"Fang Yuan, surrender the Spring Autumn Cicada obediently, and I'll grant you a swift death!"
"Old bastard Fang, cease your resistance! Today, all righteous sects have united to storm your den of evil. This place is sealed tighter than heaven's net – your decapitation is inevitable!"
"Fang Yuan, you accursed fiend! To refine the Spring Autumn Cicada, you slaughtered millions. Your sins drown mountains and exhaust bamboo scrolls – no atonement remains!"
"Demon, three centuries ago you defiled me, slaughtered my family, exterminated my bloodline! Since that day, I've hungered for your flesh and thirsted for your blood! Today, you'll beg for death's release!"
...
Fang Yuan stood amidst the carnage, his emerald robes in tatters, hair matted with blood, surveying the battlefield.
Mountain winds whipped his bloody garments, snapping like war banners in the gale.
Crimson lifeblood gushed from hundreds of wounds. A mere moment's standing left him ankle-deep in a growing pool of gore.
Enemies encircled him – no retreat remained.
The die was cast; death's embrace awaited.
Fang Yuan saw his predicament with crystal clarity, yet faced annihilation with unshaken composure.
His eyes held the stillness of ancient well-waters – dark, fathomless, inscrutable.
The righteous coalition comprised venerable patriarchs and prodigious heroes. Now they tightened their ring – some roaring challenges, others sneering contemptuously, all eyeing their prey with wariness or poorly concealed dread.
None dared strike first, fearing the cornered demon's final gambit.
Six hours passed in lethal stillness until sunset painted the peaks in wildfire hues.
The statue-still demon finally turned.
A hundred warriors recoiled as one.
Blood had long stained the granite black beneath him. His pallid face, kissed by dying light, gained an ethereal radiance.
Gazing at the blazing horizon, Fang Yuan murmured, "Green peaks at dusk, autumn moons in spring winds. Dawn's black silk becomes twilight's snow – all triumphs and defeats dissolve to emptiness."
Earthly memories from another life flooded his vision.
Once a scholar in China, he'd transmigrated to this world to wander three centuries in hardship, then dominate two more – five hundred years vanished like morning mist.
Long-buried recollections now unfolded with vivid clarity.
"So it ends in failure," he mused without regret.
This outcome had been anticipated since first embarking on this path.
The demonic path spurns virtue – arson and slaughter make heaven and earth recoil. To embrace it meant making the world one's enemy.
"If my newborn Spring Autumn Cicada works," he laughed wildly, "I'll walk the demon's path again!"
"Why laugh, Ancient Evil?"
"Brace yourselves! The demon's death-throes approach!"
"Yield the Cicada!!"
As they surged forward, Fang Yuan detonated his essence in cataclysmic fury.
…
Spring rains whispered across Qing Mao Mountain.
Late night breezes carried drizzle through the dark.
Yet the mountain gleamed – from foothills to slopes, countless pinpricks of light formed a luminous belt.
These emanated from stilted towers – not ten thousand, but several thousand lanterns strong.
Thus did Gu Yue[1] Village imprint human presence upon the vast wilderness.
At its heart stood a grand pavilion, blazing with ceremonial lights for the Ancestral Rites.
"Ancestors, bless our Awakening Ceremony!" prayed the middle-aged clan leader, silver-templed and white-robed, kneeling rigidly on ochre tiles. "Let worthy youths emerge to renew our bloodline!"
Before him rose a black-lacquered altar holding three tiers of ancestral tablets flanked by bronze censers smoldering with incense.
Behind knelt a dozen elders in voluminous white vestments – the clan's powerbrokers and administrators.
After prayers, the leader pressed palms to the floor and kowtowed, forehead thudding dully.
Solemn elders mirrored his motions.
The hall echoed with muffled impacts of flesh on wood.
Rites concluded, the assembly rose silently and filed out.
In the corridor, elders exhaled collectively, tension easing.
Murmurs swelled.
"A year passes in the blink of an eye."
"The last Awakening Ceremony feels like yesterday – still fresh in memory."
"What new talents will emerge at tomorrow's ceremony?"
"Three years without a Grade-A prodigy… May the ancestors answer us."
"The Bai and Xiong Clans spawn geniuses yearly. Bai Ning Bing's talent chills the blood."
At Bai Ning Bing's name, worried glances passed among the elders.
The youth had reached Third-Rank Gu Master in two years – outshining contemporaries and unnerving veterans.
None doubted he'd become Bai Clan's pillar – a powerhouse rivaling veteran masters.
"Yet hope remains in this year's candidates."
"The Fang Branch boasts a wonderchild – spoke at three months, walked at four, composed poetry by five. Orphaned early, now raised by his aunt and uncle."
"His 'Invitation to Wine', 'Ode to Plum Blossoms', and 'River City Ballad' reveal extraordinary genius!"
The clan leader, last to exit, closed the temple doors on elders' buzzing discussions.
He recognized their subject: Gu Yue Fang Yuan.
As leader, he tracked all promising youths – none shone brighter than this boy.
History showed early prodigies often possessed superior cultivation aptitudes.
'If he tests Grade-A,' the leader mused, smiling faintly, 'he might rival Bai Ning Bing. Even Grade-B would become a clan standard-bearer. But such precocity suggests Grade-A.'
Clearing his throat, he addressed the elders, "Rest well tonight for tomorrow's trials."
Elders stiffened, eyeing each other with veiled suspicion.
All understood the subtext.
Annual recruitment battles turned dignified elders into snarling wolves.
Tonight's rest would fuel tomorrow's contests.
Fang Yuan – likely Grade-A, orphaned last of his line – promised century-long dominance to whichever branch secured him.
"But compete honorably," the leader warned. "No scheming that fractures clan unity."
"We wouldn't dare."
"Your words guide us."
"We take our leave, Clan Leader."
Elders dispersed, minds racing with strategies.
Soon the corridor stood empty. The leader drifted to a rain-streaked window.
Cool mountain air washed over him, fragrant with petrichor.
From this third-story vantage, Gu Yue Village spread below.
Unusually, most households still burned lamps deep into the night.
The Awakening Ceremony's import thrummed through the clan – sleep eluded many.
"There flickers our future," the leader murmured, watching firefly lights.
Elsewhere, another pair of eyes observed those same lights with profound complexity.
"Gu Yue Village… Five centuries past? The Spring Autumn Cicada succeeded…" Fang Yuan stood drenched at his window, gaze piercing the storm.
Ranked seventh among the Ten Legendary Gu, the Cicada's time-reversal power defied cosmic law.
In essence – rebirth.
"Reborn through the Cicada," he whispered, studying his youthful palm before clenching it. "This… is reality."
Rain whispered against shutters as he sighed. "Five hundred years… a fading dream."
Yet he knew – this was no mere dream.
[1] Gu Yue: It means Ancient Moon in direct translation. The clan has an affinity with moon things. The 'Gu' used here is a different Chinese character from the mystical Gu insects.