Chapter 3: The Day of Waning Moon

Thunder rumbled in the distant sky, heavy as war drums, echoing throughout the world, shaking heaven and earth with lingering reverberations.

Dense, dark clouds surged across the heavens, spilling in from every direction like a tide, wild and unrestrained, finally freed from their cage. They crashed and swept over everything, engulfing and drowning all existence.

A torrential rain filled the world, sweeping away ten days of oppressive heat and stifling air. This was no illusion—it happened once every month.

This day was called the Day of Lunar Shadow.

…

Dark clouds blanketed the sky, obscuring the heavens. Even the mighty Ten Suns, usually dominant, were besieged. Darkness, misty and deep, became the sole presence between heaven and earth. The oppressive heat retreated, replaced by a bone-deep chill.

Clouds and mist billowed, blending all things into confusion.

The rain poured down in torrents, roaring as if heaven itself had split open, the Milky Way cascading down. The world seemed to be swept by a flood of annihilation, the sound waves surging like a thousand armies charging into battle, trampling over all resistance.

The Ten Suns sank, the sky hidden, mountains bowed low. Everywhere was water—nothing but water, ruling all. Thunder boomed, lightning flashed, adding to the power of the storm.

"It's raining..."

On a patch of flat land, among hundreds of half-height stone houses, someone called out, bringing a hint of life to the world.

Soon, every house burst into frantic footsteps and the clatter of utensils. The villagers, a mass of people, braved the downpour, rushing out into the open. In their hands, tucked under arms, and slung across backs, were stone vessels—wide-bellied, narrow-mouthed.

Though ordinary, these stone implements were handled with reverence, as if on pilgrimage. Each was gently placed outside, then the villagers stepped back to let the rain fill them.

This village was called Solitude. Its bloodline, it was said, traced back to a mighty ancestor surnamed Solitude. Yet, generation after generation, no great cultivators had emerged. Over time, the legend faded, swallowed by the relentless river of years.

Every household bore the surname Solitude.

Solitude Little Sister and Solitude Child were among them. The sisters, orphaned young, survived only thanks to the support of their neighbors.

Now, the fourteen-year-old elder sister led her eight-year-old sibling, dragging every stone basin and jar outside to catch the rain.

In this primeval world, water was the most precious resource—bar none. Even cultivators who reached the Walker level could barely summon water from the distant stars, but it was never enough.

The strongest distributed all water sources, trickling down to the lowest tier, where each person barely received enough for a month's drinking needs. Washing was a luxury.

Thus, to cleanse oneself, there was only one divine opportunity—the monthly Day of Lunar Shadow.

The feeble and elderly men dug open the earth, uncovering stone-lined cavities for water storage. Rain alone could not meet their needs.

Women and girls, meanwhile, ran joyfully toward the village's rear, where a simple open-air bath awaited.

The love of beauty and cleanliness transcends eras.

…

Thunder rolled on for four hours.

It was as if an invisible hand governed the time; the rain abruptly stopped, clouds vanished, and countless stars emerged, twinkling like mischievous eyes, filling the heavens. Amid the starry river, the faint outline of the Ten Suns appeared, their light wan and pale.

One, two, ten, a hundred—shooting stars streaked across the sky, all racing toward the Ten Suns.

Violent collisions shook the heavens, as if a great explosion erupted in the sky, though the details were hidden by radiant starlight.

Such a spectacle was rare in a thousand years, but the villagers were unfazed. They had seen it every month since birth, and had little time to marvel.

The basins full of rainwater had to be brought inside. Wells had to be covered and sealed with thick earth. Experience taught them the Ten Suns would soon return, their harsh rays evaporating the water. Everyone knew—wasting water was a shameful act.

…

After their baths, the Solitude sisters, fresh as lilies rising from the water, worked alongside the busy villagers. When all was done, Solitude Child blinked her clear eyes and said to her sister, "It's a shame Big Brother hasn't woken up. He's still dirty. If I were bigger, I'd carry him outside myself."

