The calm and profound gesture of Shen Zhao as he lay down on a wooden floor, upon a mat.
With soft, slow movements, his heart pounded faintly.
The evil wishes of fate—his eyelashes trembled as his eyes slowly dimmed.
His throat was dry as he gazed across the space. He was in a broken, small kitchen.
His mind could only focus on how he had lived his life, and how he was going to die.
Spinning his gaze around, he realized that there was no one there, though he was not expecting anyone to be with him in his last moment.
This was the final moment of his life—after being wasted as a slave for the rest of his years, now dying at the age of one hundred. His old and fragile body was falling apart, unable to move his bones.
He had wished for something more. He wished he could have changed his life.
To live a life freed from slavery, without adding more stress to himself—but the twisted plans of fate had entangled him.
After being sold by people he trusted, after being betrayed over and over again, he had learned the harshness of life and the wickedness of a man's heart.
Forcing his fragile, pale hand to move, he raised his right hand, clenching his fingers together as the faint sound of his bones cracking echoed.
Though it was painful for him to raise his hand, he still raised it.
As he said beneath his breath, "I wish I could change my life, just one chance…" his voice slowly disappeared, echoing in the small, confined space of the kitchen.
This was the final moment of Shen Zhao, as he closed his eyes—his vision disappearing, drifting away from the world.
The unfortunate life of a slave, and dying as one, was painful. Shen Zhao lay lifeless, with no one there to even close his body. He drifted away, as this was the end of his journey.
Living all his life as a slave, chained by slavery, he had been transported all over the empire, from one clan to another.
Then as if time had stopped and rewound, drifting in darkness—
A tiny blink, then another blink—his eyelids flickered over and over again.
The heavy sound of chains clanking together, the unsettling rhythm of footsteps.
Not one, not two, but more than even a thousand.
How painful it was to recall a memory that had clung to him all his life. The Devil's Mountain.
The tight, narrow space where all the slaves were gathered, the heavy metal of chains clinging to their necks, passed from one to another, hands bound by iron.
Shen Zhao gazed straight ahead, eyes fixed far into the distance.
A man in faded red garments, mounted on a horse, charged forward, weaving through the narrow corners of the mountain as the slaves were pressed together.
He remembered this part vividly—this was when most of the unfortunate were thrown off the mountain.
Yet Shen Zhao could not believe his eyes. Was this… his mind giving him a final farewell? Or was this life flashing before him? The thought twisted endlessly in his mind.
His fleeting doubt shattered as a huge man appeared in front of him. Looking closer, he could see him clearly now. This was no illusion—this was one of the men who had been thrown from Devil's Mountain.
The tight space of flesh pressed together, the stench of raw meat and blood, the clanging of chains echoing as bodies collided.
Shen Zhao needed to decide—was this déjà vu, or was his mind deceiving him? That question no longer mattered.
A whip cracked across his skin, tearing flesh, dragging him back to reality. Behind him, his companions screamed, insulted, and pressed him forward.
"You blind fish! Can't you see this place is a living death trap? Move! We're all packed together! One wrong step and we all go down together!"
A young, slim man with dark hair and pale skin shouted, his dry throat cracking under the strain.
Yet Shen Zhao could not forget this bastard—he had been one of them.
The voice was familiar. How could he forget, since it had belonged to one of the people who betrayed him?
Now, he realized it was real.
The moment came. He knew this was the part when most would be thrown from the mountain.
A man in traditional attire rode past, eyes scanning the weak and the weary. Those who faltered would be cast into the abyss.
Shen Zhao remembered it clearly. He had been exhausted but refused to be thrown off the mountain. Later, he learned that most who fell survived—landing in a spring far below.
Without even thinking twice, the decision had already been made. Taking a step forward to the slave in front of him, he rested his right hand on the chain, pinning him to the neck, shifting it slightly.
The companions behind him were drawn back; those in front were pressed forward.
Shen Zhao had made his choice. Shifting the chain now would determine which of the weaklings would be thrown from the mountain early.
Guards from both front and back dragged their legs, almost falling themselves over the cliff.
The man riding a horse in traditional attire cracked his whip, spurring the horse closer to Shen Zhao.
It was a fifty-fifty decision—a matter of chance. Now it was up to his companions, his fellow slaves.
Refusing to raise his head, he dragged the chains along with him. The risk was enormous; the giant man in front would not go down easily, his struggle tightening the chain around Shen Zhao's neck with every movement.
With the speed of a flint strike, the sound of shattering iron echoed as it hit the ground—a cold, piercing noise.
The figure in traditional attire on the horse, having last checked the chains, glanced at the fellow slaves before returning his gaze to Shen Zhao.
Before Shen Zhao could even utter a word, a man with a massive, fat body—his flesh hanging over his waist—still chained to him, shouted in a crackling voice:
"Young master… it is the man behind me!"
The figure in traditional attire did not care whose fault it was. Scanning the crowd, he quickly dragged the chains.
Before, at least a hundred had been tossed from the mountain. Now, Shen Zhao's decision narrowed it down to no more than twenty.
Dragging the chain, he shifted the mass of bodies, pushing all of them at once over the edge of the cliff.
The mass of flesh was pushed over the cliff of the mountain, plummeting with terrifying speed.
Bodies fell in chaotic motion, tangled in chains, their descent slowed only by the connections that bound them together.
Shen Zhao and the fat man remained chained together, their fall accelerating as a result.
The chain dug tighter into his neck, dragging him closer to the massive body.
The pressure was suffocating. Each breath grew harder to take. Shen Zhao twisted his body, aligning himself with the fat man as they tumbled downward.
He knew his decision was irreversible.
But the decision had already been made.
Death was inevitable.
The height offered no mercy—not even the chance of falling straight into the lake below. Now it was a matter of whether the water was deep enough to stop him from breaking apart on impact.
The wind tore at them, tossing and spinning their bodies, slamming them against branches, scraping against jagged rocks, before finally hurtling them downward.
A sudden gust twisted Shen Zhao away from the bulk of the group. Though his neck remained bound to the fat man, he plunged straight into the water.