Bai Yun hid atop a dead tree, lowered his head, and quickly pulled up the man's profile on his phone.
**First-Class Red Wanted Fugitive**. Long active in the South District. Former salesman. Official records confirmed sustained drug possession and abuse. On the day he snapped, he murdered his lover, then fled. A deep, savage scar sliced across his left cheek—highly distinctive.
The scene cut to the other side of the vehicle.
"You… will all get what you deserve…"
Li Qingyue curled up under the car, coughing up blood. A pitch-black arrow had brutally pierced her abdomen, pain tearing through her body. Her sword slipped from limp fingers; she could no longer hold it.
Three outlaws in black hoods, their faces streaked with eerie paint, sealed off the area in a triangular formation.
Two drew bows, aiming straight at the undercarriage; two held thick metal shields, tense and alert.
"Don't worry, you won't die," the scarred man said, tossing aside his megaphone, a cold sneer on his lips. "Crawl out quietly and surrender, and we might sell you for a good price. Pretty young girls like you are always popular with the bosses up north in the mines."
The red-haired thug beside him leaned over, flattering: "Boss, that was brilliant! Laying caltrops on the only road—their tires are done for. No escape."
The scarred man smoked, narrowed his murky eyes, and locked coldly onto the dying Li Qingyue. "These fresh-run idiots who just left the city… always think the wasteland is some land of opportunity."
"Rush to help the injured the second they see them. Naive. Stupid."
Several cold corpses lay around the girl. Some had guts pierced by arrows, flesh mangled; some took arrows to the brow, killed instantly; others had their throats slit, blood long soaked into the sand.
Bai Yun hid behind a dead tree, watching the brutal scene unfold. His heart hammered, almost bursting from his chest.
Shouts drew closer from afar: "Surrender now! You don't want to die in pain, do you?"
He flipped open his wrist device. The screen flickered to life, showing seven red dots and five green dots. Excluding himself, six people and four abandoned vehicles.
He moved silently to a thick old tree, finally seeing the full trap.
Li Qingyue finally understood. These men were the **Wilderness Hounds**—the feared raiders who hunted and robbed hunters. No fixed dens, roaming the desert like scavengers, picking off the weak and alone.
Her gaze swept over the bodies around her. Regret flooded her.
I should not have softened my heart. I should not have rushed to help the injured.
It was all an ambush. A trap set long ago.
The innocent are all dead… and now I will die here too.
"Sister… was I wrong?"
"Should I… have never tried to save anyone?"
Memories flooded back—her sister's warnings, fragments of the past.
Her fingers brushed the dagger at her waist. For a moment, she was back in that warm summer, clear blue sky.
Her father held a cold scalpel, speaking softly: "To be a healer, you must hold your blade steady. Keep your heart true."
"I understand, Father. I will be a good doctor who saves lives."
Back then, her eyes were clear, her smile pure—unstained, like blank paper.
Now, that same blade, meant to save, trembled in her hand as she pressed it to her own throat.
Dignity would not be broken. At the very least, she would die with honor.
Anesthetic spread through her blood from the wound, numbing her limbs. The dagger froze an inch from her skin—just like her broken life, stuck halfway, unable to go forward or back.
She stared at the cold blade in terror. Its chill cut deep, like summer plunging into winter.
Cold wrapped around her. Another arrow pierced her calf. Hot blood soaked her clothes, staining the sand, like the last red drop from a bird with broken wings.
"You. Go check," the scarred man said, kicking the red-haired thug hard.
"Boss, wait! What if this girl still has tricks? If she fights back, it'll be trouble."
"I said go! The anesthetic should've hit. Check if she's dead."
The red-haired man dared not disobey. Clutching his dagger, he crept over and peered under the car.
Li Qingyue's eyes were wide, empty, her body rigid—she could not move.
Her pale thigh was torn open by arrows, bright blood stark against her skin. Her tight black top clung to her chest; black hair spilled messily over her face. The color had drained from her cheeks, pale as paper.
