The Mist-Veil Village was a place where the heavens seemed to touch the earth. Nestled deep within the Azure Mountains of Planet Aetheria, it was a sanctuary of eternal spring. For generations, the villagers lived in harmony with the rhythm of the seasons, oblivious to the cruel machinations of the cultivation world that lay beyond their mist-shrouded borders.
At the heart of this tranquility was a boy named Li Wei.
At eight years old, Li Wei was already a legend among the villagers. He possessed a countenance that defied the limitations of mortal beauty. His skin was the color of pristine jade, his eyes like polished obsidian, and his features held a symmetry that felt divine. But it wasn't his face that people loved; it was his heart.
Li Wei was a child of warmth. He was the one who spent his afternoons helping the elderly mend their fences and his mornings rescuing small animals from the mountain thickets. To him, every life was a precious thread in a grand tapestry. He believed that the world was inherently good, a belief nurtured by the gentle smiles of his parents and the innocent laughter of his younger sister.
"Gege! Look! I found a Spirit-Butterfly!"
A high-pitched, melodic voice broke his thoughts. Li Wei turned to see his five-year-old sister, Li Xiao, running toward him. Her twin ponytails bounced with every step, and her face was flushed with the pure joy of childhood.
Li Wei leaned down, his voice soft and full of affection. "Careful, Xiao-Xiao. If you squeeze too hard, its wings will shatter. Life is fragile, remember? Once it's broken, all the kindness in the world can't put it back together."
He was a protector, a boy who couldn't stand to see a petal bruised. But the heavens are indifferent to the kindness of children. In the world of cultivators, kindness is not a virtue—it is a death sentence.
The Shadow Over the Mist
The first sign of the end was not a scream, but a sudden, unnatural silence. The birds stopped singing. The wind died down. Then, the heavy rhythmic thud of hooves shattered the peace.
A group of riders emerged from the mist. They were draped in black silk with golden tiger motifs—the mark of the Black-Tiger Sect, a mid-tier power that ruled the local province with an iron fist. These were not men; they were cultivators, beings who had traded their humanity for the pursuit of power.
At their head rode a man with a jagged scar stretching from his temple to his jaw. His eyes were cold, calculating, and filled with a predatory hunger. This was Elder Mang, a Stage 3 cultivator of the Copper Bone realm. To a mortal village, he was no different from a God of Death.
"Tribute time," Mang's voice rasped, cutting through the air like a rusty blade.
The village head stepped forward, trembling so violently his teeth rattled. "Lords, we have already given our harvest. The drought last moon took our surplus. We have nothing left but our seeds for the next winter."
Elder Mang didn't even look at the old man. His gaze swept over the gathered villagers like a hawk searching for prey, until it landed on Li Wei and his sister. A cruel, twisted smile touched his lips.
"Seeds? I see two very promising seeds right there," Mang pointed a bony finger at the siblings. "The boy's face alone is worth a thousand spirit stones in the capital's auction houses. And the girl... she has a flicker of spiritual roots. She'll make a fine 'Furnace' for our junior disciples to refine their Yin energy."
"No!" A woman's scream erupted from the crowd. Li Wei's mother rushed forward, pulling her children behind her. "Please, take the grain! Take our house! Just leave my children!"
Elder Mang gave a bored sigh. With a casual wave of his hand, a blast of pressurized Qi erupted. Li Wei watched in slow motion as his mother was thrown back like a broken doll. The sound of her spine snapping against a stone pillar was like a dry branch breaking in the woods. She didn't even have time to gasp before her life light extinguished.
The Shattering of the Jade
What followed was an inferno of senseless violence. The Black-Tiger Sect didn't just want tribute; they wanted to instill terror. They set the thatched roofs ablaze, the orange flames licking the sky.
Li Wei's Father, returning from the fields, saw the smoke and ran. He drew a simple wood-cutting axe, his face twisted in a mask of desperate bravery. He didn't even get within five paces of the cultivators.
"Trash," a sect disciple sneered. With a single flash of a cold blade, the air was painted red.
Li Wei's Father stopped mid-stride. A thin red line appeared across his neck. A second later, a fountain of crimson erupted, spraying Li Wei's face with hot, metallic-tasting liquid. The boy stood frozen as his Father's head rolled into the dust, the eyes still wide with the lingering trace of a protector's fury.
The boy's obsidian eyes widened. His mind, once filled with warmth and kindness, was being hammered by the sight of blood and the scent of burning flesh. He felt a hand grab his collar, hoisting him into the air.
"Let go of me! Let go!" Li Wei thrashed, his small fists hitting the armored chest of a sect disciple. It was like a butterfly beating its wings against a mountain.
Meanwhile, Elder Mang had grabbed Xiao-Xiao by her hair. The little girl was sobbing, her face covered in dirt and tears. "Gege! Help me! Gege, it hurts!"
"Enough noise," Mang growled. He looked at Li Wei, wanting to break the boy's spirit completely so he wouldn't struggle during transport. "Watch closely, boy. This is the only law that matters in this world: The strong eat, and the weak are eaten. Your kindness didn't save your parents. Your prayers won't save her."
Mang placed his gnarled, calloused hand on top of Xiao's head.
A dark, sickly green light began to glow. This was the Soul-Wither Technique, a cruel method to extract the raw life essence from a living being.
Li Wei watched in frozen horror. He saw his sister's vibrant skin turn grey and leathery. He saw her eyes bulge in agony until the capillaries burst, turning them into orbs of solid red. Her small mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound came out—her vocal cords had already shriveled under the heat of the dark Qi.
Within seconds, the girl who had been chasing butterflies was gone. Her body withered into a brittle, blackened husk. Mang tightened his grip, and Li Xiao crumbled into a pile of grey ash. The wind caught the ash, blowing a handful of it into Li Wei's face. It stuck to his tear-stained skin. It tasted like charcoal. It tasted like his sister.
The Birth of the Void
The Black-Tiger Sect didn't stay long. They had "harvested" enough for the day. They rode away, their laughter echoing through the thick, black smoke of the dying village.
Li Wei sat in the middle of the ruins. He didn't cry. He didn't scream.
Something was happening inside his brain. The trauma was so immense, the pain so sharp, that his mind simply... disconnected. It was like a fuse blowing in a circuit. One by one, the lights of his emotions went out.
The warmth that had defined him for eight years had been cauterized. Something in his chest felt like it had been plunged into the deepest, coldest depths of the cosmic abyss. His heart didn't just break; it died. It became a void—a cold, calculating machine wrapped in the skin of a child.
He reached into the dirt and found the small jade pendant Xiao-Xiao had been wearing. It was scorched, the jade cracked into jagged shards. He gripped them so tightly they sliced deep into his palm. Blood dripped onto the ash, but he felt nothing. No pain. No sorrow. Only a terrifying, rhythmic pulse of cold logic.
"Elder Mang..."
The voice that came out of the child was hollow. It was a sound that belonged to a graveyard, devoid of any human vibration.
"I will not just kill you. I will dismantle you. Every nerve, every bone, every memory you hold... I will turn it all into the same ash I am breathing right now. I will make the heavens regret giving me a heart, just so I could watch it die."
The Li Wei who loved life died in that fire. The one who rose from the smoke was something else. A butcher with a divine face. A void with a human shape.
As the moon rose over the smoking ruins of Mist-Veil Village, the child stood up. He didn't look back at the bodies of his parents. He didn't look back at his home. He walked into the dark forest, his white robes stained red, looking like a vengeful ghost.
The era of the "Jade Child" was over. The era of the Ethereal Butcher had begun.