Year 4087 of the Lingyun Calendar
Lingyun Kingdom,Qingyuan County
A small village lay at the side of a mountain, home to only twenty or thirty houses. Most were built of mud and rotting wood, their thatched roofs sagging under years of neglect. Mist often clung to the ridges above, and when the wind swept down, it carried the sharp scent of pine and the bitter tang of damp soil. To outsiders, this village might have looked tranquil, but beneath its silence festered suspicion, disdain, and superstition.
Inside one of the most dilapidated homes on the eastern edge, the air was heavy with the smell of sickness and decay. A boy of thirteen knelt on the dirt floor, clutching the cold, frail hand of a woman whose breathing had slowed to a whisper.
"Mo… the…r… don't leave… us," Mo Chen muttered, tears staining his cheeks.
Beside him, a middle-aged man with tired eyes bowed his head. "Wife…" Mo Jin Tao whispered, voice breaking.
They were a family of three. Once, they had lived in another county, but five years ago a beast tide had swept through, devouring their fields and homes. Forced to flee, they wandered as refugees before settling here with nothing but a patch of poor soil and weary hearts.
A week ago, Mo Ling Hua had fallen ill. With no money for medicine and no doctor willing to waste time on outsiders, her fate had been sealed from the start.
By dusk, her hand slipped from Mo Chen's grasp for the last time.
Hours later, father and son lowered her body into the earth behind their home, shoveling soil with blistered hands until her form was swallowed by the cold ground. The wind howled through the mountains, carrying their grief away unheard.
Yet the villagers had heard and sneered.
"With a cursed family like that, misfortune always follows," muttered an old man by the roadside.
"Parasites of our village like you deserve nothing but misfortune," sneered another, eyes gleaming with contempt.
"Parasites of our land. The heavens themselves strike them down," another spat.
Mo Chen's nails dug into his palms until blood seeped from tiny crescents. His father's lips tightened into silence, but his eyes betrayed despair. The villagers' words sliced through them like knives, each insult a wound deeper than any blade.
When a middle-aged woman hissed, "Glad that woman died. One less mouth sucking our village dry," Mo Chen's chest burned. Grief crumbled into something darker, a hollow, gnawing hatred.
By the time they returned home, Mo Chen's young heart was no longer just sorrowful, it was full of hate and anger. That day, a seed was planted inside him; a seed of hatred.
.....
Days became weeks. Father and son rose with the sun and worked until dusk, their bodies bent and hands blistered. Yet no matter how hard they labored, whispers and scorn clung to them. Children threw stones, mocking the boy who had no mother, no protection. Every insult fanned the flames in Mo Chen's heart.
The gentle presence that once steadied him was gone. Their home echoed with silence where laughter used to be. Even the act of passing through the village gates felt suffocating, as though the air itself mocked him with his mother's absence.
Hatred, once a spark, grew into a steady fire.
.....
Year 4088 of the Lingyun Calendar
A year passed. On an ordinary evening, the father and son sat cross-legged on their rough wooden floor, eating thin porridge.
"AAaaaah!"
A scream split the night air. Then another. Shouts, crashes, and the metallic clang of steel erupted outside.
Mo Chen's eyes widened. "Father… what was that?"
Mo Jin Tao rose, his face pale. "Stay here. Don't move." He reached for the door but before his hand touched the latch, the wooden frame shuddered and burst inward with a deafening crack.
Three men stormed inside. Each carried a weapon still wet with blood. Their ragged clothes stank of sweat and wine, smeared with streaks of gore so fresh it dripped onto the dirt floor. Their eyes gleamed with the hunger of wolves.
Mo Jin Tao instinctively pushed Mo Chen behind him, voice trembling. "W..who are you? Why are you in our home?"
The largest of the three grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. He dragged his blade along the wooden doorframe, carving deep scratches and sending splinters scattering."This house, and everything inside," he sneered, "belongs to us now, including… you two."
The shortest of the bandits, eyes glinting with malice, stepped toward Mo Chen and reached out to grab him. But before he could, Mo Jin Tao roared and tackled the man to the ground, fists swinging desperately.
"You dare!" the largest bellowed, swinging his sword down in a brutal arc. The blade tore across Mo Jin Tao's back, and blood sprayed onto the dirt floor.
"AAaaaagh!"
"Fatherrrrr!" Mo Chen screamed, rushing forward.
Before he could reach him, the medium sized bandit seized Mo Chen by the arms and lifted him off the ground with ease. "Ooo, look at this one," he jeered. "Trying to save Daddy, hahahaha!"
The shortest, furious from being tackled, scrambled back to his feet and snatched up his bloodied sword. His face twisted with rage.
"NO! Please ... please spare him!" Mo Chen cried, his voice breaking.
The bandit only laughed, raising his blade high. With a single savage motion, he swung.
Shhhhck!
Mo Jin Tao's head fell, blood pooling in the dirt.
"NOOOOO!" Mo Chen's shriek tore from his throat, raw and agonized, echoing into the night.
Grief shattered into despair. Despair curdled into rage. And in that instant, hatred like molten fire consumed his heart.
The medium bandit tightened his grip on the struggling boy. "Third brother, what do we do with this kid?" he asked, smirking.
The largest wiped his blade on his sleeve, his cruel smile widening. "Keep him. He's got a decent face, might fetch a fine price at the auction."
He glanced toward the burning village outside, where flames licked the sky and screams carried through the night. "First brother ordered us to finish quickly and meet at the village entrance. Let's go."
Mo Chen's world spun as he was dragged away, his father's lifeless body lying in a pool of blood behind him. His heart was breaking, but even through the tears, a vow was being carved into his soul.
That night, the seed of hatred began to grow.