This fairy tale begins in the darkness of night, where endless stars shimmered above, their light blending with the gentle glow of a half moon. The bamboo swayed in a humble rhythm, while lush green leaves and grasses rustled softly. A swift breeze flowed through the land, accompanied by the creeping chorus of crickets and the flickering dance of fireflies.
Amidst this tranquil scene stood an old man—bald in the front, with thick hair flowing at the back. He wore robes resembling those of a Buddhist or Hindustani monk. Quiet and composed, he climbed a set of man-made stairs. At the top, two handcrafted lion statues awaited him—one on the left, the other on the right.
He reached into the mouth of one statue and retrieved a hidden key.
With it, he unlocked a tall red barrier marked with the word "Home" and stepped inside his humble abode. Within lay a vast compound filled with many rooms, scattered like separate houses, surrounded by precious sights and stretching across a wide land.
As he walked forward, the trees suddenly made a disturbing noise.
With his hands tucked into his robe, he moved cautiously until he reached a peach tree standing beside a small pond. The water shimmered, glowing softly as fish swam beneath its surface, while peach leaves floated gently above.
Then he saw it—a cradle.
His eyes widened.
Removing his footwear, he lifted his robe and stepped into the pond, the water rising to his knees. Slowly, he approached the cradle, which swayed gently from a tree branch. With calm curiosity, he turned it around.
Inside lay a baby.
The child was wrapped in white garments, sleeping peacefully. A four-leaf clover drifted down and landed on the baby's nose. Suddenly, the baby sneezed.
Startled, the old man quickly covered the child's nose, but the baby gently held onto his robe. The man lowered his hand, and the baby gazed at him—its eyes pale and colorless, as though blind. Its hair was white as snow, yet at the back shimmered with faint colors.
The baby reached out and tugged at the man's long beard.
Calmly, the monk freed himself, then lifted the baby from the cradle and placed it against his chest. The child nuzzled him warmly, and despite everything, the old man smiled. Beneath his feet, the fish danced in the water.
He stepped out of the pond and entered one of his rooms—a quiet place meant for rest. He laid the baby gently in a crafted basket and prepared himself, soon beginning his prayers.
But suddenly, he was distracted.
He turned to check on the baby… and found the basket empty.
Alarmed, he noticed another room door slightly open. He hurried toward it and discovered the baby inside his weapons room, holding a pair of nunchucks.
The baby swung them.
The weapon bounced back and struck the baby's head—yet the child showed no reaction. Instead, it crawled toward a shelf filled with larger weapons. As it reached out, the shelf began to shake.
It was about to collapse.
In a flash, the old monk rushed forward and saved the child. The shelf fell—but in the blink of an eye, everything was somehow back in place.
Before he could react, the baby slipped from his hands and crawled rapidly through a curtain into another room—one filled with fireworks and explosives.
A lamp flickered nearby.
The baby grabbed a firework and tossed it at the lamp. It fell and shattered, spilling flames onto the scattered fireworks.
The old man rushed in just in time to see one already igniting.
"No!" he cried.
Fireworks shot wildly across the room, bouncing off walls and exploding in bursts of light. One flew straight toward his face—he ducked just in time, but it exploded behind him, knocking him down.
The baby laughed.
Meanwhile, the old man stood up, only to realize his hair had caught fire. He quickly extinguished it and tore a piece of his robe to smother the growing flames.
But another spark was already heading toward a box—where the baby had crawled inside.
It ignited.
The baby was sent spinning inside the box as fireworks burst wildly. The old man ran desperately, chasing the flying chaos until he finally caught the box and pulled the child out.
At that very moment, all the remaining fireworks exploded at once, lighting the midnight sky with magnificent rays of color.
The room filled with smoke.
Exhausted, the old man held the baby close. Noticing the child's burned garment, he realized—it was a boy.
"What a stubborn one…" he murmured.
He bathed the child, dressed him in fresh clothes, and lifted him gently. As the night breeze flowed through the window, he whispered softly:
"Who are you… and where did you come from?"
After a pause, he made a vow.
"From this day on, I will raise you as my own."
As he placed the baby back into the basket, a strange stillness overcame him—as though he had briefly stepped out of this world. But just as quickly, he returned to reality.
He said nothing.
Instead, he secured the basket to keep the restless child safe and resumed his prayers. Soon, he lay down to sleep.
But then—the baby began to cry.
Sighing softly, the old man took pity on him. He brought the child out and laid him beside himself. Instantly, the baby held onto the man's bald head and fell asleep.
Moments later, the old man drifted into slumber as well.
Far away, on a fog-covered hill, a lone figure stood watching.
And in a chilling voice, it spoke:
"The nightmare… has only just begun."