He was the only one left. He had to remember all of this, live for all of them, and exact retribution for everything.

Hearing these words, Hua Yi dared not remain where he stood any longer. He plunged deeper into the forest.

After a brief moment of turmoil in his mind, an immense clarity took over. At this moment, only one thought occupied Hua Yi's mind—his second brother, Jing Chu, had gone mad, and he had to go warn his father and his other brothers.

Hua Yi stumbled headfirst into a wolf den. The old swolf inside rose to its feet and growled at him. In the blink of an eye, Hua Yi transformed into a gigantic beast, pure white from head to tail, letting out a low roar from his throat and baring his sharp fangs at the wolf. Having survived in the jungle for many years, the old wolf knew well the laws of the wild. Sensible as it was, ut tucked her tail between its legs and retreated to the side, not daring to challenge such a formidable opponent.

Yet the old wolf was astonished to find that this imposing intruder showed no interest in its food. Instead, he rolled himself in a puddle of wolf urine. His snow-white, almost luminous fur instantly dulled, now dripping with yellow fluid, looking utterly disgusting and ridiculous at the same time.

Once Hua Yi felt that the rank stench of the urine was strong enough to mask his own scent, he kept his beast form and dashed out.

He had no idea how long the wolf urine would conceal his smell, but he knew that, despite his abilities, he was still barely over fourteen—still a youth. In human form, it wasn't so obvious, but once transformed, his stature was clearly not yet that of a fully grown beast. He stood no chance against the pack of vicious henchmen his second brother had gathered.

Moreover, Hua Yi knew that his second brother, Jing Chu, was only a half-beast, yet he had managed to rally such a large band of beast-men willing to die for him—proof that he must have far more formidable tricks up his sleeve. Hua Yi couldn't imagine what those tricks might be, but he knew he was no match for them. He could only run for his life.

Hua Yi knew that his pursuers were constantly behind him. He hid, trembling with fear, sometimes shifting back to human form to conceal himself, sometimes transforming into a beast to flee at full speed. He headed for the most dangerous and desolate places. Thorny brambles left countless tiny cuts across his face and body, which stung fiercely when soaked with sweat. Yet the pain seemed to sharpen his mind. On four or five occasions, Hua Yi hid in the shadows while his hunters passed within inches of him.

The closest call came when Hua Yi accidentally left a footprint that was recognized. Cornered and with nowhere to run, he had no choice but to revert to human form and dive into a giant python's burrow.

But fate seemed determined to kick him while he was down—the python was home. It hadn't expected anyone to be so reckless as to barge into its den. Instantly, it flicked its forked tongue menacingly and spiraled around Hua Yi.

Ordinarily, though the python—thicker than a man's waist—was fearsome, Hua Yi wouldn't have paid it much mind. But he knew that when a beast-man shifted into animal form, their five senses and instincts were amplified many times over. He hardly dared to breathe, let alone transform or fight the creature.

On top of that, the burrow was so narrow he could barely turn around.

The python quickly wrapped itself around his body and neck.

Hua Yi knew it intended to strangle him alive before swallowing him down bit by bit.

Through the leaves and branches at the burrow's entrance, Hua Yi could see the beast-men hunting him, searching just a stone's throw away.

Gritting his teeth, Hua Yi grabbed the python's vital spot—the back of its neck—with his bare hands. Man and serpent engaged in a silent struggle of strength. Sensing the force in his grip, the python redoubled its efforts, throwing all its weight around Hua Yi's neck. His face swelled to a purplish red, veins seeming ready to burst through his skin.

He couldn't breathe. Holding his breath, he squeezed the serpent's head and body with all his might. Hair sprouted involuntarily on his fingers, and his claws shot out two inches longer, bending his knuckles back as they dug deep into the snake's hard scales.

A rolling wolf—a creature barely larger than a rabbit that fed on leftover carrion—crouched not far from the burrow's entrance, staring fixedly at the scene. Cunning as it was, it had sensed the life-or-death struggle long before any other animal or human, and now it waited for its feast, drool dripping from its jaws, its green eyes gleaming with greed.

Hua Yi waited for his searchers to move on; the python waited for him to stop breathing. Neither would die first.

Hua Yi felt his bones about to be crushed out of his body by the serpent. Yet he felt no despair—only burning rage.

A fury he had never experienced in his fourteen years of life erupted from deep within him. His eyes bulged, veins stood out across his face, and his usually gentle, pleasant features twisted into a ferocious mask as he crushed the serpent's life-grip. Could blood kin truly slaughter each other? If even his own brothers, born of the same father, could not be trusted, and instead lurked nearby waiting to stab him in the back—then who in this world could he ever believe in?

