It had been weeks since the grand event of the Tianyin World had ended. The world now felt calm—like the stillness of a morning spring. No more cheering crowds, no more clashing weapons or surging auras. Peace—that's what people called it now.
In the small town of Xinjing, that peace felt tangible. The town wasn't a hub of great power, and perhaps that's why it felt so warm and humble. Children ran around laughing. Mothers haggled at the market for fresh vegetables. Street vendors arranged their goods, and the aroma of baked pastries filled the air.
But in the midst of it all, one person seemed out of place in this tranquility. A young man in a black robe sat alone on a wooden bench near the town park. His face was somber, his eyes sharp but empty—as if they weren't truly seeing anything at all. He was Xuan Di, the young leader of the Demon Fire Sect.
In his hand, he held a worn butterfly-shaped pendant. It might've seemed meaningless to others, but to Xuan Di, it was the last remnant of a past he could never discard.
Laughter from nearby children broke his trance. He looked up at them, then lowered his gaze once more. Suddenly—
> "Stupid kid! Can't even walk properly!"
A loud voice drew his attention. A middle-aged man struck a small boy carrying a sack of rice. The child fell to the ground, trembling as he tried to get back up.
Xuan Di froze. His vision blurred. His ears rang.
And then, the world around him faded.
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Flashback – A Glimpse of the Past
> "Father! I've cleaned the whole yard!" shouted young Xuan Di, his face sweaty but glowing with pride.
The tall man sitting on the veranda barely glanced at him.
> "Slow. Useless."
> "I can be faster next time, I promise!"
> Slap!
The blow stung—not just on the cheek, but deep within the heart. The bucket he held fell, water splashing onto the dirt floor. But young Xuan Di didn't cry. He simply lowered his head and clenched his fists.
> "Keep this up and you'll be thrown out of the sect."
That night, he sat quietly in the corner of his room, staring at the small pendant in his hand. Outside, a faint sound of a flute could be heard—gentle and sorrowful.
He peeked through the window. His father was playing the flute beneath a tree, his face weary. An almost-empty glass of wine sat on his lap.
> "Father... why are you so cruel… yet why are you crying?"
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Back in Xinjing Park
Xuan Di snapped back to the present and saw the same little boy now sitting under a tree, rubbing his bruised cheek. But… the boy was smiling.
Yes, smiling.
A butterfly had landed on his hand. He chuckled softly, as if nothing had happened.
Xuan Di slowly stood up. He began to walk toward the child but stopped halfway. He couldn't understand.
> "Why are you smiling… after being treated like that?"
He looked around. The townsfolk walked past indifferently. No one paid attention. As if violence was just part of life.
> "The world is unfair," Xuan Di muttered. "But… will I keep being a part of that injustice?"
He turned to walk away, yet his heart felt heavy. The wound from his childhood had never healed—just buried. Today, it had been torn open again.
Even though the world appeared peaceful… within him, an old storm had begun to stir once more.
And unbeknownst to him… from afar, a pair of eyes were watching him in silence.
---