The light in her eyes faded, consciousness slipping toward blackness.
"Oh, she's still breathing."
The red-haired man relaxed, bold now. "Drugs fully kicked in, huh? Can't move. Gave up on killing yourself?"
He shouted back: "Come over! The anesthetic worked! This girl's useless!"
The scarred man walked over, snatched the dagger from Li Qingyue's hand, flipped it, and saw three characters carved into the blade.
"Li Qingyue, is it?"
He tapped her pale, weak face with the cold flat side.
The other hounds closed in, murderous looks in their eyes.
"Xiao Ming, get the rope. Tie her up tight and throw her in the car."
Watching the rough nylon rope draw near, Bai Yun's chest tightened. Suffocating pressure crushed him.
Save her… or run?
He closed his eyes, torn.
To act was to fight five men. Almost certain death.
If he died, what would happen to his parents, sick with the insect rot?
Cast out of the city, they depended on special medicine to live, eaten away from inside by parasites, barely clinging to life.
He risked his life hunting in the wasteland only to buy medicine, to keep his family alive.
But he knew exactly what would happen to Li Qingyue if she was taken.
Death would be mercy. Waiting for her was endless abuse, torment, slavery.
Day after day of suffering would erase all hope, turn her empty and numb, a puppet without a soul.
His own life had already been destroyed by chaos and the insect plague—muddy, scarred, broken.
But he could not let another clean, kind soul be destroyed as he was.
The image of his parents, writhing with insects, their eyes cold and inhuman, flashed in his mind. The endless cost of medicine crushed him.
The urge to run swelled.
Just leave her.
Like before. Run. Hide. Pretend you saw nothing.
Like when he watched Xiao Lian leave, hiding behind a trash can all night, never to see her again.
Voices whispered in his head: It's not your fault. For your parents, hold back.
Later, you can tell yourself you weren't strong enough.
But hot tears fell unchecked, striking the dry sand, leaving faint dark marks—like cold rain at dusk.
Am I… really just going to watch?
A weak, broken whisper drifted to his ears: "Help… me…"
Li Qingyue's voice.
The same dusk, the same wind—cutting straight into his deepest regret.
The day Xiao Lian was taken, the same sky. He'd run. He'd done nothing. And he'd hated himself every night since.
No more running.
If I turn away now… I will never forgive myself.
To abandon goodness and justice, to live in fear and guilt… that life was meaningless.
His mother had said: When you see someone hurt, you help them.
His father had said: Stand against evil. Keep your heart true. Or your soul is lost forever.
Xiao Lian had once smiled and asked: If I'm taken by bad men… will you come save me?
The coward who hid and did nothing was already dead.
Hua Xinyu's voice echoed: What are you running from?
Laughter from the raiders cut through the air. Bai Yun's fingers tightened around his sword until his knuckles whitened. His gaze turned cold and steady, locked on the five men.
Three.
Two.
One.
*Move!*
The count ended. The boy's resolute figure charged into the desert wind, no turning back.
The hymn of humanity is always the hymn of courage.
Courage is not fearlessness. It is moving forward *even terrified*, even when death waits ahead.
Physical death is not terrible. The death of the soul is eternal destruction.
Night wind swept the dead woods, rustling dry leaves, playing a song of resolve.
In this moment, Bai Yun understood his path.
If I do not enter the abyss, who will?
No regrets.
His Domain erupted. Time slowed. All life froze.
Ten meters stretched into infinity. Soft sand gave way under his feet, each step sinking, slower than he'd hoped.
The five men turned as one. Four fast. The scarred leader slow, arrogant, contemptuous.
Five meters.
Li Qingyue's empty eyes flared with light—like a drowning soul grabbing a final rope. Bai Yun pushed his legs, faster.
Three meters.
The scarred man turned slowly. Two men reached for daggers; two archers drew their bows.
One meter.
The leader finally saw the boy charging him. Confusion. Then terror exploded in his eyes.
"Who the hell—"
"Your worst nightmare."
