Child in the Ruins

Huo Yuhao stood before Spirit Hall.

He did not know how he had gotten here. Maybe he had crawled out of those ruins. Maybe something had drawn him here. Maybe he had never moved at all—maybe he was still lying in his mother's arms, and this was only an unbearably real nightmare.

But the sunlight fell on him. It was warm, and painfully bright.

The wind passed through the cracks in the ruins with a mournful howl, as though something were crying.

Beneath the shattered walls and rubble, he saw his mother.

The woman who had held him just moments ago, who had used the last of her strength to shield him and whispered "Live on" in his ear, now lay amid the broken stones. Her face was no longer recognizable. A shattered beam pressed down on her, twisting her body into a strange shape. Her fingers still held their final pose—reaching in his direction.

He looked along the direction of those fingers.

Farther away was the Spirit Hall steward who had been speaking to him moments ago. While awakening his martial soul in the courtyard, the man had smiled and said, "Kid, you're pretty lucky." Now he lay in a pool of blood, his entire upper body unrecognizable, like a slab of mangled meat.

Farther still were several human-shaped outlines. Just moments ago, they had been moving in and out of this courtyard, busy with their own affairs. Some had looked at him; some had not. They had nothing to do with him. They had merely happened to work at this Spirit Hall branch, and happened to encounter disaster.

Now they were all dead. So suddenly, as though the god of death had suddenly remembered there was still a tiny patch of land here that owed taxes.

Huo Yuhao did not know how long he had stood there.

Perhaps an instant. Perhaps ten thousand years. Time had lost all meaning around him, like a severed river frozen above these ruins. He did not cry. It was as if something had blocked his tears, leaving them unable to fall. Nor did he shout. It was as if something had seized his throat, leaving him unable to make a sound.

He simply stood there.

Like a dead tree struck by lightning, rooted in the heart of the ruins, utterly motionless.

What did ultimate grief look like?

It was being unable to cry, unable to scream. It was feeling as though one had been hollowed out, with only an empty shell left standing there like a walking corpse. It was being unable to make any expression or shed any tears, only standing there, staring at everything before one's eyes, with nothing but blankness in one's mind.

There was nothing.

No tears, no sobbing.

Not even pain.

Because the pain had gone beyond the limit of what he could feel and become numbness. That numbness covered him like an invisible shell, separating him from the world. He knew everything before him was real, but he could not feel it. He knew his mother was dead, but he could not feel it. He knew he should cry, scream, go mad, but he could do nothing.

He only stood there.

Expressionless.

Not a trace of sorrow could be seen on his face.

"Ah, child."

A sigh sounded beside his ear. Then he fell into a warm embrace.

It was the embrace of a young girl. Warm, soft, carrying the scent of sunlight and flowers. She held him in her arms, one hand gently pressing the back of his head and burying his face in the hollow of her shoulder. Six white wings spread from her back, completely enveloping his small body.

A shadow fell over him, blocking out the blinding sunlight overhead.

He knew that perhaps he should have buried himself in the newcomer's arms and cried his heart out, but he still did not cry.

"Xue'er, we were a step too late." An aged voice sounded behind the girl. "Tang Hao has already escaped."

Huo Yuhao's face remained buried against the girl's shoulder, unmoving. But he heard that name.

Tang Hao.

"We rushed here as soon as we received word." The old man's voice carried regret. "According to prior intelligence, Tang Hao had been attacking Spirit Hall branches these past few days. He killed anyone he saw, without distinguishing right from wrong. We suspected he might strike here, but still..."

He did not continue.

The girl's arms tightened slightly around Huo Yuhao. She did not speak. She only gently patted his back, once after another, as though soothing a frightened child.

Huo Yuhao remained motionless in her arms.

Tang Hao.

He repeated the name once more in his heart.

There was no warmth in it. No emotion. It was like reciting the name of a dead man.

"I'm sorry." The girl's voice sounded above his head, filled with genuine guilt. "We came too late."

Huo Yuhao broke free from her embrace.

He stepped back, raised his head, and looked at her.

She was a very beautiful girl. Golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her golden eyes were like the sun. The three pairs of white wings behind her had not yet folded away, glowing softly beneath the sunlight. She was only a few years older than him, perhaps fifteen at most, yet there was an indescribable bearing about her, like an adult who had experienced many things.

Huo Yuhao looked at her and shook his head.

"No." His voice was soft, as though drifting from someplace far away. "This isn't your fault."

He paused.

"I want revenge."

The girl's eyes widened slightly.

She looked at him, as though trying to find something in his face. What she saw was a calm face—far too calm. Too calm for a child who had just lost his mother. Too calm for someone who had just witnessed this massacre.

Until she saw his eyes.

There was fire in those eyes.

It was not the fire of anger, nor the fire of grief. It was another kind of flame—a fire rising from the deepest part of his heart, burning through all fear, weakness, and hesitation, leaving behind only a single thought.

She had seen that kind of fire before.

In her own eyes.

