C1 The Stubborn Youth

The night was eerily silent, the darkness unsettling.

The piercing cries of birds and the clamor of footsteps gradually faded away.

At the edge of the towering cliff, the crimson stains of blood were vividly visible under the bright moonlight. The chaotic scene was in disarray, yet it failed to capture the attention of the distant stars.

Near the gloomy precipice, a sheer drop loomed, and beneath the veil of shadows, something the size of a tattered sack plummeted silently, leaving no trace as it vanished into the obscurity of the night.

"Poof!"

The faint sound of impact was heard only after a considerable delay, stirring up ash and scattering withered leaves. The tattered sack was halted by an ancient pine at the fractured edge of the cliff.

This sturdy pine, having grown from a crevice in the rock over countless years, was thick and robust. Its dense branches and the accumulated layers of leaves had formed a natural bed, perfectly catching the fallen figure.

Despite the fall, the figure showed no signs of consciousness, lying still upon the thick boughs. Blood flowed profusely from the corner of his mouth, drenching the branches and leaves, his eyes tightly shut as if he had been utterly forsaken.

Time flew by, and the once luminous moon seemed to have been nudged from its perch, swiftly descending as dawn approached. The eastern sky lightened, and a sliver of sunlight began to rise, filtering through the forest canopy to illuminate the solitary pine.

Bathed in the morning light, a pale face was revealed to the world.

It was the face of a young boy, his dark skin unable to conceal his tender age. He appeared to be no more than twelve, his eyes still closed, his complexion ghostly white from excessive blood loss.

With thick eyebrows, a prominent nose, and full lips, his features suggested that he was naturally reserved and reticent.

His attire, simple black linen garments, was tattered from his flight through the rugged terrain, revealing a sturdy physique that hinted at a life of hardship and endurance, uncommon for someone of his youth.

Perhaps from sheer exhaustion, wisps of white vapor escaped his nostrils. His calm breathing indicated he was still alive, yet the nightmarish ordeal he had endured promised a future fraught with unrest.

In the next instant, his eyes, tightly shut, darted beneath his lids. His rough hands reflexively clutched at his throat as his breath came in urgent gasps, a heart-wrenching moan emanating from deep within.

“Wooo!”

The sound escaped through his nostrils, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake off the nightmare's grip. His head thrashed wildly, yet his eyes felt as if they were weighed down with lead.

At that moment, a single shout or slap from someone could have snapped him out of it. But in his solitary environment, such aid was clearly out of reach. He was left to confront the terror with nothing but his own willpower.

Nightmares are dreadful, yet reality awaits. After a fierce struggle, the boy's eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright, a look of utter exhaustion flashing across his icy gaze.

He gasped for air, his breaths coming in ragged heaves, and then he numbly surveyed his surroundings. Staring blankly, his deep-set eyes, once dry, began to well up with scalding tears.

Each tear burned like a blade, carving deep, indelible scars wherever they fell. The searing pain was a relentless reminder that all of this was no illusion.

His hand pounded against his head in desperation, a headache splitting his skull. The events of the previous night haunted him like demons, relentlessly assaulting his mind, impossible to dispel. At last, unable to endure it any longer, he staggered to his feet.

“Ah!”

His anguished cry echoed wildly through the distant ravine, startling the early-rising creatures foraging for food. Shadows flitted chaotically through the forest.

“Why? Why? Why did you have to kill my parents?”

The boy could no longer hold back. He crumpled, clutching his head and crouching down. Tears streaked with blood fell upon the dry, yellow leaves, his heart more desolate than the withered foliage beneath him.

A single night had felt like years of hardship.

After his prolonged outcry, the boy's strength ebbed away. His large frame could no longer sustain itself, and he collapsed onto the dense bed of pine needles with a thud. The scattering leaves did little to trace the struggle that had taken place.

Following a brief pause to catch his breath, his shaking arms once again hoisted him up, and he resumed his frenzied shouting.

The mountain forest was filled with his echoes, from dawn to noon, until dusk. The young man, already exhausted and battered, could no longer keep upright. He finally found solace, leaning against the cool embrace of the mountain stone.

As dusk settled and a gentle breeze swept through, the young man's mind gradually became serene. Despite his stomach's joyful growls of hunger, he paid them no mind. His heart was set on a single, unwavering goal: to survive at all costs.

