The moon sank back to its slumber.
Dawn came.Morning dew rose. The wind blew gentle across the trees. Light woke the world.
Zhung ran through the bushes.
Leaves slapped his legs. Sweat slid down his face. His breath was heavy. Behind him the wolves snarled. Bloodlust in their eyes. paws pounding the earth. Sound of pursuit.
*If another day, another tomorrow, another time comes — who will wait for the ending of their lives?*
He thought it while his feet hit small rocks on the road. His clothes stuck to his skin. Rain started to fall. Clouds turned dark again.
*I, a mortal who is not foolish, will take the benefit from this situation.*
His eyes had been dark, almost lifeless. Now they sharpened at the chase — not fear but calculation. A smile crept on his lips. It was small. Cold.
*If one of these wolves has demonic blood, or divine blood — I can start cultivation.*
That idea warmed him in a place where hope had been dying.
He thought of a merchant, of hunters, of chances.
He cursed the hunter inside his head.
*Thanks to that foolish hunter who invited me to hunt and used me as bait.*
The wolves' mouths dripped with fresh blood. Their noses twitched. Saliva fell. They were cruel. The pack had an alpha — larger, uglier, hungrier. The smaller two moved like shadows on its side.
He ran. He did not run with desperation. He ran with the greed of a man who wanted more than life. He wanted a spark that could change everything.
One hour earlier.
The sky was still dark. Stars lost their light to the coming dawn. The moon's edge bled into a pale smear.
"Zhung! I'm going far to another village. Behave. I will be back in two or more days."
Zheng Han shouted from outside the hut, voice carrying in the cold morning air.
Zhung was in the room. He read the unfinished book. Page torn. Chapter forty-three missing still. He thumbed the empty space with a small annoyance.
"Yeah, Mom!" he called. "I will behave."
The door shut. The hut felt lonely for a moment. He smiled from the corner of his mouth and laughed a little. His laugh echoed in the hut and out to the unmoved mountains.
"No chapter 43," he muttered, then he smiled wider. "Whoever tore that page is a monster."
He tucked the book under his arm, tie his messy brown hair in a rough knot. He walked out of the hut with a lazy step. He had plans today. Small plans that could change everything.
**Arriving at Black Water Village
In twenty minutes**
Black Water Village looked alive even at this hour. People walked. Merchants hawked. Children ran with sticks pretending swords. The road was steep and muddy. Garbage lay near the shrine. Life went on. The smell of boiled vegetables. The sound of a woman scolding a pig. A cart creaking down the slope.
Zhung did not care for the noise. He cared for the trade. A bookshop stood at the village corner. He walked in.
The bell rang as he entered. A bearded bookseller looked up. His face had scars and warmth. He smiled wide. Zhung placed the old book on the counter.
"Mister, can I trade this for another book about beasts?"
Zhung's voice was calm. Expressionless, like water.
The man studied the book. He rubbed his chin.
"This is rare," the man said. "Many want this for cultivation. You sure you want to trade?"
Zhung nodded.
"I want something practical."
The bookseller hesitated.
"Maybe some lunatic will buy this as a cultivation text. Many mortals are desperate for cultivation."
Zhung only smiled. The smile was small and like a blade.
"I want a hunter's book," he said. "A book about beasts in the Spring Plains."
The man sighed, then reached under the shelf. He handed a thin book — The Beasts in the Spring Plains. The cover showed sketches of wolves and boars, tracks and basic traps. Pages felt familiar in Zhung's hand, like a tool he could use.
"Are you sure?" the man asked again. "This is rare."
Zhung's face did not change.
"I am sure," he answered.
He left clutching the new book. He walked to a small wooden storage and hid it. He smiled inward when he tucked it away. He loved secrets.
He walked back like a child. His attitude shifted. Innocence was a mask he could wear well. He walked slow and easy to the market. He watched. He observed.
He saw a hunter. A man with an axe, bow on the back, arrows on the left waist. He had a beard and looked rough but proud. The hunter carried a book that Zhung just traded The Basics of Cultivation. He read with energy. He looked up and his eyes met Zhung.
"Kid!" the hunter called. "Want to join me? Come hunt. I have gear. I'll keep you safe. We can share the meat."
Zhung's face shaped into a naive grin. "Hunt?" he echoed.
"Yes, Mister. I will come. But you must protect me."
The hunter laughed. "Of course. I'm a hunter. I know the forest."
"Wait for ten minutes I have to convince my mom."
Zhung naively ran off.
The hunter smiled maliciously.
"Sorry kid I need divine of demonic blood to cultivate I have to make you as bait."
Unbeknownst to the hunter Zhung already was preparing for his plan to be executed.
They walked together toward the brush. The hunter talked loud. He bragged about kills. He aimed to impress. He did not notice the small things — the book hidden in Zhung's hand when he brought it to the bait spot. He trusted too much.
They reached the trap site. The hunter tied a bit of meat. He placed the bait. He walked away to hide behind a tree where he thought the view was good, where he could see the prey but remain unseen. He settled and hummed.
Zhung watched the hunter with eyes like a sleeping snake. He waited until the hunter turned his back and felt the hunter's shadow moving away. Then, quick. Small. Precise.