She suddenly remembered many years ago. She remembered a little girl standing amid raging flames, watching her mother's retreating back. She remembered a little girl who had swallowed every tear and never cried again.

She looked at the boy before her, at the blaze in his eyes.

She hesitated for an instant.

The words she had wanted to say—you're still young, you don't know how powerful Tang Hao is, don't entertain such unrealistic thoughts—all went back down her throat.

"Alright," she said.

She crouched down, folding her tall body until she was at eye level with him.

"Then you must become strong quickly." Her voice was soft, but serious. "So you can take your revenge."

The boy looked at her and nodded.

"Big sister." He suddenly spoke, his voice still soft. "Before my mother died, she told me I could join Spirit Hall."

He paused, as though recalling something.

"Because that Spirit Hall steward said I have two martial souls."

The girl's eyes flew wide open.

"Twin Martial Souls?!"

The words nearly burst from her lips. The gray-haired old man beside her was also stunned. He stepped forward and examined the ordinary-looking boy from head to toe.

Twin Martial Souls.

Across all of Douluo Continent, there were fewer Soul Masters with Twin Martial Souls than could be counted on one hand. Even within Spirit Hall, the holy land of Soul Masters, she had seen only one Soul Master with Twin Martial Souls—the imperious woman now standing at the very pinnacle of Spirit Hall.

The boy nodded.

He turned around, removed his shirt, and revealed his thin back.

The girl sucked in a sharp breath.

What kind of pattern was that? A massive scorpion, jade-green from head to tail like emerald. Crystal-like armor covered its back, while its enormous pincers were raised high, as though they might swing out from his skin. The pattern nearly covered his entire back, its lines bold, its colors deep, faintly radiating an icy chill.

"My martial souls," the boy's voice came from the front, calm without the slightest ripple. "One is my eyes. The other is an Ice Jade Scorpion."

The girl stared at the pattern for a long time.

Ice Jade Scorpions. One of the fiercest soul beasts in the Far North, and also one of the strongest.

Because they represented Ultimate Ice.

She took a deep breath and stood up.

"Uncle She," she called softly.

The gray-haired old man—She Long, the Serpent Spear Douluo—stepped forward and bent down.

The girl whispered several words into his ear. The old man's gaze settled on Huo Yuhao, and a complicated look flashed through his eyes. He nodded and quietly said, "Understood."

The girl turned around, crouched again, and looked at Huo Yuhao.

"What is your name?"

"Huo Yuhao."

"Huo Yuhao." She repeated his name, then nodded. "My name is Qian Renxue. Remember that name."

She stretched out a hand and placed it on his thin shoulder.

"From now on, you'll follow me." Her voice was soft, but carried an unquestionable firmness. "I'll take you back to Spirit Hall. I'll have them teach you how to cultivate. I'll make you strong."

She looked at the flame in his eyes.

"Strong enough for the day you take your revenge."

Huo Yuhao looked at her.

At those azure eyes. At the white wings that had yet to fold away. At the hand resting on his shoulder.

He nodded. After a moment of silence, he said,

"Give me one day. I want to bury my mother."

Qian Renxue stood and looked over the ruins. Her gaze lingered for an instant on the corpse that no longer looked human—that should have been his mother.

Her throat moved. She wanted to say, "I'll help you," but seeing the stubbornness in the boy's eyes, she ultimately said nothing.

She followed Huo Yuhao to his home—a crude thatched hut.

Huo Yuhao picked up a shovel and dug a pit on the hill behind his home. The tools were crude, and the soil was mixed with stones, hard as iron. Every thrust of the shovel made his hands ache from the impact, and sweat soaked his back.

Step by step, he carried his mother home on his back. Her face was ruined, her body broken in many places, like a rag doll. He laid her in the pit and filled it in. Then he found an intact, square plank of wood that looked quite new, carved words into it as a gravestone, and dropped to his knees with a thud.

Throughout the entire process, he did not say a single word.

Qian Renxue watched him, sighed, then went to the ruined Spirit Hall and used her soul power to bury the wrecked building along with the unclaimed bodies—some families had all perished.

As the sun set, she came to Huo Yuhao's side while he was still kneeling.

Huo Yuhao glanced at the nearly vanished sun, rose to his feet, then staggered and nearly fell.

Qian Renxue caught his hand, keeping him from hitting the ground.

"Let's go."

Huo Yuhao followed her, step by step, leaving his mother's grave.

He did not look back.

It was not that he did not want to look back. He did not dare.

He knew that if he looked back even once, the shell covering him would shatter. The tears that had been blocked would pour out. The cries trapped in his throat would burst free. He would become a puddle of mud, collapsed upon the ground and unable to rise again.

So he could not look back.

He could only keep moving forward.

Only by moving forward could he live on.

Only by living on could he take revenge.

The sun finally set. One large shadow and one small shadow, one before the other, disappeared into the twilight beyond the small town's gate.

The wind swept across the small town.

It scattered those silent words between heaven and earth.

Tang Hao.

Wait for me.