CHAPTER 2 — The Old Man in the Forest
Cold.
That was the first thing Zhen Mingye felt when his consciousness returned.
His back was stiff. His neck was sore. And the scent of damp earth pierced his nose — so different from the smell of ash and burning that still clung to his memory.
He opened his eyes.
The sky had changed. No longer red. No longer black. But a pale gray — the color of a sky that hadn't yet decided between night and morning.
He was still alive.
For some reason, that fact felt... strange.
Zhen Mingye sat up, his eyes sweeping the forest around him. Tall trees. Thin mist crept between massive roots. No human sounds. Only the distant chirping of birds high above and the rustling of leaves touched by the wind.
His hand still gripped the emblem.
He stared at it for a moment. Black metal with the character 盧 engraved at its center — cold, hard, and silent. As if it didn't care about anything that had happened that night.
He clenched his fist.
I will remember this.
"You're awake?"
Zhen Mingye immediately stood — a reflex he didn't even know he had.
An old man sat on a large rock a few steps away. A worn white robe. Long, unkempt hair and beard. In his hand, a simple wooden fishing rod extending toward a small stream that flowed quietly between the stones.
The strange thing — Zhen Mingye hadn't heard any footsteps before this. He hadn't even realized there was anyone else here.
The old man didn't turn. His eyes remained fixed on the tip of his fishing rod, still on the surface of the water.
"Sleeping outside this long, a small child could freeze to death," he said flatly. "Lucky it didn't rain last night."
Zhen Mingye didn't answer. His dark red eyes studied the old man cautiously.
The old man finally turned — and for a moment, their eyes met. Calm, aged eyes facing the eyes of a seven-year-old boy who hadn't cried.
The old man was silent for a moment.
Then he looked back at his fishing rod.
"Sit. Want to eat?"
Zhen Mingye didn't move.
"I'm not your enemy," the old man said casually, as if talking about the weather. "If I were, you wouldn't still be here from last night."
A brief silence.
Slowly, Zhen Mingye sat down. Not close. But not too far either.
The old man smiled faintly — though he still didn't turn.
"My name is Bai Qingshan." His fishing rod shifted slightly. "Yours?"
Zhen Mingye stared at the small fire lit between the stones — above it, a small fish was being grilled on a simple wooden skewer. Its aroma filled the cold morning air.
His stomach growled.
"...Zhen Mingye."
Bai Qingshan nodded slowly. No more questions. Didn't ask where he came from.
Didn't ask why a child covered in ash was sleeping alone in the forest.
He simply took the cooked fish and placed it in front of Zhen Mingye.
"Eat first. Whatever happened last night — an empty stomach won't help."
Zhen Mingye stared at the fish for a long moment.
Then, for the first time since that night —
He ate.