The old man and the child turned and headed toward their village before the sky grew dark.
They crossed mountains and ridges for who knew how long. Just as they were nearing the village, they saw a sea of firelight in the distance.
The old man and the child started in shock, a flicker of foreboding rising in their hearts.
The old man turned to the child and said in a panic, "Stay here. Don't move."
With that, before the child could react, the old man charged toward the village with his firewood cleaver in hand.
In a daze, the child slowly followed.
Soon, the two reached a hilltop. Looking at the village below in the distance, they froze.
A blood-red mist shrouded the village, exuding boundless eeriness. Flames soared into the sky from within the village, yet not the slightest sound emerged.
The old man stared blankly at the village, the hand holding his firewood cleaver trembling without cease.
The child slowly walked to the old man's side and took hold of the hem of his clothes...
Within the red mist, the firelight looked like a vision of the end of days. Its red glow fell across their faces, bathing them both in blood-red light.
A cool breeze blew past the old man and the child.
Perhaps it was the cold, or perhaps it was something else. Their bodies gradually began to tremble.
After an unknown stretch of time, the old man turned to the child and said, "Be good. Don't follow me again. I'll go take a look..."
The child stared blankly at the old man, seemingly unable to say anything for a moment.
The old man turned and walked toward that sea of firelight, step by step...
The child stared blankly at the old man's retreating back,