This fierce determination wasn't born out of a fear of death but rather a need to preserve his life for a purpose. He was driven to uncover the truth behind the events that led to his parents' brutal deaths and to exact his revenge.

There's an old adage that says the only way to quell the hatred in one's heart is to strike down the enemy with a sword. Such deep-seated hatred could only be satisfied with the enemy's blood. As he dwelled on this, his gaze hardened, and the seed of vengeance took root in his once-kind heart, propelling him forward with relentless drive.

Fueled by this drive, the young man's will to live intensified. With strength he didn't know he possessed, he pressed his hands against the jagged stone wall and, with a sudden grip, clutched the protruding rocks firmly like a vice. His feet found purchase on the wall, and he began to ascend slowly, much like a gecko scaling a surface.

After climbing ten feet, his hands could no longer bear the weight of his body. His limbs gave out, and he plummeted down like a kite severed from its string.

With a thud, his large frame crashed onto the thick pine branches below. As he fell, his arms raked across the rugged stone wall, and blood gushed forth in torrents.

The searing pain only fueled his resolve. He leapt to his feet, teeth clenched, and without a moment's hesitation, began to scale the wall once more.

One step, two steps...

This time, he managed to climb nearly fifty feet. As he moved further from the safety of the pine tree, his feet dangled over the abyss. At one point, a vine was all that saved him from certain death.

Now beyond the vine's reach, he could rely only on his own strength to cling to the smooth stone wall. He was acutely aware that he had exhausted all his energy.

He couldn't advance another inch. A single slip would send him tumbling into the unfathomable depths below.

Yet, in the face of adversity, he refused to succumb. He would take another step, even if it meant death. For in his struggle, he would find no cause for regret.

Reflecting on his situation, he resolved to attempt a third ascent.

But as soon as he released one hand, the anticipated disaster struck. The loss of grip threw off his balance, and his body, no longer under control, swayed before his legs gave way, sending his large frame plummeting into the abyss.

This is the end, the youth thought, yet his will to survive remained unquenched.

As he fell, his right hand frantically scraped against the rock face until, after descending more than ten feet, he managed to grasp the vine he had used before, halting his fall. He opened his eyes, heart still racing with fear.

"I must be the luckiest person alive. Since I'm not dead, I'll keep fighting with everything I've got!"

With a self-deprecating smile, the youth bit down on his resolve and began to climb, this time avoiding the smooth stone wall. A quick survey of the terrain revealed a promising route: a dense cluster of vines, resembling a waterfall, hung about ten feet to the left of his position. If he could reach them, he was certain he could scale the peak in one effort.

Yet the distance was too great given his weakened state.

The youth's eyes blazed with determination as he weighed his options. If death was his fate, so be it; his life was a bonus anyway.

Decided, he wasted no more time. Clutching the lone vine before him, he kicked off the stone wall to his right, using the momentum to propel himself through the air. With a gymnastic flip, he miraculously caught hold of the distant greenery.

Hands working the vines, the youth's spirit soared. Without a moment to breathe, he climbed the verdant cascade and soon reached its top.

Upon arrival, he instinctively looked up, only to be met with disappointment once more. The towering cliff still loomed above, piercing the clouds.

Struck by this relentless setback, he acted on impulse, kicking the stone wall before him. As a boulder shattered with a resounding crack, he felt the chilling sensation of his right foot kicking into empty space.

"Boom!"

The sharp sound of a collapse quickly jarred the young man's nerves. Almost instinctively, he looked down and, to his amazement, discovered a small cave right beneath him.

The entrance to the ancient cave had been obscured by years of dust, forming a thick layer of sandstone. Yet, this sandstone was not solid; a mere kick was enough to reduce it to rubble.

The cave might have been small, but once the sandstone was cleared away, it revealed an opening tall enough for a person to stand in. The musty scent of mold wafted out, mingling with the dust, causing the youth to cough repeatedly.

Upon seeing this, the young man, already breathless from exhaustion, brightened up. He looked up at the sky and shouted, "Curse you, heavens! You may want me dead, but I, Jing Chong, refuse to die!"

After a brief outburst, he wasted no time. He quickly descended using the green vines, stepped to the edge of the cave entrance, and with a leap, sat down at the mouth of the rustic cave.