A hundred years earlier, in Yunshan Valley, a boy of seven or eight from a newly arrived rogue cultivator family stood outside the window, listening blankly to the cicadas, utterly entranced.
"Chirr... chirr..."
The cicadas called ceaselessly. The summer heat rolled in, filling people with irritation, yet the boy seemed entirely unaware, still listening in rapt fascination.
"What strange little bugs! I've never heard any insect that could call so loudly!"
"Hehe, Rong'er, they're nothing strange. They're just cicadas. Very ordinary."
A middle-aged man whose features resembled the boy's walked over and stroked his head.
Another man, a Demon Hunter who looked like a rogue cultivator, laughed heartily. "Rong'er was born in the Western Snow Kingdom, wasn't he? He's already several years old, but he's never seen anything like this."
"Come on, Uncle will catch one for you to play with."
The middle-aged man chided him with a laugh. "Enough, Old Third. The child's curious. Why are you fooling around with him?"
The Demon Hunter paid him no mind. He leaped into the tree, soon caught a cicada, and presented it to the boy, Xia Rong, as though offering a treasure.
"Remember, this kind of insect is called a cicada."
"Cicadas are summer insects. When summer comes, they come out and make a racket..."
"Cicadas are summer insects..."
Xia Rong's eyes lit up.
"Then if I catch a cicada, doesn't that mean I've caught summer?"
"Uh..." Old Third, the Demon Hunter, froze. For a moment, he found himself utterly speechless.
The middle-aged man urged him, "All right, Old Third. Time to go..."
"Ahahahaha..." Old Third rubbed his head and laughed awkwardly. "Rong'er really is clever. If you say so, then it must be true. Be good and play at home on your own. I'm off."
"Goodbye, Father. Goodbye, Uncle."