Beneath a tree with a cracked trunk, coiled with moss, in the shade of its branches, sat a boy with legs crossed.
He looked no older than fourteen, but in his glowing crimson eyes swirled an abyss — frightening, mature.
Long black hair cascaded down his back. His skin was snow-white, almost marble-like, making him look like a porcelain statue.
His eyebrows were thick and sharp, like those of an ancient imperial heir.
He sat motionless, deep in meditation. His qi had reached the fourth stage of concentration.
Two people approached him — an old man and a young girl.
"Patshakhan," the old man began, "I found you two years ago and taught you to cultivate.
Now you're already at the fourth stage of qi concentration. You must repay me.
Take my granddaughter as your wife. Her parents are dead. There are no worthy men for her in this village.
I am old and don't want to leave her alone."
The girl looked around sixteen. A clean face, clear eyes — but her lips were pressed in discontent.
"I won't marry him!" she burst out.
"He's an ungrateful bastard. You give him tasks — he ignores them.
He takes food from the villagers. People are afraid of him. He does nothing for the village — only trains all day!
I won't marry him!"
The old man frowned.
"Patshakhan… is it true you've been taking food?"
Patshakhan slowly opened his eyes and looked at the old man, though his mind whispered something else entirely:
> "He's afraid I'll become strong and leave the village.
He wants to keep me weak — under his control…"
"Forgive me, village elder," he said aloud.
"I was ill. I couldn't work in the fields and asked for a little food. It won't happen again."
"Asked?" the girl, Xiao Shi, sneered.
"You forced an old woman to give up her last flatbreads!"
Patshakhan smirked and stood up.
"Xiao Shi, would you like me to visit you tonight?"
Her face flushed as if struck by a slap.
"Pervert! I don't like you!" she shouted.
But he saw it — in her gaze, there was not just anger. There was… curiosity.
He knew she envied his talent. And inside — she feared him.
The elder interrupted:
"When you're married, then you can speak of such things. It's too early now.
Tomorrow, you'll go sow wheat. People are complaining. If you refuse, I'll apply the village law."
"Of course, Elder," Patshakhan bowed. "I am no longer ill. I'll do as you say."
> "You're getting in the way of my cultivation, old man.
You hide behind a mask of care, but you want to keep me in chains.
But I won't be weak forever. I've studied poison techniques in secret… Soon, I'll be able to make a true poison — and then, your death will come."
---
That night he fell asleep — but awoke within himself.
A world unfolded before him — a world that should not exist.
The sky — crimson, like fresh blood.
And at its center — a black sun, dead and cold. It devoured the light.
The ground — cracked, black, as if scorched.
In every direction — millions of stakes driven deep into the earth.
They were empty. Only fresh drops of blood glistened on their tips.
At the heart of this hell — a massive round pit, encircled by ancient runes.
It radiated heat, as if deep inside, blood still boiled.
It was empty, yet the air trembled with the memory of a raging ocean of blood.
> "Who created this?..
Or… was it me?"
> "This is not just a world. It's an altar. A prison. A vessel.
And I… I am its master.
It feels familiar… but I don't remember?"