In a distant land in an unknown region under a darkned sky, a youth was kneeling in the rain. His face was towards the sky, and it was hard to tell if the streams of water running down his cheeks were from the corners of his thightly closed eyes, or if it was from the fact that heavy raindropplets were pounding his face.

This youth, no this young man was Chàng Yì and today was the darkest day of his life. Surrounding his kneeling body were at least a hundred corpses. The ground was a slippery mixture of blood and mud, but there was far more of the former. In front of Chang Yì stood a middle-aged man donning a black robe. His face was flushed red with excitment, and though his mouth was obscured by a large full beard, it was clear he was smiling. 

On any other day, and any other occation, this man might seem amiable like this. This was currently not the case, as he was covered from top to bottom in blood. It was constantly being washed away by the pouring rain, but the red still stuck to him like glue. Another important point was the fact that in his hands he held a bloodied curved knife. 

This man was Min Xìn. He was only nearing his mid-forties, and he could have had a long and happy family life ahead of him. That was, untill four hours ago, when he suddenly went on a killing spree. He left behind what chances he had of mortal happiness, forsaking all that he was, to thread the path of immortality, becoming a cultivator. 

"Ha ha ha! Finally! Heaven's have not let me down! I have reached the first layer of qi condensation!" The man roared this towards the heavens, with streaks of tears running down his bloody cheeks, capable of matching Chàng Yì's own. His eyes were wide open, tinged with mad joy. One could hardly blame him for this though, he had stepped away from the certain death of mortals. He now had a chance to fight against fate.

After a long while he looked down at the young man kneeling before him, a solemn appearance appearing on his face. "You sure know how to fight back nephew. It took me more time to subdue you than to kill all of the others." As he stated this, he stretched his back, waving his arms around as if he was sore. 

Hearing the middle-aged man adress him, Chàng Yì opened his tightly shut eyes and his head lowered, directing his gaze at Min Xìn. The gaze that met him, gave Min Xìn goosebumps. There was no fear in those crystal clear blue eyes. Only rage, towering rage and rightious hatred. Hatred that would not, seemingly could not be extinguished. This was not the gaze of a boy, this was the gaze of a man who would abandon his own life for a cause. Someone capable of giving up his sole life on earth in chase of a goal, an ideal. 

Min Xìn scowled. He really hated that look, it reminded him of his own current lack of everything that young man had. A moment later, he eased up and began laughing. He, now an immortal cultivator, actually envied a mortal? Deciding that it would be best to be done with it all he spoke once more. "I have no more time, if you have any last words save it for the old lady down by the yellow springs. Time waits for none. Although, if you suddenly rise from the dead one day, I would be willing to hear you out." 

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With that, he slashed the boy's throat with his blade. Ignoring the gurgling sounds coming from Chàng Yì, he looked around at the surrounding village that had been his home for near a century now. He was certainly not going to miss the people after what he had just done, but he had to admit that he would miss Ironwood valley. Here he had grown up, met his first love and burried his parrents. Thinking of his late wife, he felt a sense of grief that perhaps was odd in a man capable of murdering his entire clan in a single day. Yet for him, there was no grief greater than the loss of his wife and unborn child. With a shake of his head, he bowed in the direction of his ancestral hall, and walked away into the distance. 

Chàng Yì was left alone there. His eyes never leaving Min Xìn's figure as he slowly faded into the distance. He could feel the searing pain of his cut neck. The strugle his body made to save his life, making a futile effort to draw breath through his destroyed windpipe. As he finally attempted to draw breath, all he heard was a sickly gurgling sound, and a wetness in his throat that would not go away. 

Finally he could hold on no longer, and keeled over, but barely managing to land on his back. Plastered into the mud, his face barely out of the mud, he looked at the heavens above. Time seemed to pass oh so slowly. But with the passing of time, his vision started to get more obscure. Darkness was slowly covering his eyes, but at the same time, he could no longer feel the pain. Instead his body felt warm and comfortable, it was unlike anything he ever experienced before. 

"Is this what dying is like? This is not so bad." He barely managed to think through the haze of comfort. Thus, Chàng Yì's eyes slowly glazed over, and he breathed no more. 

Not many minutes had passed since Chàng Yì's death, before the sound of cartwheels sloshing through mud could be heard. Soon a farmers cart drawn by a donkey reached the village square, on the front seat of the cart sat a sleeping old man. He was completely bald and wore a dirty robe, of the type the temple monks used all year round. With an uneasy snort at the sight of all the blood, the donkey stopped with a jerk. 

In a comical display, the slumbering monk flew forward falling face first into the mud next to the donkey. For a whole five seconds, nothing happened. Then the old man's body suddenly jolted. With a string of spitting and curses unworthy of dignified folk, he got up. Now covered in mixture of mud and blood from head to toe, he wiped his face on a dry rag on his cart. 

Finally, having done this, he took a look around. Seeing the scene before him, he could not help but sigh. Shaking his head, and muttering beneath his breath, he started examining the corpses one by one. Bringing out a prayer bead from beneath his robes, he said a short phrase over each body before examining them. 

When the bald old man came to Chàng Yì he gasped, then looked at his donkey with suprise and yelled. "Look at this Tu Tu! This one still refuses to move on! What fierce and unyelding spirit! By the looks of it, he really has no intentions of going into reincarnation. What a rightious lad. Looks like the heavens are not capable of taking you yet eh boy? Guess this old monk might as well give you a hand then!"

After laughing to himself and conversing with the dissinterested donkey, Tu Tu, he lifted Chàng Yì off the ground and with a few more curses, managed to dump him into the back of his cart. Then, while whistling, he made the donkey turn around and lead it down the hill. Leaving the once flourishing village of Iroonwood silent once more.