The Exile from the Zhou Empire (part 2)

Chapter ten: The Exile from the Zhou Empire (part 2)

His mother tried to plead with him, her words tangled with the tears falling from her cheeks: "He's just a child! He's your son, how could you abandon him so easily?"

But the emperor did not relent. "He is no longer my son from this day! He is a curse placed upon our family, and not only on us but on the entire world. Didn't you hear the priest? This child, who is only fifteen, will become an unimaginable threat. I have already lightened the punishment for him, exiled him. I should have killed him for what the priest said, but I, Zhou Lian, will not kill a child who was once my son!"

Nightfall draped the border village in a cloak of dark shadows, making everything appear as if covered by the ashes of distant memories. The air was dry and heavy, carrying the scent of burning wood and wet mud, saturated with a strange silence as if the villagers shared in the despair that had seeped into the roots of their lives.

Zhou Tian slowly opened his eyes. His bones ached, and his soul felt as though it was burdened, as if he were carrying a mountain on his shoulders. The last thing he remembered was his father's gaze, a gaze filled with fear and disappointment, followed by the shadows that swallowed him as he was dragged away from the imperial palace. He no longer knew how he had ended up here, in this forgotten village at the edge of the empire, a place indifferent to the great events shaping the world.

He slowly rose from his spot, brushing the dust off his clothes, which no longer resembled the garments of a prince. They were torn and dirty, reflecting his inner state. He looked around. The village seemed like a place forgotten by time; the mud huts were dilapidated, on the verge of collapse under the weight of the wind. Barefoot children ran through narrow alleys, their laughter blending with the voices of vendors trying to sell goods that barely kept them alive.

"You need to know, boy, strangers don't live long here?"

He suddenly turned toward the voice. It was an old, crippled woman sitting next to an old wooden cart, with a few wilted vegetables on it. She looked at him with eyes full of suspicion, as though trying to read him like a closed book.

"Why?" he asked softly, his voice dripping with weakness and curiosity.

"This village isn't a place that welcomes those who don't belong. The rules here are simple: either you find your place, or they'll throw you into the nearest grave."

Zhou Tian didn't reply. He just nodded lightly and continued walking through the alleys, but her words stuck in his mind like an echo that wouldn't fade. He walked as though he didn't know where he was going, but something inside him urged him to explore the place rather than sit and wait for death from hunger.

He wandered through the village, trying to understand this new world into which he had been thrown without warning. The market was crowded with people, but the atmosphere was heavy, as if everyone was moving out of necessity rather than desire. The vendors called out softly to sell their wares—faded fabrics, old metal pots, and small knives made with modest craftsmanship.

Zhou Tian stopped in front of one of the stalls. He picked up a small knife, light in weight but sharp enough to cut through skin with ease. He looked at the vendor, an old man with a face full of wrinkles:

"How much?"

The vendor answered in a rough voice: "You won't need it. No one here fights; everyone is just trying to stay alive. But that doesn't mean you should stain your hands with blood for it. You'd rather die with pride than die as a criminal, and it's not for sale."

Zhou Tian left the knife without a word. He continued walking, but he couldn't ignore the looks that followed him like shadows. There was a group of men sitting near one of the huts, watching him with eyes full of caution and threat.

"They're watching you."

He turned toward the voice, but found no one. For a moment, he thought he was imagining things, but he felt something unusual in the air. The stares he was receiving were heavy, as if there was something making them doubt his presence among them.

As Zhou Tian recalled what had happened to him three days ago in the throne room, a strange figure approached him. A man dressed in a gray robe, covering his entire body, with his face hidden beneath the shadow of his hood. He stood before him like a rock, but when he spoke, his voice was like a cold breeze:

"Zhou Tian."

The boy raised his head, his eyes filled with suspicion: "Who are you?"

The man didn't answer. Instead, he extended his hand and pulled out something carefully wrapped in a silk cloth. He slowly unwrapped the bundle, revealing an exquisite mask, engraved with delicate patterns like maps of places yet to be discovered.

"This is for you. It's from your mother. She told me to give it to you because she knew that as the rightful heir to the throne, you would face many dangers due to the color of your silver hair. She asked me to tell you that she loves you."

Zhou Tian took the mask in his hands, tears falling from his eyes. "Mother... she always cared for me. I never gave her a gift on her birthday when I was thirteen, yet she never got angry with me. And a year ago, she burned her hand somehow when I was trying to practice with the sword. Even now, I don't know how her hand got burned that day, just from touching my sword and now she helping me. "

As Zhou Tian finished recalling some of his beautiful memories with his mother, he touched the edges of the mask and felt a coldness running through his veins, as though the mask was alive. He raised his eyes to ask the man how his mother came to possess the mask, but he vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.