"Oh!" Solitude Little Sister suddenly remembered something, cried out, and rushed to grab a small jar, running into the inner room.

Inside stood a large wooden bed, once the resting place of their parents. The sisters often lingered here, feeling the lingering presence of their family.

Now, a young man lay on the bed, eyes closed, unconscious. A half-tattered hemp garment covered his vital parts, the rest of his body exposed. Scorched wounds covered his flesh, close enough to smell burnt meat. Where the skin was whole, it gleamed bronze, muscles taut and powerful.

His face was pale, lips cracked, limbs twitching—who knew what torment he had endured before fainting. The sisters, inheriting their parents' kindness, had rescued him the previous day.

Solitude Child followed, saw her sister kneeling, lifting his torso with one hand while tilting the jar with the other. But the young man's mouth was tightly shut, and water spilled out, wasted. Solitude Little Sister cried, "Child, quick, help me open Big Brother's mouth!"

Solitude Child eyed his muscular arm, then climbed to the bedside, stretched out her small hands, and called in a clear voice, "Big Brother, drink some water..."

…

Unknowingly, another four hours passed.

The meteors ceased, the sea of stars retreated like an army under orders, leaving a vast blankness at the center of the sky, where a huge moon appeared, its cold light bringing rare happiness to humanity.

A shaft of moonlight shot out like a silver blade, most of it gathering toward the Ten Suns. Now, the Ten Suns, as if recovering from tribulation, regained some vitality, shining forth and mingling with the moon's glow.

Sun and moon together, radiant.

Neither cold nor hot, gentle and comforting.

The busy villagers returned home, savoring the sweetness and happiness of this monthly blessing, drifting into dreams.

After giving the unconscious young man some rainwater, the Solitude sisters lay together outside, dreaming of their parents, joyful and carefree…

…

Four hours—long enough for a good sleep and many wonderful dreams, yet short enough to pass in a blink.

Now, the wind was still, rain ceased, clouds scattered, stars hidden, moon faded.

The Ten Suns returned, blazing like victorious kings, reclaiming their domain. The lingering moisture in the world evaporated, with a sizzling sound, vanishing into nothing.

The land dried and cracked again, hot winds blew, dust and sand swirled. The mountains were silent, resigned to their fate. Once-flowing ravines dried up, leaving sorrowful scars across the wasteland.

The air seemed to burn with invisible flames, consuming all vitality. The Ten Suns dominated the sky, day nearly eternal, night barely present.

"Ah…" Stretching her small waist, Solitude Child yawned and opened the door. Instinctively, she squinted against the bright sunlight.

Once she adjusted, she opened her eyes wide, called to her sister inside, and bounded out to play with the other children. The rain-soaked earth was softer than usual—perfect for games. Children aged five to eight, innocent and playful, gathered in clusters.

Their laughter rang out, crisp and pure, bringing smiles to all who heard, perhaps stirring memories of happiness…

"Hey? Why is it dark?" A little boy, playing happily, noticed the light dim and looked up in surprise.

The sky was not dark—the Ten Suns still hung high. But before him stood a dozen tall, strong men, weapons in hand, exuding a faint scent of blood.

"Bandits are here—!" The boy, nearly ten and more experienced than the others, quickly recognized the threat and ran, shouting to warn the village. "Father… Mother… bandits… ah…"

His voice cut off abruptly. With a sickening thud, the boy's body fell, his head severed, blood spraying out and sizzling on the earth, filling the air with a pungent stench. Terror spread.

The blood was hot, the blade cold.

One man wiped his blade across his chest, licked the blood from its edge, and sneered, "You brought this on yourself. Don't blame me, blame your parents for not raising you mute."

"Enough, Twelve, don’t waste time," said the burly man at the center, scanning the children. He noticed a fearless little girl glaring at them fiercely, clicked his tongue, strode over, and picked her up, holding her in his arms. "Brothers, spread out—don’t let any escape. Little ones, if you want to live, go tell your families to hand over all water and food. If we're satisfied, maybe we’ll spare you. Otherwise, the village will be slaughtered—no survivors. If you have a guardian, call them out quickly..."

