In this scene, Ye Tian had transformed into a tiny cultivator, as though he were watching someone's growth.
A tiny infant had been born in a countryside side room, its first crisp cry bringing new hope to everyone.
The little infant grew all the way to fifteen or sixteen. His family was harmonious and complete; his parents farmed, and he helped them.
He had studied diligently at the school since childhood. He also had a childhood sweetheart who had been betrothed to him since they were young, and the two were deeply in love. Before long, they were to be married.
On the day of their wedding, the banquet was laid out in full. Just as he and his bride were about to bow to their parents, tragedy struck.
A blast from nowhere swept through the place, and the fifteen- or sixteen-year-old youth was knocked unconscious by it.
When he awoke, all he saw was desolation and ruin—broken walls and shattered buildings, corpses carpeting the ground.
Like a madman, he dug and dug through the wreckage for a long time.
His parents were dead. His elders were dead. The relatives who had come to offer congratulations were dead.
Their corpses appeared before the youth. There was even a faint smile still lingering on his parents' faces, like a quiet blessing for his marriage, striking straight into his heart.
Yet he had not found his bride, the woman he had yearned for day and night.
He dug alone for several hours before finally seeing one of the bride's arms deep beneath the collapsed house.
A severed arm, drenched in blood.
The blow drove the youth mad at once. As though possessed, he wept there every night.
He dared not believe it. He refused to believe it.
His once-perfect family had simply