Chương 2: Past
How pure can a soul be before it is devoured by the abyss? How long can a spirit resist before it bends under the relentless weight of destiny? On the path of cultivation, where every step is steeped in blood and deception, good and evil are as fleeting as the wind. Purity is nothing more than a mask that reality shreds mercilessly, a fiction woven to hide the brutality of existence.
Cultivation is not a journey towards enlightenment, but an endless struggle against the shadows that devour all touched by ambition. In the abyss of immortality, who can claim to be free of impurities when darkness is the price of every advancement? Chaos and order are not opposites, but two sides of the same blade. In the end, there is neither purity nor corruption, only power and will, for what we call "good" and "evil" are fragments of the same twisted truth.
---
At the top of Yùzhú Shān, the mist glides gently over the mountain, wrapping everything in a serene cloak. The wind, soft and constant, carries with it the rain, which falls delicately on the bamboo, creating a peaceful melody that fills the air. The drops slide softly down the roofs of the houses in the Yunzhang village, while the jade lake reflects the leaden sky, calm and deep. The village, in its silence, seems to rest in tune with nature, as if time had stopped to offer a moment of peace and stillness, where each breath blends with the murmur of the wind.
The warm light of each home stood out amidst the cold of the mountain. The villagers took shelter from the rain and wind inside their homes. Outside, a young man ran quickly, covering the firewood with his body to keep it from soaking. His hurried steps splashed through the puddles as he headed toward the edge of the village. There, a small house, hidden among the bamboo surrounding the village, stood silently, apart from the rest.
The young man entered the small house, drenched from head to toe, but with dry firewood in his arms.
- I'm back - he announced as he closed the door behind him.
- Oh, welcome -
- Big brother is wet -
- Yes, he looks like a wet dog, hahaha -
Inside, his father and younger siblings were waiting around the fire, playing and chatting while the warmth of the flames filled the room, creating a cozy atmosphere that contrasted with the rain outside.
- Come, son, before you catch a cold - said his father with a smile as he offered him a blanket.
Xie Ren, smiling, approached the fire and took the blanket, wrapping himself in it to dry off. Then, carefully, he placed the firewood he had gathered onto the flames, stoking the fire. The heat immediately increased, filling the small house with a comforting warmth that contrasted with the cold and rain outside.
As soon as the heat filled the house, the atmosphere became cozy. It was no longer necessary to stay close to the fire, so the little ones began to move freely, their laughter echoing throughout the space as they played together. It didn't take long before they dragged their father into their mischief.
- Come, father, play with us! - they asked, tugging at his arms enthusiastically.
- Alright, but stop pulling me around like I'm a rag - he replied, chuckling.
With a smile on his face, the father got up from his comfortable spot by the fire and stretched, showing a playful expression that contradicted his words.
- Alright, what do you want to play with this old man? - he asked, pretending to be tired.
The children, with perfect coordination, shouted in unison:
- Hunter! Hunter!
The father let out a soft laugh, his eyes filled with tenderness as he watched the joy of his children.
The warmth of the fire filled the room, and while my siblings scampered across the floor, I couldn't help but smile. I looked at my father, who was being dragged into their antics with that playful smile he always had when he was in a good mood. It was hard not to feel grateful in moments like these, despite how little we had. We weren't rich, nor did we have great possessions, but here, in this small house among the bamboo, it seemed that we needed nothing more.
I leaned back a bit, feeling the warmth penetrate my bones, and looked at the scene before me. My siblings, always full of energy, pounced on my father with laughter that bounced off the wooden walls. My father, despite his years, played with them as if he were one of them, rolling on the floor and pretending to be caught by the "hunter." I couldn't help but release a small laugh.
In those moments, everything seemed perfect. Sure, the work was hard, and there were days when we didn't know if we would have enough to eat the next day, but when I saw my family like this, full of life and laughter, all of that seemed insignificant. Here, in the village, with the rain pounding on the roof and the mist covering the mountains, I felt like I had everything.
It was a simple life, but one I would never change.
Soon, the night took over the sky, and with it, the fatigue of the day became evident. The laughter and games faded, replaced by yawns and heavy blinks. We knew it was time to sleep. My father put out what was left of the fire, leaving only the glowing embers that cast a final warm glow in the room.
We lay together, in front of the nearly extinguished embers, covered with the animal skins my father had hunted. They were thick and rough, but on cold nights like this, there was no better blanket. My siblings settled close by, their little breaths marking the rhythm of the sleep that slowly dragged us all in.
By my side, my father sighed, but it was not a sigh of exhaustion, but one of peace. I felt the same. We didn't have much, but what we had was enough. In that moment, under the roof that barely withstood the weight of the rain and the skins that protected us from the cold, I needed nothing more. I closed my eyes, listening to the wind whispering through the bamboo, and let sleep take me, knowing that, for now, we were safe.
Every morning, before the sun rose, I was already awake. My father was always the first to get up. While the little ones were still asleep, he would take his bow and arrows with the same calmness as always, ready to go hunting. I took care of preparing breakfast for my siblings. We didn't have much, but with what there was, I did my best to make sure everyone had something in their stomach before the day began. Most of the time, it was rice with some dried meat or eggs I had gathered in the morning. When everything was ready, I would head out to the village.
