My purpose.

I opened my eyes. The blackened ceiling loomed above me, still, a witness to so many identical mornings. But today was not one of them.

The light filtering through the window was faint, as if the day hesitated to arrive. Outside, the mountain seemed wrapped in a thick silence, broken only by my ragged breathing. 

The scream escaped my chest before I could contain it. I sat up abruptly, my heart racing and my body soaked in cold sweat. I had dreamed of them, of my family dying before my eyes, while I stood there, motionless, unable to do anything. 

—Just a dream— I whispered, but the emptiness around me didn't allow me to believe

it.

The place where my brothers used to sleep was empty, just like my father's corner. I clutched the blanket, seeking comfort, but its warmth didn't reach me. Everything was cold. Everything was empty. 

I rose like an automaton and lit the fire. I boiled rice, made tea. My hands followed the steps of a routine I knew too well, but now it lacked purpose. I placed the dishes on the floor, three besides mine, with their respective cups of tea. 

—How's the tea?— I asked the air, pretending a smile. 

—This time I used Wu Seung Cao herbs. 

Silence was my only answer. My words bounced off the walls like hollow echoes. I ate in silence, my eyes fixed on the plates in front of me, full but untouched. 

When I finished, I gathered the breakfast and left. The streets of the village were covered in ash, the air thick with moisture and death. I passed between forgotten bodies, motionless figures that once were part of my life but were now nothing but remnants. 

I arrived at the graves of my family and placed the dishes beside each one. I knelt before them and spoke, as if they could truly hear me. 

—Father, how did the hunt go? Did you catch anything?— I murmured, trying to imagine his smile as he complained about his swollen hands. 

The wind carried my words away, and the cold crept beneath my skin. I clenched the empty bowl between my hands and closed my eyes. I forced myself to keep talking, though I knew it was only the echo that accompanied me. 

In the silence, among the graves, I felt that the world had lost all color. Something inside me had died with them, and all that remained was the routine. 

My fingers brushed the loose earth of the graves, searching in its cold, sandy texture for a trace of their touch. I closed my eyes, imagining it was my father's hand, large and firm, or my brother's, small and calloused, holding mine. In my mind, I could see their faces, their expectant eyes, waiting for my words. For a moment, their shadows seemed so real that I almost felt their breath on my shoulder. 

—Yun, finish your food, come on…— I said, and a soft laugh escaped my lips, tinged with a tenderness that hurt —Don't think I don't see you trying to give your share to your brother. 

The echo of my words spread through the empty air. 

—And you, father… are you going hunting today? You always said it was a matter of life and death. But now… now it no longer makes sense, does it? 

The laughter turned bitter, transforming into an empty laugh I didn't recognize as mine. My chest burned as hot tears clung to my eyes, refusing to fall. Finally, the laughter cracked, distorted, as if chewing on glass. 

I reached out toward the graves, seeking a trace of their presence. But the cold, mute earth only returned a handful of solitude. I clenched my fingers, letting the earth slip between them as I whispered: 

—Bai Xuebing… why do you keep talking to the dead? They… they can't hear you.

The words resonated in the emptiness, and I shuddered upon hearing them. One last hollow laugh escaped me, floating like a mocking echo in the wind. I closed my eyes, my mind repeating the questions that haunted me. 

—Why am I still here? Why do I still breathe… while they do not? 

I opened my eyes to the graves that seemed to burn beneath the fog, not with fire, but with the relentless cold of absence. 

—Is it a punishment… or a gift?— I murmured, not recognizing my own voice, so empty and distant like the air surrounding me. 

The wind, heavy and cold, carried my words into oblivion. My gaze stopped on the shadows of what once were their bodies, and a dark, purposeless longing grew in my chest. I closed my eyes and whispered: 

—Rest. I promise you, at least, you will have peace.

The days turned into endless shadows, and each dawn found me immersed in the same task: digging, burying, and remembering. The village, now a cemetery, was my only witness.

