A young man stood in silence, staring at the scene before him.
Earlier, he had gone into the forest to search for herbal plants.
But when he returned.
The house where he lived together with his grandfather was in ruins.
And his grandfather was dead.
His body had been cut into two pieces—that was how he died.
"My tears refuse to fall, and I don't feel sadness at all, even though he was the only family I had. How terrible of a human being am I?" Mo Zhaoyuan stared at his grandfather's corpse without any expression.
The stench of blood was overwhelming.
His grandfather's body had already been swarmed by flies.
After observing more closely, Zhaoyuan noticed something beside his grandfather's body.
On the ground, right next to the pool of blood, there was an image hastily carved into the soil.
Two curved arcs were clearly visible, yet they did not connect to one another.
A line separated them in the middle.
Zhaoyuan stared at it for a long time.
Like a crescent moon… split apart.
Zhaoyuan's gaze shifted to his grandfather's hand.
On one of his fingers, dirt that had not yet dried was still clinging.
Zhaoyuan fell silent for a moment.
"One last clue....from Grandpa?" Zhaoyuan concluded that this might be a clue his grandfather left behind about the murderer.
He then closed his eyes, recalling the figure of his grandfather who had always been by his side.
'Grandpa, look at this! I found a spiritual grass!' Mo Zhaoyuan ran toward his grandfather.
His grandfather glanced in his direction.
'You're back. Good work.'
'I searched to the north like you told me, and that's where I found it.' Mo Zhaoyuan smiled happily after finding the spiritual grass.
'Oh, that's quite a lot. We can get at least 50 nyang for this.' His grandfather was happy as well.
'Oh right, there was a fallen bird nest earlier right beside the plant, but the mother wasn't there. There was only the baby.' Zhaoyuan briefly explained what he had found.
'So did you kill the baby?' his grandfather asked.
Zhaoyuan glanced slightly toward his grandfather.
'hah? Why would I kill it? The mother bird would be sad if she returned and saw that all her babies were killed.'
'That's the right answer. Good, good. Put that down and let's eat dinner.' His grandfather pointed toward where the basket containing the spiritual grass was placed.
'Okay.' But just as Mo Zhaoyuan was about to go put down the basket, his grandfather called out to him again.
'Zhaoyuan, promise Grandpa.'
Zhaoyuan looked toward his grandfather.
'Promise what?'
'That true nature of yours, the one you hide deep within yourself. Never show it to anyone.'
Mo Zhaoyuan opened his eyes.
He looked back at his grandfather's corpse, which appeared so pitiful.
He then searched for a shovel around the ruined storage area of the house.
After that, he dug a grave for his grandfather with his own hands and buried him.
Then Zhaoyuan stared sharply once more at his destroyed home.
'Should I go there? After all, Grandpa is already dead.' Zhaoyuan murmured inwardly.
'I guess it doesn't matter anymore.' Zhaoyuan decided to go to the underground area, a place his grandfather had strictly forbidden him from entering while he was still alive.
Before going underground, Zhaoyuan returned to the storage area, searching through the debris and scattered items. His eyes landed on a lantern.
"There it is." Zhaoyuan smiled and picked up the lantern.
He then walked toward the completely ruined house.
He pushed aside several pieces of wood blocking his path.
Until he finally found it.
A simple underground door made only of wood.
Before entering, Mo Zhaoyuan lit the lantern he was carrying.
When the underground door was opened.
The first sight that greeted him was a staircase without an end leading downward, and the faint glow of candles along the walls.
Those candles were already quite small, perhaps they would last no more than one more day before completely burning out.
Even though the underground area was lit by candles, Zhaoyuan still carried his lantern. After all, there was no harm in bringing it, and he didn't know whether there would still be candles at the very bottom. So he made the wise choice to keep carrying the lantern.
Mo Zhaoyuan descended the seemingly endless staircase.
The echo of his footsteps rebounded off the stone walls, returning to him with a strange delay, making his chest feel tight even though his breathing remained calm.
Sure enough, the further he descended the steps, the smaller the flames of the candles became, until he finally reached an area with no candles at all. Or rather, the candles there had already burned out.
After descending the stairs for the duration of half an incense stick, Zhaoyuan finally reached the end of the underground passage.
What he saw was a wooden door, with several yellow talismans covering most of its surface.
Zhaoyuan did not care about the talismans. He then opened the door.
When he entered, what he saw was an empty room with only a single table standing in the middle of the vacant space.
And when Zhaoyuan approached, there were only two items on it.
The first was an old, worn scroll.
And the other was a book that looked dusty and decayed.
First, Zhaoyuan picked up the scroll and opened it. Upon seeing it, he realized that it was a treasure map.
However, Zhaoyuan did not understand where the location was—not because he was foolish, but because the place felt unfamiliar to him.
Even though his grandfather had told him about many places, including those outside the continent.
Yet he had never heard even a single mention of a place like the one shown on the map.
It wasn't because the place looked ordinary and therefore unrecognizable, but because it was impressive enough that one should have remembered it.
The map showed many hills surrounding the area.
But without dwelling on it, Zhaoyuan rolled the map back up.
His gaze then shifted to the dusty, decayed book.
Zhaoyuan picked up the book and brushed away the dust covering it.
After the dust was cleared, the title became visible: "Nether Spirit Domination Art"
Mo Zhaoyuan opened the book, and with just a single glance, he managed to memorize and comprehend its contents.
The core of this martial art was that one could gain authority over the spirits of the dead or vengeful evil spirits.
A person who mastered this martial art would be able to see spirits, control spirits, and even absorb spirits to increase their own cultivation.
However, this martial art had one fatal weakness—before cultivating it, one must bind a companion spirit.
The companion spirit had no specific requirements, but Zhaoyuan understood that the spirit being bound had to be strong.
If the user died, the bound spirit would also die.
And if the bound spirit died, the user would suffer extremely severe injuries, with perhaps only a 1% chance of surviving.
In short, if the bound spirit was weak, the user themselves would face a far greater risk of death.
Before leaving, Mo Zhaoyuan tucked the book and the map into his clothes.
After climbing all the way back up the stairs, he stood once more outside the ruined house.
Without hesitation, he took out the map and the book, then threw them to the ground.
Moments later, he also threw the still-burning lantern.
The flames quickly licked at the fragile paper, devouring the map and the book until nothing remained but ashes.
In his mind, his grandfather's voice echoed once more—calm, heavy, and without the slightest doubt.
'Zhaoyuan, listen carefully.'
'If one day you find a martial art manual, the first thing you must do is memorize its contents, and once you have memorized it, the next thing you must do is burn it.'
'Zhaoyuan, a martial art is not merely knowledge.'
'It is someone's life.'
'If its contents fall into another person's hands, then your life is also in their hands.'
Mo Zhaoyuan opened his eyes.
The ashes had already been swept away by the wind, leaving no shape behind.
There was no book. There was no map. There was no evidence.
Mo Zhaoyuan took a few steps away.
But before truly leaving, he stopped.
He turned back once more toward the collapsed house—
toward the land that had once been his home,
toward the place where the blood had dried,
toward the silence that had replaced his grandfather's voice.
There was no regret on his face.
There was no anger.
Only a brief gaze, as if carving that image into his memory.
Then he turned his back.
And left, never looking back again.