The snow continued to fall.
The wind, sharp as blades, flayed flesh from bone, but what hurt Liu Chen the most was not the cold.It was the deathly silence that blanketed the tribe like an invisible shroud, closing over the lives of everyone he had ever known — those he had lived alongside, those he had brushed shoulders with on snowy days — now reduced to soulless husks, collapsed into the snow like discarded statues.
He had no family, but the tribe had been his home — the scolding shouts of the old hunters whenever he slacked off, the children's laughter as they fought over roasted bones, the raspy voice of the shaman, Vu Mi, telling ancient tales by firelight.
Every sound, every warmth — it was these that had raised him.
And now, all of it, in just one night of snow, had turned to ash.
He knelt before the first corpse — Uncle Tam, a hunter who had once tossed him a chunk of roasted meat when he was left hungry after his first failed hunt.
With trembling, frozen hands, Liu Chen brushed the thickening snow from the man's frozen face.His lips parted as if to say something, but only a broken, hoarse breath escaped.
He did not cry.He could not cry — his tears froze before they could fall.But the pain seeped inward, sinking into his marrow drop by drop.
"I'm sorry... I was too late..."
It was a whisper, heard by no one, answered by no one.Even the heavens seemed to lower their head.
And then he began to dig.
He used his bone knife.When it broke, he used stones.When the stones shattered, he used his bare hands.Blood streamed from his torn fingers, staining the snow red, but he did not stop.
The ground was frozen hard, layer upon layer like iron.He had to light fires, melting the ice piece by piece.He burned all the dried meat he had saved for food, even his precious stores of beast oil, just to feed the flames.
Every time he dug a hole deep enough, he would carefully carry a body down, wrap it in fur if any remained, press a hand to the chest, and bow.
One person.
Two people.
Ten.
Thirty...
When he reached Vu Mi, he could no longer hold back.His knees gave way as he placed his hands on her frail body, trembling violently.His blood smeared her pale skin — he hurriedly wiped it off, then used handfuls of melted snow to clean her carefully.
He carved a crude rune into a piece of beast bone and placed it beside her.Not to summon her soul — he knew she was gone — but simply to give her something, so she would not be alone.
"Vu Mi... you once said I could hear the voice of the earth. Today, I return them to the earth. If you are still somewhere out there, guide them... don't let them lose their way again..."
For three days and three nights, without food, without water, without sleep.
His hands bled, his eyes burned red, but he did not stop.He buried every last one, leaving none behind.
When it was done, he stood amid the white wasteland, looking over the crude graves marked only by broken stones and torn furs.Each grave held a memory, a piece of himself that would never return.
He removed his fur cloak, trembling, and draped it over the largest mound — the one where Vu Mi and the four children she had raised lay together.
The wind howled, ripping at his hair, tearing the skin from his back, but he stood unmoving.
There was no one left to call his name.No fire-lit tent waiting for him to return.No voice to ask if he was hungry.
He turned and walked away, leaving long trails of blood-red footprints across the endless snow.
It was the day half of his soul died.
But he did not get far.
As his solitary figure vanished behind the first outcroppings of stone, the snow cracked open with a sharp sound.Something tore through space and crashed down.
The air twisted and warped.Waves of invisible pressure rippled outward.
Liu Chen turned — and in that instant, heaven and earth shook with a deep, muffled roar.
Three figures appeared.
He immediately knew they were no ordinary people.
The aura they carried did not smell of snow or soil.It was cold like steel, sharp like swords.Their eyes swept across the graveyard of his tribe — and their pupils contracted slightly.
"A mere mortal, yet survived a Massacre by Demonic Descent?"A woman in blue robes spoke, her voice as clear as spring water, but carrying a killing intent colder than the wind.
"He's not faking it. He truly is a mortal," said the black-robed man standing at the center.A crescent-shaped sigil glowed faintly on his forehead, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Capture him. If the Demonic Descent left any traces, even if it's only by accident, his body may hold remnants — spiritual residue, fragments of will, anything useful to our experiments. He will serve the Heavenly Gate Hall well."
There was no fourth word.
All three moved at once.
Before Liu Chen could even retreat, he felt his body bound by invisible chains.There was no pain — just utter helplessness.
His feet froze into the snow.The wind stopped.The world fell silent, as if nothing remained but himself and the three descending beams of light.
Before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell once more upon the snow-covered graves.
"I'm sorry... I failed you again..."
When he awoke, Liu Chen found himself curled inside a cold iron cage.The bars were as thick as a man's arm, radiating a ghostly chill.
His body was naked save for a tattered, bloodstained garment.The stench of blood, iron, and rot hung heavy in the air, like some forge of the underworld.
Around him were others — men, women, old, young — all gaunt, hollow-eyed, their skin bruised and battered by cold and abuse.
They were crammed into a space no wider than ten paces across.The cage walls were black iron, etched with ancient runes Liu Chen could not recognize — symbols that twisted like serpents and screamed like demons, faintly glowing a ghostly blue-violet light that made breathing nearly impossible.
The cage floated in midair.Below, dense black clouds churned like a boiling sea, occasionally flashing with purple fire — lightning without thunder.
Every time the light flickered, the runes on the cage flared coldly, pressing down with a suffocating weight.
No one dared lift their head.They existed in silence, like spirits trapped inside an iron coffin.
In one corner, a grey-haired woman huddled, her blind eyes mumbling broken prayers in an ancient tongue, beseeching a dead god who would not hear her.
A young, muscular man, his body covered in lash marks and burns, glanced at Liu Chen and shook his head faintly — a warning: don't move.His eyes brimmed with both fear and despair.
A small child, no more than seven, clung to the corpse of his mother, tiny hands grasping her stiffened clothes, not crying, not speaking.
The stench of death was so thick that even flies dared not approach.The air was heavy with the sounds of bodies shivering, stomachs growling, and faint, broken sobs.
Some curled up like small animals awaiting slaughter.Others stared blankly at the blackened iron.
Liu Chen clenched his fists so hard that his nails pierced his palms, drawing blood.The air here suffocated him — not just from cold, but from rage, from helplessness.
He had thought he had known suffering, thought he had lost everything.Now he understood: everything he had endured before was merely the beginning of hell.
He did not know where he was, or who had taken him.
But he knew, from this moment onward, he was no longer a free man.He was a specimen, a commodity.
A beast in a cage, awaiting its fate to be cut apart piece by piece.