When he first wore the mask, he felt something strange stir inside him. Memories flooded his mind, but they weren't his memories. He saw scenes of armies falling, of kingdoms and empires being destroyed, and cities swallowed by flames. He heard a mysterious voice whispering in his ear:

"Darkness is not your enemy. It is your strength. Reject it, and you will return to weakness. Or, if you think you are gifted, become a powerful cultivator who will make kingdoms and empires tremble in fear, and your name will reach every corner of the world!"

Zhou Tian wandered through the village again, but this time he was different. The mask had somehow altered his appearance, changing his face from that of a fifteen-year-old boy to a man in his twenties with black hair and black eyes. It hadn't just changed his face; it made him feel strange, as if, when he used the mask, he had lost something but didn't know what. Instead, he felt it had given him newfound confidence

and a strange connection to forces he couldn't understand, a power that lay dormant but called to him like an ancient whisper. His surroundings felt different now, as if he could see through the veil that obscured the true nature of this world. The villagers, who once seemed like mere shadows of life, now felt more real, their fears and hopes almost palpable to him.

He continued walking through the village, his mind still reeling from the strange visions the mask had invoked. His steps were more deliberate now, as if guided by an unseen hand. The mask, cold against his skin, seemed to pulse with energy, as though it were waiting for something, or perhaps someone.

He reached the village center, where the marketplace buzzed with activity, though it was far from the vibrant city he once called home. Here, the merchants spoke in hushed voices, wary of outsiders. The people went about their business with caution, avoiding direct eye contact. It was a place of quiet survival, where the weakest were quickly discarded and the strong ruled with subtle power.

Zhou Tian paused near a stone fountain, staring into the water. The reflection staring back at him was not his own. It was the face of someone older, someone more dangerous. The mask had transformed him not just physically, but spiritually as well. The person he had been, the boy with the uncertain future, had already begun to fade away.

As he stood there, lost in thought, a soft voice broke through his reverie.

"You are not from here, are you?"

Zhou Tian turned to see an elderly woman standing beside him, her eyes sharp despite her years. She was wearing simple, worn clothes, but there was an air of authority about her. Her hands were folded in front of her, and her gaze held a strange, knowing intensity.

"I'm... not sure where I'm from"

Zhou Tian replied, his voice distant, as if he were still grappling with his own identity.

The woman studied him for a moment, then nodded as if she understood something unspoken. "You wear that mask, don't you? It's not the first time I've seen it, though the one who wore it before you was a man who walked through this village long ago. They say he was a prince, just like you... but a prince who was cast out of his kingdom, just as you have been. What happened to Him? They say he died alone and forgotten Don't worry no one can catch you when you use the mask except me because I saw the first user who used it."

Zhou Tian felt a shiver run down his spine. The mask he wore, the visions he had seen—it all began to feel like more than just random happenstance. His destiny was tied to this strange artifact, and perhaps to the shadowy figure who had given it to him.

"What do you know about the mask?" he asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and urgency.

The woman smiled slightly, her eyes glinting with wisdom. "Not much, but I know that masks like that are never just accessories. They hold power, a power that can either consume you or give you everything you desire. Be careful, child. You may think you are controlling it, but it is controlling you."

Zhou Tian felt the weight of her words settle upon him. He had been naive to think that he could simply wear the mask and gain power. Power always came with a price, and he was starting to realize that the cost might be more than he was willing to pay.

Before he could respond, the woman turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd. Zhou Tian stood there, the weight of the mask growing heavier on his face. The whispers of the past, the visions, and the priest's words haunted him, warning him of the dangers that lay ahead. Yet, despite the fear, a part of him couldn't help but wonder what power lay in that darkness, what strength could be gained if he embraced it fully.

A soft breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the faintest scent of flowers. Zhou Tian closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He had come from a place of privilege, a place where his fate was controlled by others, but now he was alone. No one could save him now, and no one could tell him what his future would be. Only he could decide his path.

With newfound determination, Zhou Tian began walking through the village once more. The people's stares no longer unsettled him. He was no longer a child, no longer the lost prince. He was something else now, something dangerous, something powerful. And wherever he went, the world would tremble.

As he walked through the village, he couldn't help but wonder if his journey would lead him back to the throne, to the empire that had once been his birthright. But there was something more pressing on his mind: the truth about the mask, the power it held, and the darkness that seemed to call to him from within. Whatever he faced next, he would face it with the strength he had discovered inside himself. And perhaps, just perhaps, he would learn who he truly was—and what he was capable of.