Chapter 1: A Silent Morning
The world was burning.
Crimson flames devoured the night, swallowing the land in a howling storm of destruction. The air reeked of blood, thick and suffocating, mingling with the acrid scent of charred earth. Shadows danced wildly beneath the flickering glow, stretched and twisted by the inferno's merciless hunger.
Screams rang through the darkness—some distant, some painfully close. Bodies littered the ground, their lifeless forms contorted in final moments of agony. Buildings collapsed, swallowed whole by an unseen force, as if the heavens themselves had cast judgment upon this place.
Amidst the chaos, a lone figure stood, sword in hand.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling under the weight of the weapon. It pulsed with a cold, unnatural glow, the air around it thick with an ominous presence. A terrible power surged from the blade, its unseen tendrils spreading outward, dragging everything into its abyss.
His grip tightened, knuckles white against the hilt. But it was useless. The force had already slipped from his control.
A gust of wind tore through the battlefield, carrying with it a voice—soft, broken, barely more than a whisper.
"…Why…?"
He turned.
Through the raging embers, past the falling ruins, he saw them. Their faces. Familiar. Too familiar.
A step forward, then another—until realization struck like a blade to the chest.
His heart pounded. The weight of the sword grew unbearable. The whispers of the dead crawled into his ears, their accusations carving into his soul. The past he once carried with pride had turned into an unbearable nightmare, a sin beyond redemption.
And then—
Silence.
The flames vanished. The screams faded. The world crumbled into nothingness.
—Li Xin opened his eyes.
The past was a distant echo, buried beneath time—but never truly lost. Some wounds did not fade, even when the world moved on.
Morning arrived in silence. A soft wind whispered through the town, carrying the crisp scent of damp earth and the fading touch of night. The world was calm, untouched by warmth, as if time itself hesitated to move forward.
At the edge of an endless forest, a small town stirred from its slumber. The rhythm of life here was slow, predictable, and unchanging. Yet, within its quiet existence stood a man who had once walked a far different path.
Birds chirped outside a modest wooden house, their voices the only sound cutting through the stillness of dawn. A sliver of golden sunlight slipped through the narrow window, stretching across the room until it touched the face of a man lost in slumber.
Li Xin woke up from unforgettable dream.Li Xin's eyes opened to the quiet glow of dawn, but for a moment, the weight of the dream lingered. His breath was steady, yet something unspoken pressed against his chest—like the faint echo of a scream lost in time. A stabbing pain of regret flared deep within him, sharp yet familiar, a wound that never truly healed. His fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his bedding before he forced them to relax. The scent of steam and distant voices seeped through the wooden walls, grounding him in the present. It was just a dream. Just a memory. He closed his eyes briefly, then exhaled, pushing it all aside. The past was a tide that had long receded—there was no reason to chase the waves.
The morning light warmed his skin, yet he did not move. He lay still, gazing at the wooden ceiling above, his expression unreadable. The world outside existed, and he acknowledged it—but it no longer touched him.
He did not dream anymore. Not because he could not, but because he had abandoned the need for illusions long ago.
Reality, too, had become something distant—something that no longer held any claim over his soul.
At twenty-nine, Li Xin was neither noble nor wealthy. He was no heir to a prestigious family, nor did he belong to the world of warriors or scholars. He was a simple man, blending into the nameless crowds of the world.
His long, dark hair flowed past his shoulders, its strands untouched by the winds of fate. His features, though striking, carried a quiet stillness—elegant yet subdued, never excessive, yet possessing a presence that could not be ignored. He was not the kind of man whose beauty turned heads in a crowd, but to those who found solace in silence, who appreciated the calmness of an undisturbed sea, he was mesmerizing.
But there was a time when he had been different.
Once, long ago, he had been reckless—his soul burning with passion, his heart filled with desires and dreams. He had walked a path that was not meant for ordinary men, one that had led him through storms he had not been prepared to face.
He had fought. He had lost. He had survived.
But fire, once drowned, never returns the same.
It was not a single event that had shaped him into the man he was now. It was a collection of moments—accidents, betrayals, tragedies, choices that could never be undone. Life had been a storm, and he had fought against it, but in the end, he had learned.
There was no point in keeping uncontrollable emotions. No meaning in clinging to selfish desires.
Now, he lived without regrets, without attachments. The world moved, and he let it pass him by.
He rose from his bed, stepping into the quiet morning. Outside, the town had begun to stir, merchants and travelers filling the streets with their voices. He paid no attention.
Li Xin was a seller of steam buns.
It was a humble livelihood, requiring no ambition and no purpose beyond the day itself. Every morning, he set up his stall in the heart of the town, where countless strangers passed him by. Merchants haggled over silks and spices, imperial soldiers patrolled in their armor, and cultivators—those who sought power beyond mortal limits—walked with their heads high, their eyes burning with ambition.
Yet none of it mattered to him. He was unbothered by the noise, uninterested in the world's endless pursuit of riches and glory. He existed in the crowd, yet remained apart from it.
As the sun climbed higher, nearing its peak, the usual rhythm of the day continued—until a faint voice, weak and almost lost in the bustling air, reached his ears.
A child.
Li Xin's gaze shifted slightly. Standing near his stall was a little girl, frail and covered in dust. Her clothes were worn thin, hanging loosely from her tiny frame. Her lips were cracked, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched them together. Yet her eyes, wide with hunger, carried an innocent hope as she stared at the freshly steamed buns before her.
For a moment, Li Xin looked at her. His expression did not change. He did not frown, nor did his gaze soften. He simply observed her, as he did everything else in this world—detached, unbothered.
Then, without hesitation, he looked away and continued his work.
Perhaps the years had made him indifferent. Perhaps time had carved into him a silence too deep to break. The world had been merciless, and he had long accepted its nature.
But no matter how much life had taken from him, it could never change the core of a person's soul.
And deep within him, beneath the stillness, a quiet kindness still remained.
Without a word, his hand moved. He reached for a freshly steamed bun and placed it at the edge of the stall—an unspoken gesture, so small it could be mistaken for nothing at all.
The girl hesitated, as if afraid to believe in such fortune. But in the next instant, she reached out, grasping the bun tightly. She did not thank him. She did not need to. The way she ate—hurried yet careful—was enough.
Li Xin did not watch her. He did not wait for gratitude. He simply turned back to his stall and continued as if nothing had happened.
Because, in the end, nothing had.
Just another moment, passing like all the rest.