tightened at her sides, her nails digging into her palms until they drew blood. She wanted to shout, to scream at her father, to make him feel something—anything! But the words stuck in her throat. What was the point?
What was the point?
He was dead. The truth was cold and final, and nothing she could say would bring him back. Yan Zi was gone, and so was any chance of redemption for her.
"Forget about him," Elder Gaung said, his voice hard and final. "Focus on your cultivation. You've risen far already. Without him, you have no obstacles left in your way."
Yan Ru's chest tightened as his words washed over her. She couldn't understand. Couldn't process how easily he dismissed someone who had meant so much to her.
Her gaze turned toward the ground, her face pale, her thoughts scattered. She wanted to say something—to argue, to protest—but she couldn't bring herself to. What was the point? What good would it do? Her father's heart had turned as cold as stone, and there was no room for her sorrow, her grief, in that frozen place.
"I..." She opened her mouth to say something, but the words stuck. What could she say? The man who had been her father was gone, and in his place stood someone who couldn't even comprehend her pain. With a shaky breath, she turned away, her body moving without thinking. She needed to leave. She needed to be alone.
But before she could take a step, Elder Gaung's voice called after her. "Yan Ru! Where are you going?"
She didn't respond. She didn't look back. She didn't acknowledge him. The coldness that had settled in her heart was like a wall, thick and unyielding. She walked away without another word, her feet carrying her toward her chamber.
Once there, she slammed the door behind her with a force that reverberated through the stone walls. The sound of it echoed in her ears, a painful reminder of how utterly alone she felt. She crumpled to the floor, her body shaking as the grief finally took over. She wanted to scream, to cry, to break down completely, but even that felt foreign to her now. There was no one left to hear her. No one who would care.
Her heart felt hollow, a vast emptiness spreading through her chest. Yan Zi was gone, and now, so was any trace of warmth inside her. The world around her had become an unfeeling, indifferent place. She closed her eyes, and for the first time, she allowed herself to feel the weight of her loss, the unbearable weight of a future that now seemed meaningless.
The door to her heart had closed, and with it, any hope that had once burned within her. She was no longer the hopeful, determined girl who once believed in the power of friendship and love. Now, she was something else. Something cold. Something alone.