Could the bond of growing up together for over a decade truly be shattered so easily that his own elder brother would resort to murder, merely because his father had said he would marry off a girl from a neighbouring tribe to him as his wife?

He hadn't even yet understood that his second brother had done far worse than that—he hadn't yet told his father and mother about this, hadn't yet sought justice for Gu Cheng. Gu Cheng was only seven years old, and just like that, without even making a single sound, he was killed by someone. Who could he go to for justice?

That moment felt infinitely long, infinitely arduous.

Finally, the giant python could not overpower this furious young hunter. Its fatal weak spot—the "seven-inch point" (NT: the precise vital spot just behind a snake's head)—was pierced through by Hua Yi's sharp claws. It writhed and struggled violently for a moment, then drooped limply over his shoulders, so large that it could have entirely enveloped his whole body.

If it had been a half-beast with a less robust physique, even just the weight of this snake's corpse pressing down on him might have crushed him to a considerable degree.

Fortunately, by this time, the men who had come to capture him had already left. Gasping for breath, Hua Yi crawled out from under the snake's carcass, sat on the ground panting heavily, then gritted his teeth, got up, transformed into his beast form, and continued running forward desperately.

He had no time to cry, no time to sit still and wallow in pain.

Hua Yi's eldest and second brothers had been adults for a long time and had set up their own tents. As for his newly adult third brother and himself, although they could no longer live with their mother, they were permitted to stay near their parents. Hua Yi had intended to carefully avoid being seen, yet even as he approached the edge of his third brother's tent, he didn't spot a single guard—not one of the usual sentries.

“How is this possible?”

The third brother was such an arrogant and high-and-mighty person, who loved nothing more than to flaunt his importance and show off his grandeur by relying on his status as the chieftain's son to have a whole crowd of people standing guard for him.

Yet right now, the area around his tent was deathly silent, without even a trace of a single soul in sight.

Hua Yi's heart began to pound wildly. He resumed his human form, and taking advantage of the night, darted swiftly out from the bushes, using the tent to shield his silhouette. Before he could even get closer, a thick, heavy stench of blood hit his nostrils.

The youth's heart suddenly sank straight to the bottom, and even his breath began to tremble.

No one knew how long passed. Finally, Hua Yi mustered his courage, tiptoed over, and lifted a corner of the third brother's tent—there he saw his third brother's body hanging upside down inside the tent, its eyes gouged out.

Gouging out the eyes was a practice among killers who feared that the victim who met a violent death would return for revenge—it was meant to cause his soul to fly apart and scatter, so that he would never have the chance to turn over for eternity.

Hua Yi's vision blurred. He clenched his teeth fiercely, forbidding himself from letting out even a whimper, yet tears finally streamed down his face. His own second brother—his own flesh and blood—had gouged out their third brother's eyes.

Stumbling along, Hua Yi found a large boulder on the small hill where his third brother's tent stood. Hiding behind it, he cautiously poked his head out. From here, looking down, he could exactly see the tents of his chieftain father and his mother at the foot of the slope.

Down there, the area was ablaze with torchlight, and the carcasses of massive beasts lay strewn everywhere. His second brother sat on the animal-hide throne that was only ever used when his father convened the elders for council. Holding a string of beads made from some unknown material in his hand, he propped his chin up with the other, his handsome face cast entirely in shadow and gloom by the flickering flames.

He softly said something, and immediately, the beast-men prostrating at his feet let out a simultaneous, frenzied howl toward the heavens. The whole world seemed to tremble along with those roars.

Then, a portion of the beast-men dispersed in an orderly manner, clearly setting off to hunt for the tracks of the younger brother who had slipped through the net.

Hua Yi roughly wiped away his tears, turned around, and ran in the direction leading away from the tribe.

He had to live—his father, his mother, and his brothers were all dead. Only he remained alive. Hua Yi ran as if his life depended on it. He was the only one left. He had to remember all of this, live for all of them, and exact retribution for everything.

This youth was naturally gentle, honest, and kind-hearted—so much so that he even had a bit of excessive soft-heartedness kindness, always worrying about others' troubles. He had always been so out of place among the Northern beast-men tribes, who had always worshipped savagery and raw strength. He had always believed he was right, always thought that all that bloodshed and fighting were utterly meaningless. He had always tolerated the mockery and provocation from others to the greatest possible extent.

Wasn't it good if everyone could just work together with one heart and one mind, make their lives better, and live together happily?

But now, at this moment, he finally understood that in this world, he was the only one who thought that way. Yet it was already too late—he had already lost everything.

And so, Hua Yi finally embarked on his long, long road of escape and exile.

 

Translator : DarNan