Time slipped soundlessly through his fingers, like fine sand falling evenly through an hourglass.
After the tribe relocated, the new settlement nestled against mountains and water, and life seemed to have returned to peace.
Yet Su Ming's name had quietly spread among the tribespeople, carrying reverence and an indescribable... sense of estrangement.
"Maybe there's no harm in listening to Ming'er..."
"Yeah, that heavy rain last time..."
"But eleven people died in the end. He clearly knew, so why didn't he say anything..."
"Even if he had said it, would you have... believed him?"
Amid the hushed whispers, Su Ming remained the same silent boy.
Yes, seven years had now passed.
He was fifteen, yet the idle gossip had never ceased.
As though he had killed those tribespeople himself.
Su Ming no longer spoke prophecies lightly. More often than not, he simply sat beneath the tallest ancient tree.
His gaze employed Penetration, passing through the playing children, the busy tribespeople, and the diligently cultivated fields, before falling upon those "lines" invisible to ordinary mortals.
And Su Ming's father had finally become certain that his son possessed a talent bordering on the miraculous.
This talent was not moving mountains or filling seas, nor was it summoning wind and rain. It was... a far more terrifying fate.
"Ming'er." His father found Su Ming sitting alone by the stream, his voice low. "What did you see this time?"
Su Ming did not turn around. The clear stream reflected in his bright eyes, while beneath the water, countless fish chased and frolicked.
After a moment of silence, he pointed at an inconspicuous bluish stone in the stream. "In three breaths, a carp will strike it."
His father held his breath and focused.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Three breaths!
Splash!
Water splashed lightly as a carp