The children scrambled home, and soon the village erupted in chaos, men and women shouting, basins and jars moving. The leader laughed, rubbed Solitude Child's head, and said to his comrades, "We, the Thirteen Wolves, are lucky indeed—escaped the pursuit from the Central Wasteland. Now in the Eastern Wasteland, we can enjoy ourselves awhile."

"Indeed," another man sighed, then brightened, "No one here knows our background. We can truly relax…"

"But, Boss, should we leave witnesses?" another asked, shaking his sword, its blade gleaming with murderous intent. "If someone survives and leaks our presence, we could be tracked. This is the Eastern Wasteland…"

"Right. I heard cultivators here are united, unlike other regions where they're scattered and suspicious," another cautioned. "If we only rob, our identities might be exposed, and if Central Wasteland hears, trouble will follow. If we eliminate all, we can relax for now, but if things go wrong, we might face worse threats…"

"We'll see," said the leader, pondering, unable to decide.

As they spoke, villagers emerged, carrying precious rainwater, placing it neatly in the open. It seemed rehearsed, their cooperation flawless. Those empty-handed gathered, facing the bandits calmly—perhaps numb to it all.

"Little Sister…"

The leader was about to speak when a low cry from the crowd interrupted him. Annoyed, he stared, ready to scold, but his expression changed—anger melting into delight.

His eyes gleamed green with hunger.

"In such a shabby village, such a stunning beauty!"

"Our luck has finally turned, brothers. Ha ha…"

"You go first, Boss. I'm second—no arguments."

"I'm third…"

"You’re quick, so I'll go next…"

"Ha ha, then I won't be polite." The burly leader of the Thirteen Wolves, gleaming with excitement, tossed Solitude Child aside and strode toward his target—Solitude Little Sister.

"It's over." The villagers sighed in despair, unable to muster courage or resolve.

"How shameful… How hateful…" An elder closed his eyes, tears streaming. "If only Solitude Village still had a guardian, if only the last thirty guardians hadn’t all died within a year, abandoned by all powers, infamous throughout the land—how could such humiliation happen?"

"Little Sister, forgive us…" The villagers, their courage worn away by time, their spirit buried, mourned in silence.

At this moment, calamity descended.

"Take your hands off that girl!"

Just as the leader was about to seize his prey, a furious shout thundered from a house behind the villagers, shaking the earth like divine thunder from the heavens.

Boom!

The house collapsed suddenly, and amid the dust, a figure shot out like lightning, racing through the crowd to Solitude Little Sister, pulling her back with a steady, powerful hand, and facing the bandits head-on.

Bang!

A wild aura erupted from him, surging powerfully. Jet-black hair stood upright, sword-straight. In his cold eyes, murderous intent surged. His bronze skin, muscles rippling, radiated unmatched strength. His voice was icy, chilling to the bone.

"Touch her again, and you die!"

"Who are you?" The leader, cowed by his aura, stepped back, wary. "Are you the guardian?"

"Yes… Big Brother!" Solitude Child, thrown to the ground, stared wide-eyed in disbelief. If not for the times she helped her sister feed him water, she wouldn’t have recognized him.

A warm wave filled her small chest, her eyes grew moist, and though a stone seemed to weigh on her heart, she felt safe. Suddenly remembering, she cried out, "Big Brother, run! The bad men are very strong…"

"Child?" Hearing her, the man glanced at the Thirteen Wolves, then turned to her, his deep eyes full of warmth and care. He struggled to force a smile, ugly as it was. "Don’t worry. Big Brother is strong, too."

"Who are you?" the leader roared, rallying his men, power surging in his veins as he gripped the hilt at his waist. Even before his blade cleared its sheath, its fierce intent twisted the light around him.

"I am Solitude Farewell!"

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