The village was quiet, too quiet. Mo An Jing crouched in the shadows of the wooden stilt house, her small hands clutching a worn cloth doll, its stuffing spilling from a seam. The scent of damp earth mingled with the faint tang of blood in the air. Shadows danced in the flickering lantern light as her father, Mo Yun, stood at the threshold, his body tense, shielding the family from the figure outside.
The yaogui was unlike the whispered horrors she'd imagined. It had a twisted beauty-a gaunt face with high cheekbones, glowing crimson eyes, and hair that rippled like black smoke. Its presence radiated hunger, an ache so profound it made her stomach knot.
"Stay back," her father growled, his voice firm despite the quiver in his hands as he gripped an old farming scythe. The yaogui tilted its head, an amused smile curling its lips.
"Your blood sings, human," it murmured, its voice a haunting melody that made An Jing's ears ring. "You cannot hide it. Your essence is potent-untouched. You will feed me well."
Her mother, Mei Lian, crouched behind her father, trembling but resolute. She turned her face toward An Jing, her eyes wide with silent warning: Don't move. Don't make a sound.
The yaogui lunged with inhuman speed. Her father swung the scythe, but the blade barely grazed its shadowy form. The creature's hand shot out, claws piercing her father's chest. He gasped, the sound wet and choked, as the yaogui began its gruesome work.
An Jing froze as an unearthly light began to leak from her father's body, tendrils of silvery-blue essence spiraling toward the yaogui's open mouth. His jing (精)-the life force that gave humans their vitality and spirit-was being drained. His eyes dulled, his limbs slackened, and his face hollowed until only a lifeless husk remained.
"No!" Mei Lian's scream shattered the night. She rushed forward with a kitchen knife, plunging it into the yaogui's side. The blade stuck, but the creature barely flinched. Instead, it tossed her father's empty shell aside like a broken toy.
"Foolish woman," it hissed, yanking the knife from its side and tossing it away. Yet, it didn't attack her. Instead, it vanished into the night, leaving the family to their grief.
Hours passed. The lifeless form of her father lay on the cold earth, his eyes staring into nothingness. Mei Lian, her hands shaking, sat beside his body. An Jing stood at a distance, her small frame trembling as tears streamed down her cheeks.
"An Jing," her mother whispered, her voice hoarse. "Close your eyes."
"What are you doing, Mama?"
"Close them." Mei Lian's voice cracked. "I won't let him stay like this. He deserves mercy."
An Jing watched in silent horror as her mother lifted the bloodstained knife from the ground. With a trembling hand, she plunged it into her father's chest, ending the grotesque semblance of life left in his hollow form.
The next day, soldiers in gleaming white armor descended from the sky in a metal ship, wings of golden light unfurling as they landed. Tianren. Their beauty was blinding, their presence suffocating. They wore pristine robes that reflected the sunlight, but their expressions were cold, almost cruel.
Mei Lian knelt before them, her head bowed. An Jing clung to her mother's side, her wide eyes darting between the towering figures.
"You interfered with divine judgment," one tianren said, its voice resonating like the toll of a funeral bell. "For taking a life-an act reserved for celestial authority-you are condemned to exile."
"No! She was only-she was helping him!" An Jing cried, her voice shrill and desperate.
The tianren's gaze fell on her, unfeeling. "Silence, child."
Two soldiers seized Mei Lian by the arms. She didn't struggle. Instead, she knelt to face An Jing, cupping her tear-streaked face with both hands.
"Be strong, my little sparrow," she whispered, pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "Don't let them take your spirit."
The tianren dragged Mei Lian toward the waiting ship. An Jing screamed, reaching for her mother, but the soldiers blocked her path. The ship's ramp retracted, sealing Mei Lian inside. Moments later, it rose into the heavens, a streak of silver against the blue sky.
Far above, the release hatch opened. Mei Lian stepped out into the void, her body consumed by the endless expanse of space.
An Jing fell to her knees, her cries echoing through the empty village. From that day, she vowed never to kneel again-not to tianren, not to yaogui, not to anyone.
The marketplace was a grim spectacle of desperation and decay. Once a bustling hub of barter and trade, it had transformed into a place where survival was measured in blood and gold. The air reeked of iron and unwashed bodies, and the sun hung low in a haze of gray clouds, as if unwilling to witness the misery below.
Mo An Jing stood in the shadow of a crumbling building, clutching a cloth bag close to her chest. Her eyes scanned the crowd, careful to avoid the gaze of the tianren sentinels that patrolled the market. Their gleaming white armor caught the dim sunlight, their feathered wings folding and unfurling like restless shadows. Their beauty was terrifying, a cold perfection that only underscored their authority.