My hands, cracked and dirt-covered, never stopped their work. Each grave I dug was a silent farewell, a small ceremony for those who would never walk these streets again. 

One afternoon, my steps led me to the corner where old Li, the storyteller, used to sit.

Instead of finding him with his tired smile and warm voice, I found him there, motionless,

surrounded by rubble. His body, now lifeless, seemed as serene as if the world had wrapped him in one final embrace. 

I knelt beside him. I closed my eyes and remembered how he used to tell me stories of immortals and heroes who defied death. His voice, full of dreams, still resonated in my memory. 

—Cultivate… immortality— I whispered, letting the words float in the air. 

The echo faded into the silence, but deep within me, something awakened. 

The image of those past days flooded me like an overflowing river. I saw old Li smiling, his eyes shining as he told the adventures of heroes and demons. What would he have thought of this fate that befell the village? His laughter, which once resonated like a song of hope, was now a bitter memory. 

I sat beside his body, and a solitary tear traced a path down my cheek.

—Grandfather, could you tell me the story of the hunter and the white snake again? It was my favorite. 

The silence of the dead village was the only response, but I closed my eyes, clinging to the echo of his voice. 

—Of course, little rascal, this old man will tell you as many times as you want— my memory said, its tone full of warmth and tenderness.

A soft laugh escaped my lips, innocent at first, but it twisted, turning into something dark and broken.

—Ha… ha…— The echo of my own voice resonated empty, lost in time. As the laughter faded into the air, a bitter thought crossed my mind, as sour as the stories of immortality the old man used to tell me.

It took me eight days to bury each of the fallen. I couldn't leave them at the mercy of the elements; each body deserved a farewell. When I finished, I faced the last part of our village's tradition: the farewell ritual. 

In our village, accompanying the dead on their final journey was a sacred act. Each person would choose a flower to represent the deceased and walk in a solemn procession through the village, reminding them of the home they loved so much. Upon reaching the resting place, the flowers were placed on the graves as offerings, a final gift to help the souls on their journey to the afterlife. 

I took the tradition upon myself alone. I walked the path we had shared so many times, carrying with me the wilted flowers I found on the mountain. Those flowers, brittle and faded, reflected the desolation I carried within.

I walked through the ruins of the village, alone in a funeral procession with only one member. Every step was a reminder of the lives that were no longer here. The burned houses and ash-covered paths seemed to murmur the echoes of laughter that now only existed in my memory.

Finally, I arrived at the graves. In front of them, I let the flowers fall onto the cold earth, too weak to say anything more. I knelt and dug my fingers into the damp soil, as if I could cling to them, to their memories.

—Father… brothers… all of you… I'm sorry...— The apology caught in my throat, heavy like a stone. My tears mixed with the dirt on my face, but they didn't bring relief, only a latent fury that burned under my skin.

I couldn't save them. I promised I would, that I would protect everyone, and I failed.

The emptiness answered my words with a cruel silence. The faces of the killers surged in my mind, alive and clear. Demons in human form, reveling in our destruction. I remembered their cruel laughter, their eyes full of disdain, and the symbol they carried: a heron on their backs. That emblem burned in my mind like a red-hot iron.

My fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my skin. I felt the rage grow, a dark torrent devouring everything in its path. The air around me grew heavy, vibrating with a somber energy, laden with pure hatred.

—Why them?— I whispered, my voice barely a thread. Then, the scream exploded from me with uncontrollable fury. —Why us? Why is everything always taken from the weak? Why? Why?!

Each word was a blow that echoed within me. The rage, the pain, and the guilt mixed into an unstoppable whirlwind. Something in me broke, or perhaps something new began to awaken.

Then, as if a lightning bolt had split me in two, the truth descended upon me, relentless and devastating. The enlightenment I had sought for so long came, but it was not a sweet revelation. It was a condemnation.

The heavens… The heavens were never fair. They had never been. Mortals were nothing more than pawns in a macabre game, disposable toys in the hands of higher entities. Justice was no more than a story whispered to calm the weak, a lie we repeated to bear the cruelty of our fate.

