Volume One: The Wild Child Chapter Six: The Spark in the Northern Land

But speaking of it, in this world, is there truly such a thing as an immortal?

...

Yu Baili hauled Lin Changtian up, his face indifferent as he looked at him. Once again, the two stood in silent confrontation, but this time Lin Changtian’s gaze drifted upward, past Yu Baili, to the vast black clouds blotting out the sky above.

“We are none of us innocent,” Yu Baili said weakly, tossing Lin Changtian aside.

Lin Changtian stood, brushed the dirt from his body, and calmly met Yu Baili’s gaze, waiting for him to continue.

“The northern frontier isn’t guarded by the Exiled Clan alone. To be precise, it is jointly held by the Exiled Clan and the border wardens sent from each great family of the Central Plains. But that day, before the calamity, all the wardens from the Central Plains were recalled, supposedly because of the mass awakening and the Bohai disaster.”

Then—Yu Baili faltered, unable to continue. The man famed across the land for his courage, known as the Wild Tiger, now broke down like a child, sobbing uncontrollably, years of pent-up grief erupting all at once. Tears and snot streamed down his face, soiling his plain white robes. As his vision blurred, Yu Baili remembered the scene when he first arrived in the North.

A white-robed youth, blade in hand, swaggered into the North, arrogant and unrestrained—a true prodigal son. That year, he was just fourteen. After years of brutal fighting, Yu Longxiang became known as the Wild Tiger throughout the Northern wastes. Yet even this wildest of wild men would turn meek as a kitten when the border wardens of the Exiled Clan ruffled his hair.

When Yu Longxiang first came to the North, he could barely lift his sword, but still, he lived well.

Among the Exiled Clan’s wardens—from squad leaders to captains, from comrades to generals—each had shielded him from harm, each had stood up for him. Once, during a bitter battle, Yu Longxiang fought his way a hundred miles to the central camp to deliver a message, then led reinforcements back another hundred miles to aid the front. Drenched in blood, he grinned foolishly at those who had always ruffled his hair, glad to see them alive.

The general who taught him swordsmanship glanced at him, ignored the blood and grime, patted his head, and laughed, “You’re so fierce, Longxiang, but with a name like that, you just seem a bit silly. From our pavilions, it's a hundred miles between us, and you killed your way back and forth. Better to call you Yu Baili.” And so, to the surprise of the wardens from the Central Plains, the world lost a Yu Longxiang of the Yu family and gained Yu Baili of the Exiled Clan.

Though the Northern wilds were harsh and desolate, they were warmer than the fertile lands of the Central Plains.

But that fateful day, Yu Baili sensed something amiss. Returning midway through the recall, he witnessed the desolation of the North.

Snowflakes danced, mingling with flashes of blades—souls returning home, bodies decaying in foreign lands.

“Fear not the road ahead, for who in the world does not know you?” Clad in white, traveling a thousand miles, he had become renowned across the land. Yet, wandering the rivers and lakes, he found no old friends.

Tears fell in strings, pooling in a dish—large pearls, small pearls—merging into the story of Yu Baili. Lin Changtian saw it all clearly, crouching beside Yu Baili to wipe the tears from his eyes.

“So, the fall of the northern frontier and the coming disaster of Bohai—all part of their scheme?” Lin Changtian pointed skyward and spoke softly. Yu Baili nodded, straightened his clothes, blew his nose, and wiped it on Lin Changtian’s sleeve.

Having composed himself, Yu Baili intended to threaten Lin Changtian into forgetting today’s events, but seeing the earnestness in the other’s eyes, pure and unwavering, he realized Lin Changtian was less an onlooker and more a protagonist of the tale.

“Could he become the second signal fire?” The absurd thought surfaced in Yu Baili’s mind. He stood dazed, gazing into the distant sky, lost for words.

But who could say whether the seed sown today would not one day become a blaze that engulfed the world?

Yet, change came swiftly, leaving him no time for idle speculation.

Black clouds pressed down upon the city, surging toward the last patch of open sky, like the final straw to break a dying camel’s back.

...

The entire Qinhuang felt like a caged bird shrouded in gloom. Beneath the heavens, awakened or not, all seemed as helpless as sheep.

The students in the classroom gazed at the sky in wonder. The room grew louder and louder, but the old man did nothing to quiet them, sipping his tea, letting the classroom fill with laughter and whispers. They gossiped about recent events, and as the tales grew livelier, the room rang with laughter, as though the strange weather were but an interlude, and tomorrow the sun would rise as always.

Only the awakened ones, led by “Brother Strength,” remained silent, while the rest rejoiced at their brief reprieve from the old man’s lectures.

“Is that a mirage?” a boy said, peering curiously out the window. Everyone turned to look.

“It looks like a curtain of water in the sky—how beautiful!” A young woman, moved by the sight, glided to the window, regaining the confidence she’d lost since failing to awaken her powers, basking in the attention.

Her hands were delicate, her skin like cream—she was lovely. Suddenly, she felt a sense of unreality. The curtain of sky seemed to lower, strands like willow branches drawing closer and closer.

Such is nature’s allure, she thought. Clearing her throat, she tried to recite a favorite verse, but to her shock, no sound came forth. Those drifting lines in the air revealed themselves as tendrils.

The classroom fell silent. Then screams erupted, blood splattering everywhere.

Tomorrow, the sun would rise as usual, but today, the crowd was as helpless as lambs to the slaughter.

The tentacle drained the girl of blood, tossed her desiccated body aside, and turned its greedy gaze on the rest of the class. The students panicked, pushing and shoving toward the narrow door. Once-delicate girls, pitied for their fragility, were shoved aside, left pale and trembling as the tentacle crept closer, death itself approaching.

Tears streamed from Lin Xiaoxi’s eyes. Small and frail, she had been pushed to the edge—closest to death.

The monster considered itself a refined hunter. It slowly caressed Lin Xiaoxi’s skin, from her neck to her hair, savoring her terrified trembling, watching her shift from numbness to shock, before stabbing hungrily for her blood. It seemed to already taste the sweetness.

But—whoosh—a sound interrupted the anticipated feast. Enraged, the tentacle saw a stranger blazing with golden light appear before it. Feeling challenged, the hunter grew even more frenzied.

Some abandon their kind, seeking to survive alone. Others face the underworld head-on, snatching life from the hands of death.