In the village, I would spend a little time with my friends, but I never stayed long. There was always something to do: chopping firewood, fetching water, or taking care of my siblings. While they played, I watched from a distance, making sure they didn't get into trouble. Sometimes I would stop for a moment and wonder how much longer I could keep us like this, away from the difficulties that lay ahead.
As the day began to decline, my father returned, always with some game. Sometimes he came back with a large catch, other times a small one. But, always, he seemed satisfied with what he had brought. However, there were days when his gaze would drift, as if he was waiting for something or someone. He would sit by the window and, without saying a word, stare at the emptiness outside the house. In front of him, an empty chair sat in its place, the same one my mother used to sit in.
I would watch him, still, and wonder if, in his mind, he was still waiting for her to return. My mother... she was the strength of the house, although at times she seemed as fragile as the petals of a flower. I remember her as a woman who cared for us with so much love and determination, but also with unbreakable strength. Once, I saw her kill a tiger with her bare hands, while my father screamed like a princess in distress. I remember that with a mix of laughter and pride.
But one day, she left. Without explanations. She only told us she would return, and although we believed her, it's been five years since then. And when I asked my father, his answer was always the same: he changed the subject, as if there was something he didn't want me to know. Sometimes he would look at me as if he wanted to tell me something, but in the end, he would back off and ask me to forget it.
Every night, my father would sit by the window, looking at the emptiness. He would always caress the empty chair in front of him. He never said anything, but his eyes... his eyes said it all. I knew he was waiting for something, though I could never be sure what. And I, watching him in silence, also waited. I waited for something that would never come.
---
The afternoon was beginning to fade as I took the firewood I had collected in the forest. The weight of the logs rested on my shoulders, but I was used to it. It was an effort that was part of the daily routine. As I walked back to the village, the sun painted the sky with warm shades of orange, and the cool mountain air brushed my face. I could hear the voices of children, their distant laughter and shouts, and as always, my mind began to wander, wondering what stories would fill that afternoon.
I carried the firewood on my shoulders, the logs and branches creaking slightly under my weight as I walked toward the village. My steps were firm, but my mind wasn't concerned with the physical effort. Instead, my thoughts wandered calmly, like the fallen leaves dancing in the breeze.
As I progressed along the path, I realized a group of children had gathered around old Li, who was, as always, telling one of his stories. His deep voice resonated among them, while his gestures and expressions conveyed wisdom accumulated over the years. I paused my walk, letting the image of the old man imprint itself on my mind.
- …And so, after centuries of walking upon the mother earth, Zhong Zhi, the first, finally achieved immortality. He was not simply a man, but a being who defied the very laws of the heavens. With his strength, his wisdom, and his indomitable will, the first walked the Dao path to its end. It was he who carved the path we humans follow today and gave life to the immortals, becoming the father of humanity and immortality.
The children listened attentively, their eyes shining with admiration, and I couldn't help but notice that some, as always, were too excited about the idea of immortality.
- I want to be immortal too! – one of the children exclaimed, raising his hand with a gleam of hope.
- Me too! – several others shouted in unison, their voices full of illusion.
Old Li laughed softly, raising a hand to calm the bustle.
- Patience, my little ones. Immortality is not an easy achievement, nor is it a fate that anyone truly desires. Zhong Zhi did not only defy the heavens, but he paid a very high price for his power. Immortality is not a gift. Sacrifice is the key.
The old man's words seemed more of a warning than a tale, but I didn't stop to reflect too much on them. The truth was that I had never been interested in something as distant and abstract as immortality. I didn't desire to change my life or transcend anything. The simple, quiet life I had was enough for me.
Seeing my father return from the forest with his bow and arrows, or my little brothers running alongside me, laughing and playing, filled me with a satisfaction that nothing could surpass. What sense did it make to seek something I didn't need? Why desire something that, according to old Li, could take away everything that truly makes you human?
The noise of the children caught my attention again, but I couldn't help but smile at their eagerness to reach the unreachable. Sometimes, the youngest in the village dreamed of becoming great warriors or immortals, but for me, life was simply about living. I wanted nothing more than that: enjoying the quiet days, the evenings by the fire, the company of those I loved.
In a way, I felt distant from those grand dreams the children shared. The first, Zhong Zhi, had defied the heavens, but I, in my place, was content with simply following my path through life.
I turned to continue walking toward the house. The firewood I carried on my shoulders seemed more important than any story of immortality. The simplicity of those everyday moments, taking care of my brothers and being part of my family, was all that truly mattered.
Old Li continued his tale as I walked away, his voice resonating in the background, but his words faded, leaving no mark on my mind. In the end, my life didn't need those stories. I was here and now, in this peaceful place where the dreams of children were just that—dreams.
Maybe one day, if circumstances changed, I would face something greater than my own desires. But for now, I was simply Xie Ren, a young man who sought nothing more than peace, in this secluded corner of the mountain, far from the heavens and the sacrifices of immortals.
And as I walked toward the house, I thought of what mattered most to me: the smiling faces of my brothers, the warmth of the fire, and the peace that can only be found in the simplest moments of life. I thought this tranquil life would last forever... or so I thought.
One day, returning from cutting bamboo trees, I saw how my whole world crumbled.
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