Finally, I understood: this world did not reward the virtuous. Only the ruthless thrived, those who trampled without remorse the lives that got in their way.

And then I saw it clearly: the reason I was still alive.

—I will kill them…— I whispered, each word laden with a poison that burned as it left my mouth. My voice, barely a murmur, became an unbreakable promise. —I will make them pay… with blood.

The pain no longer mattered. The tears became insignificant. There was only room for vengeance. My body trembled, not with fear, but with the growing fury that consumed me. The memories of the heron on their backs were a fire that burned in my mind.

—I swear…— I lifted my head to the gray sky, an endless void that seemed to mock me. —I swear on my family's graves that I will make them suffer a thousand times more than they suffered. I don't care if I have to face the heavens… I will destroy them all!

Hatred enveloped me like a tangible shadow, smothering the last vestiges of compassion left in me. My breath was heavy, irregular, as I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. Blood slowly seeped out, but I felt no pain. This physical suffering was a whisper compared to the roar of the emotional storm consuming me.

My eyes, once dull, now shone with a new intensity, almost supernatural. The crying had abandoned me, and my face, once broken by despair, had hardened into a mask of pure determination. I looked toward the sky, defiant, as if I could rip the stars from their places.

—If the heavens are unjust… then I will challenge them.— The words slipped from my lips with a chilling venom. Each syllable was a dark oath, laden with the promise of endless revenge.

Slowly, I raised my bloodied hand toward the heavens. My fingers trembled, not with fear, but from the intensity of the rage consuming me. I could feel the tendons of my arm tightening, as if my body was preparing for an inevitable battle with the heavens themselves.

—If destiny is cruel... I will destroy it. —My voice echoed through the desolate ruins, filled with a biting cold. My vow was a palpable force, a bomb ready to explode.

A twisted smile curved on my lips, devoid of all humanity. There was no joy in it, only the icy satisfaction of one who has abandoned fear. 

I let my fingers brush the cold earth covering the graves of my family. The mixture of dirt and blood on my hands was a brutal reminder of what had been taken from me, of what I must reclaim. 

I will make them pay, I thought, with a determination that consumed everything I was. No matter how long it takes. No matter how high I must rise. I will destroy them all. 

—I don't care if I become the enemy of the world— I whispered, my voice now a murmur filled with danger, floating in the air like an unavoidable threat. My chest heaved with force, each breath an attempt to contain the burning fire of the fury growing inside me. 

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the hatred consume me completely. It was a dark embrace, a heavy cloak that tangled in every corner of my soul. My body trembled with the intensity of my vow, a shiver not born of weakness, but of a primal power beginning to awaken. 

When I opened them again, doubt had vanished. My eyes no longer belonged to a child who cried for what was lost; they were the windows to something deeper, something dark and sinister. 

I rose slowly, feeling my body fill with an unbreakable strength. I trembled, but not from fear. Not from pain. It was the tremor of someone who had crossed the line, leaving behind any trace of humanity. Every fiber of my being radiated a deadly determination. 

My tears had dried. My face, once reflecting despair, was now a cold, ruthless mask, impossible to break. 

I looked at the makeshift graves in front of me but didn't say goodbye. There was no place for mourning or memories. Everything that had been Bai Xuebing was buried there, along with them. What remained was a demon, a being born of hatred and loss, ready to crush everything in its path. 

—I will fulfill my purpose. —The words left my lips with the coldness of a winter storm. A twisted smile appeared on my face, a grimace capable of freezing the blood of anyone who dared to look at me. 

Without hesitation, I turned, leaving behind what had once been my home. I didn't look back. I couldn't. Each step I took was a sentence, a hammer striking the nail that sealed my fate. 

The wind blew weakly, lifting dust and ashes around me, as if the world were crying for what it was about to lose. But I felt nothing. My gaze remained fixed on the horizon, on a single objective that eclipsed everything else: destruction.