The blade cut through the air, unyielding, and slammed into the scarred man's skull.
*Squish.*
Hot, thick blood sprayed, dyeing Bai Yun's clothes and face. The iron stench flooded his nose.
No fear. Only crushing relief, and long-suppressed rage unleashed.
He kicked the limp body away, ripped his sword free, blood bursting from the wound.
Spin. Kill.
The second thug had just drawn his dagger. Before he could block, Bai Yun's sword swept down.
Steel clashed. Sparks exploded. The enemy's blade snapped.
Cold light fell. The slice cut through flesh, veins, bone.
The head flew, spinning through the air, blood arching after it. It crashed into the sand, eyes wide, unbelieving to the last.
The body collapsed. The broken sword clattered to the ground.
A gunshot roared.
In slowed time, the black bullet clear, racing toward him.
Agony exploded in his forearm. Blood gushed.
"Aaaaah!"
Ignoring the pain, Bai Yun charged the remaining three.
The men broke. Panic consumed them.
The gunman fired wildly. Arrows loosed.
He twisted, dodging the bullet to his left.
Two shots came straight at him. Bai Yun blocked with his cracked sword. The blade shook, near shattering—but it deflected the shots.
Bullets slammed into the old tree, blasting holes, wood chips flying.
His leg muscles coiled, exploded with speed. He closed in.
Dodging a bullet aimed at his skull—then a white-feathered arrow pierced his stomach.
Pain lanced through his guts. Blood soaked his pants, dripping, staining the yellow sand.
Another attacker stabbed from the side. The blade sliced his ribs, a deep, gushing wound—but missed the organs.
Bai Yun ignored the agony, drove his sword straight for the man's throat.
*Squish.*
Blade through flesh. The blond man choked blood. Bai Yun twisted the sword, widening the fatal wound. The body crashed down, throwing sand into the air.
A third arrow shot for his face. He jerked his head aside. The arrow scraped his cheek, leaving a burning line.
His fingers closed on his last dagger. He threw it with all his strength.
The archer turned to run. The dagger spun, a cold arc of death, and slammed into his back.
The scream cut short. Body collapsed. Dagger point erupted from his skull. Stillness.
Another one down.
He turned to the last man. Killing intent poured off him.
At that moment, his Domain collapsed. Time snapped back.
Ice-cold pain exploded in his lower back.
Bai Yun looked down. The last green-haired thug, wild and desperate, had buried a dagger deep in his side.
He locked the man's wrist, stopping the blade from twisting—and slashed sideways.
Steel cut through the throat. Blood sprayed.
The thug dropped the dagger, hands clawing at his neck, gurgling. He staggered back, fell, and lay still.
The fight ended. The wasteland went dead silent.
Only ragged breathing, and the whisper of wind over sand, echoed in the empty desert.
Bai Yun stood, gasping, soaked in blood, covered in wounds.
An arrow in his stomach, a gash in his ribs, a dagger in his side, his limbs scored and bleeding.
He clamped a hand over his stomach. Hot blood poured out, unstoppable.
"I won… I'm alive…"
"I'm still alive…"
He mumbled between breaths, half-mad with survival and exhaustion.
Dragging his broken, screaming body, he limped toward Li Qingyue under the car.
His eyes fell on the frail girl. Black cloth tight to her frame, the arrow through her stomach a brutal sight—fragile, broken.
"What's your name?"
Bai Yun whispered.
Li Qingyue tried to answer. But the anesthetic still held her body prisoner. She could not move, could not speak—could only look at him.
In the next instant, a cold blade tore through Bai Yun's chest without warning.
Agony exploded in his heart. Blood erupted.
Li Qingyue's pupils shrank. She stared behind him, cold to her bones.
The decapitated body had stood back up.
Where the neck had been torn, no flesh, no skull—only a giant red-brown centipede, bursting from the spine, replacing the head.
Its body flat, long, segmented, lined with tiny legs. It hissed, venom dripping. The stench of rot filled the air.