"Step forward!" barked a tianren with a voice like shattering glass. It pointed its spear at a ragged man trembling near a collection barrel marked with celestial runes. The barrel was large enough to hold a grown human, its sides stained dark red.
For those who lived under the dominion of tianren and yaogui, life was a fragile thread stretched thin. Humans were the currency of the world: their blood fed the tianren's machines, their flesh sustained their divine laws, and their jing nourished the yaogui in the shadows.
And yet, humans endured. They planted meager crops in soil made barren by celestial extraction, offering what little they harvested to avoid harsher penalties. They crafted crude charms to ward off yaogui, even though they knew they were mostly useless.
An Jing had seen it all. She had seen her neighbors trade a lifetime of servitude for a chance to keep their children alive. She had seen the skeletal remains of those drained by yaogui. She had seen tianren descend in their radiant ships, their glowing forms stark against the darkness, to demand more and more until there was nothing left.
This was life in the Age of Tianren and Yaogui: a brutal cycle of fear, survival, and sacrifice. And for humans like An Jing, there was no room for hope. Only the grim determination to live another day.
But Mo An Jing was not like most humans. Her survival was no longer tethered to mere chance or desperate appeasement. She was a child of shadow and fire, molded by the cruelty of yaogui and the indifference of tianren. She bore scars that whispered of loss and a spirit tempered in the flames of vengeance.
As the years passed, she honed herself into a weapon. Her slight frame belied a cunning mind, and her quiet demeanor masked a fierce resolve. She learned to wield the tools of her oppressors: the energy blades of the tianren, the venomous sigils of the yaogui, and even the forgotten arts of human resilience.
The market grew restless. An argument broke out near a food stall where a vendor accused a beggar of theft. The tension was like dry tinder, ready to ignite. Mo An Jing moved through the chaos with practiced ease, her bag held tightly to her side. She avoided the tianren's piercing gaze and ducked into an alley, the cries of the vendor fading behind her.
The bag contained her treasure: stolen celestial components smuggled out of a scrapyard guarded by both tianren and their mechanical constructs. These components, she believed, could power a device she had been building in secret-a device that could disrupt the energy fields of both tianren and yaogui alike.
Her hiding place was a derelict temple, long abandoned by both humans and the divine. Its once-pristine white walls were stained with soot and overgrown with creeping vines. She slipped inside, where the crumbled statue of a forgotten deity stood watch over her makeshift workshop.
Laying out the stolen parts, An Jing carefully assembled them, her fingers nimble and precise. Sparks flew as she welded pieces together with a salvaged plasma tool. The device began to take shape-a compact orb inscribed with ancient runes, glowing faintly with blue light.
Her work was interrupted by a faint sound-a whisper, barely audible, yet unmistakably otherworldly. She froze, her hand hovering over the orb. The whisper grew louder, resolving into words.
"Why do you fight, child?"
The voice was neither harsh like the tianren nor guttural like the yaogui. It was soft, haunting, and strangely familiar. She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the shadows.
A figure emerged from the darkness, its form fluid and ethereal. It bore the semblance of a human but was translucent, like a reflection in water. Its face was obscured, but its presence was both calming and unnerving.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at her waist.
"I am a remnant," the figure replied. "An echo of what once was. Long before the tianren claimed dominion and the yaogui rose from the depths, there were others. We sought balance, not control. We guided, not ruled."
An Jing narrowed her eyes. "Another god? Or just a shadow of one?"
"Neither," the figure said, its voice tinged with sorrow. "I am but a memory of harmony, fading in a world consumed by chaos."
The figure extended a hand, and the glowing orb on her workbench pulsed in response. "You seek to disrupt the chains of this world. But know this: destruction is only the first step. What will you build from the ruins?"
An Jing hesitated. She had thought only of survival and revenge, never of what might come after. "I'll figure it out when the time comes," she said, her voice steady.
The figure seemed to smile, though its face remained indistinct. "Then let me guide you, child of fire. Together, we may yet find a way to restore balance."
And with that, the remnant faded, leaving behind a faint warmth that lingered in the temple.
Days turned into weeks as An Jing prepared for her next move. She knew the tianren and yaogui were not invincible. Their power was rooted in fear, their dominion sustained by division. If she could unite the scattered human settlements, if she could show them that resistance was not futile, perhaps there was a chance to break the cycle.
Her device, now complete, was the first step. It would not end the reign of the tianren and yaogui, but it could level the playing field. It could give humans the power to fight back.
And so, Mo An Jing stepped out of the shadows and into the light, her heart pounding with determination. She was no longer just a survivor. She was a spark, ready to ignite a flame that could burn away the chains of oppression.
In her hands, she held the future-not just for herself, but for all who dared to dream of freedom.