Chapter 1: Prologue

The dense forest blocked out the sun, casting a deep shade where not even the usual chorus of insects and birds could be heard. The woods were utterly silent, until a sudden scream shattered the tranquility.

“What’s happening?” A young man, who had been dozing on a mossy stone, jerked awake.

He wore coarse linen clothes and had a mattock by his side. Next to the stone sat a medicine basket—clearly, he was a herbalist who, exhausted from his work, had taken a nap and been roused by this horrific cry.

“There’s a boy here!” someone shouted loudly while the young man was still confused.

“Kill him,” another voice replied.

Their exchange was in a strange, guttural tongue the herbalist did not understand, but the murderous intent in their words was unmistakable. Instinct told him danger was near. He turned and fled, moving nimbly. Behind him, with a sharp twang, an arrow thudded into the spot where he’d just been sitting, its fletching humming against a pine trunk.

Terrified, the boy let out a howl and tumbled down the slope, scrambling frantically while shouting for help. But in these deep, deserted woods, his cries only echoed back at him, unanswered by anything but the rocks and trees.

He ran not on the main paths but through winding trails, hoping the tangled branches and thick underbrush would shield him. Two arrows missed their mark, and soon his pursuers began to close in, flanking him on either side.

“What did the brat overhear? That man spilled plenty before he died. If word gets out, the commander will have our heads!” one of the pursuers muttered.

“He won’t get away!”

Sometimes their shouts were in that same barbaric tongue, sometimes in the official language of the Great Tang, though with such a heavy, clumsy accent it was clear they were borderland tribesmen. Their stamina was impressive, but the boy knew the terrain. For a time, he widened the gap, but exhaustion gradually slowed him, and soon the footsteps behind drew nearer.

He could hear their ragged, heavy breathing almost at his neck, the foul reek of their breath seeming to graze his skin. He ran on, terror mounting in his chest.

If he could just make it down this slope, beyond lay open ground, and not far off were the homes of villagers...

“Dog of Tang, you can run!” one of the pursuers snarled just as a hairy, powerful hand reached out and seized his shirt.

The boy screamed and struggled, his coarse shirt tearing under the strain. They were already on a slope, and his momentum sent him tumbling down, head over heels through brambles and weeds, battered and bruised.

The pursuers watched with cold amusement as he crashed into a stone at the foot of the hill, his body convulsing, limbs jerking uncontrollably.

From their experience, he was as good as dead.

Still, they were cautious. Their mission was too important for mistakes. If the boy survived, reporting back would be troublesome. They slid down the slope to check, feeling for breath—there was none. His pulse was gone, too. Satisfied, they debated briefly.

“Should we finish him off?”

“Quiet! Someone’s coming, let’s go!”

The one ready to strike hesitated, hearing distant voices. A finishing blow would leave an obvious wound—better to leave him as he was; any passerby would assume he’d fallen and died by accident.

Besides, there were other bodies in the forest waiting to be dealt with.

They melted back into the woods, leaving only the boy’s corpse behind. But after a few steps, one of them paused.

“What’s that noise?”

His companions heard it as well—a low, rolling thunder from the sky. Yet the day was cloudless, the sun shining bright. How could there be thunder?

A sudden exclamation: “Comet!”

A silver comet blazed across the sky, its long tail streaming behind it, flying directly overhead. The men, unnerved by this omen, hurried away, vanishing swiftly among the trees.

Not long after, two farmers, hoes slung over their shoulders, arrived. The celestial phenomenon left them pale with fright, and they hastened to shelter beneath a tree at the edge of the slope.

But the comet, as if drawn towards them, descended rapidly. Frozen with terror, they could only watch as it crashed down nearby.

Thankfully, it did not land on their heads.

An intense, blinding light forced them to close their eyes, the radiance lasting several heartbeats before it faded away.

When they opened their eyes again, they saw a figure staggering to his feet.

The herbalist boy opened his own eyes. The world spun wildly around him, his pupils unfocused, body swaying unsteadily before he collapsed once more.

“Isn’t that... the Eleventh Son of the Ye family?” one of the still-shaken farmers exclaimed. “Did the broom star just strike him?”