He struck the hunter's head with a heavy stone. It fell. The man slumped. Zhung tied him. He gagged him. He struck again just to be safe. The hunter's face fell into a deep sleep. Zhung looked down at the sleeping man and felt a cold joy. He took the man's bow, the axe. Tools were useful. He removed money and put it in his pocket. He took a small bag of dried meat. He needed bait that smelled real.
He returned to the hidden tree. He set the bait. He climbed into the branches. He waited.
The forest hummed. A rustle. A shadow moved. Three wolves burst out. Two smaller ones and one abnormally large alpha. The alpha's eyes were cruel like knives. Their mouths were wet with recent blood. They smelled the hunter.
Zhung's heart beat faster in a way that felt good. He notched an arrow. He aimed at the alpha. He released.
The arrow missed. It hit a smaller wolf in the head. Silence then howls. The alpha growled. Two wolves turned toward the tree where Zhung hid. He saw them look at him with red hunger. He dropped from the branch and ran.
The hunter woke, furious.
"You little bastard!"
he shouted. He crawled toward his axe.
Zhung moved. He did not hear the hunter's words. He saw the wolves leap. Noise of bone crushing. Flesh tearing. The hunter screamed and was eaten. It was quick. The wolves tore the hunter apart like paper. The crimson spray painted the leaves. The forest returned to its rhythm as if nothing happened.
Zhung watched. He did not move. He needed blood, real life-blood. He waited for the alpha to tear something and leave. He aimed again—this time with a clear line. The arrow flew. It misses the alpha's eye it only hit the ear. The alpha stumbled but didn't fall at the trap, it quickly recovered. Zhung just watched the two beasts now done at their feast— the two beasts rushes and climb the tree where Zhung was he quickly leap to the ground then ran, his step quick, his breath heavy.
The clouds became dark then rainwater start to fall gently.
He remembers that he was only eighth years old and his stamina was limited and his speed was not enough. The beasts began to get closer then Zhung sees a familiar spot.
Then he leap then quickly get an arrow then aim the bow he focus as the beasts getting closer then
Flew.
The alpha was hit at the eye with precise and it stumbled to the trap that Zhung just leap off.
The wooden spike pierce the alpha wolf as it howls now quite but the other one the smaller leaps the trap to Zhung.
Then Zhung now panic quickly pulls the axe of the hunter then the beast's jaw clammed at the wooden handle of the axe but... The handle broke in half the beast it jaw wide the Zhung he quickly put his arm up as a shield.
The beast's jaw crushed and broke his arm. The pain was like fire. He tasted iron. He felt a rush — sharp, hot. He slammed the axe into the beast head repeatedly. Blood splattered. The beast went down. Zhung fell beside it, chest heaving, arm ruined.
He pulled a small flask and drank, it was like a temporary painkiller. It only tasted like survival. He smelled the meat left by wolves and thought of what he had done. He opened the alpha's flank with sharp rocks, but nothing. No divine blood. No demonic vein. The hope left him like steam. He had risked everything for a trick that did not return more than survival.
No divine blood. No sudden cultivation. Only pain. Only hunger. Only life still clinging to him.
He staggered back to the hut. Noon came. He hid his broken arm from the passerby. He had to fix it. He burned a stone until red. He cleaned the wound. He put the stone to the skin and left it. The flesh burned. He did not cry.
*I don't care it was a gamble with high risk and high rewards.* He thought
He remembered old cures. In the false world they used Chi. Here, no Chi. But he knew how to mend without channel. He fumbled for needles he had stolen from a traveling healer months before. He set the bone with his hands. It screamed. The bone cracked then found place. The dull ache moved in. The arm would heal enough to move but not whole.
He lay on the bed. He tasted his blood on his tongue. He let his breath slow. The ember over his heart pulsed faintly. He touched it. The mark was there — small, hot, a sign that something remained of his old life.
The afternoon crawled. He read his newly acquired book on the beasts. He learned that wolves born from mana sometimes had odd mutations—rare, but possible. He traced lines on paper. He thought and thought. He was not a child for nothing. He could plan. He would try again.
He cleaned himself with cold water. He cooked the smaller wolf meat over the coals, tasted the smoky flesh and felt the ordinary life press into his chest. Ordinary meant small things like the taste of charred meat, the smell of wood, the feel of a bandage. He did these things as if they were rituals.
The sun sank. The sky turned orange. Two suns kissed the mountains and left them burning gold. Night came soft and wide.
He sat at the hut's edge. He watched the moon. He whispered to the dark,
"Saint or demon, I will be what I need."
He wrapped the arm with linen. He drank a little water. The mark over his heart glowed faint. He slept with the book beneath his pillow.
Night was long. Wind came and went. Wolves howled in far distance. He dreamed little. The broken path was set. He promised himself again: survive. Learn. Grow. No more illusions. He would make his own way.
The morning came. He rose slow. He touched the arm and felt the dull thrum. He would move tomorrow. He would not die like a fool. Not when the mark burned. Not when the book whispered of beasts.
The forest was cruel. The world was crueler. But the Broken Path had room for cruel men. He would walk it.
Life is an experience. While death is a process a progression. Every choice you made, everything you did is the experience of life, as you make you're choice the progress of death will move, and time help's you to experience both life and death.
Don't regret your choice's move forward to victory, move to see the fullest you're experience in life.
**End of Chapter 6**