The possessed body stiffly raised a fallen dagger and struck.
Li Qingyue knew it at once—the **Parasite Insect**, written of in old texts.
After the cataclysm, insects covered the world. Countless parasites hid in water and earth, harmless until their host died. Then they seized the body, reanimating the dead. Extremely dangerous.
Bai Yun coughed up blood. His mind crashed.
Careless.
He'd forgotten the wasteland's iron rule: When you kill, you *finish* them. No mercy. No mistakes.
Uncle Kou had warned him. The deadliest thing in the wasteland was never the living enemy. It was the dead, reborn.
Kou's teammate had died this way.
No pain.
Only a cold so deep it burned, spreading from his heart to his fingers and toes.
Strength poured out of him. His temperature crashed. His body went limp.
His legs gave way. He crashed to his knees in the sand.
"Hey…"
Li Qingyue's voice reached him, faint, far away.
His life flashed before his eyes—not medical bills, not his parents' suffering. Only last night.
Bonfire light. He ate cold rations, held a tattered cartoon doll, staring into the flames.
The doll's ears were rubbed bare, made for him by Hua Xinyu as a child. She said it was a guardian, to keep nightmares away.
He hadn't had a nightmare in so long.
Maybe… he never would again.
If he could just live… he wanted to sleep. Hold the doll. Safe, like when he was little.
He lifted his head with effort. Li Qingyue was crawling toward him, grievously injured.
The arrow still in her stomach. Every movement tore her wound open. A long trail of blood spread behind her in the sand.
Bai Yun tried to speak. His mouth filled with copper. No sound came out.
In a haze, the girl's face blurred into Xiao Lian's.
He remembered the day she smiled, waved her small hand, and asked: What does holding someone's hand feel like?
He hadn't known, back then.
Now, a warm, trembling hand touched his blood-stained fingers.
Laced together. Palm to palm. Soft warmth cut through the cold blood and pain.
That hand slid upward, over his arm, his shoulder, then gently rested on his scarred, bloody cheek—warm with tears, gentle with despair.
Li Qingyue tried to push the parasite away, to stand in front of him. The centipede kicked her hard, sending her flying.
The girl rolled in the dirt, clothes covered in sand. She coughed up more blood, her wounds worsening.
I think… I finally know.
Holding someone's hand… feels like coming home.
Xiao Lian. Next life, I'll tell you.
Bai Yun's vision blurred. His life raced past, fast as wind.
The old stories were true. At the end, you see everything.
But it wasn't over.
The centipede-possessed body closed in. Blades stabbed into his arms and legs, cutting deep, blood flowing.
Anesthetic on the blades numbed the worst pain. His senses dimmed. But his mind was calmer than ever.
Uncle Kou's voice came clear.
"Don't be fake. Be honest. Stay true.
Only then can you stand beside someone without fear, without loneliness."
Young, he'd asked: Am I honest?
"Honesty isn't a test. When you know yourself… you'll know."
That day, Kou had unleashed his full power. His Domain erupted.
A warrior-monk's shadow stood behind him. Staff slammed into the earth. Mountains cracked. Winds crushed insects into mud.
*The tide comes to Qiantang River. Today, I finally know myself.*
Bai Yun had watched, stunned, full of wonder.
Now he understood. The Domain was never about strength.
It was about heart.
His will locked. His Domain roared open again.
Time stopped completely. All life frozen.
One second.
Two seconds.
He poured his last strength into rolling over.
Four…
Eight seconds.
Shaking, he gripped his fallen sword. Looked up at the centipede's head, inches away.
Voices whispered—mockery, his old cowardice, regret.
All guilt, all anger, all longing turned into one final burst of power.
"Die."
The sword drove forward, piercing the parasite's body, splitting it in two.
Black, stinking blood sprayed over Li Qingyue's face and clothes.
The possessed body went rigid. Still.
The girl stared, lips trembling. Sorrow and tears poured from her eyes, soundless sobs wracking her frame.