Chapter One: The Predator!

These were a pair of beautiful hands—slender, fair, with defined knuckles. The veins lay hidden beneath the skin, not protruding at all, and even the surface lines were perfectly proportioned, as if meticulously carved by the hand of the Creator. In those fingers spun a kukri forged from iron scraps, whirling rapidly from left to right, exuding a pleasing grace and an entrancing rhythm.

The handle of the kukri was rough and pitted, still bearing stubborn flecks of rust that could not be scrubbed clean. Yet its blade shimmered silver, sharp enough to slice through iron as though it were mud, every stroke precise and efficient—severing an arm or slashing a throat with swift finality.

Every swing drew blood.

Yet the blade remained immaculate, snow-bright, not a trace of crimson staining its edge.

It was simply too quick—so fast that when it sliced through flesh and shattered limbs, the blood had not yet had a chance to spurt forth and mar its cold body.

Wielding the blade was a boy of about fourteen or fifteen, his hair grown long and wild, clearly neglected for some time. Through the tangled locks, only half of a fine, youthful face could be seen.

But most unforgettable were his eyes—clear, bright, impossible to imagine in this treacherous, blood-soaked world, where survival was a daily gamble. How could such pure eyes exist here?

He had smiled at them from the first moment they met—an earnest, disarmingly warm smile that was hard to resist.

Until, with startling suddenness, he struck—one clean stroke severing the throat of the bald brute who had tried to snatch away his prey.

Even then, the smile never faded.

In fact, it shone even more brilliantly than before.

“Do you still want more?” Tang Fei asked, holding his blade in one hand and the sheep in the other, his expression gentle as he spoke.

It was, truth be told, a great injustice. He had been minding his own business, carrying the fruits of a hard day’s hunt home, when he’d been surrounded by a pack of predators.

These “predators” were not beasts, but a gang of ruthless, strong vagrants turned brigands. They waited until others battled wild creatures to exhaustion, then swooped in to claim the spoils.

They did not hunt; they were simply porters of prey—hauling it from others’ hands to their own, or from another’s home to their lair.

Burning, killing, looting, plundering—there was no evil they would not commit.

They demanded Tang Fei hand over his catch, but how could he agree? The edible game around the human settlements had grown scarce, and he dared not venture further out, away from the relative safety of people.

If he surrendered this red-horned, double-headed sheep, his family would be left with nothing but crow soup once again. The old crow had already been stewing in the pot for three days—the broth was watery and tasteless, and if they’d boiled it any longer, even the bones would have dissolved.

So he didn’t hesitate.

The leader, a scarred man, eyed the red-horned sheep with a flicker of fear. He realized he’d made a fatal mistake. Anyone who could single-handedly enter Hatred Mountain, kill a double-headed sheep, and emerge unscathed was not someone they should covet.

He had thought, with their numbers, they could simply overwhelm the boy, seize the sheep for a hearty meal, perhaps even find other treasures on his person.

The hunter had become prey, pecked in the eye by a fledgling.

“You killed three of my brothers, and you think that’s the end of it?” the scarred man snarled.

In truth, he was troubled. Yes, they had intended to rob and murder first—but facing someone who had dispatched three of his men in the blink of an eye, his confidence faltered.

Yet if he did nothing, letting the boy walk away unharmed, his authority as leader would be lost. Someone stronger would rise to challenge him—the law of the strong ruled among predators, and the weak had no place. No successor would ever allow a former leader to remain alive, so death was all that awaited him.

He’d done the very same thing himself.

But for reasons he could not explain, all the menace he tried to project melted away beneath the boy’s unchanging smile.

Here he was, threatening in all seriousness, and the other simply watched him, smiling all the while.

Was it indifference to his threats? Or utter contempt for him as a person?

It was a powerless, humiliating feeling.

“How do you propose we settle this?” Tang Fei asked.

“Leave the sheep, and you can go,” the scarred man replied through clenched teeth. He looked dissatisfied with the exchange, but there was nothing he could do.

“Are you sure?”

“I swear it on my life.”

“Deal.” Tang Fei nodded. “One sheep for three lives—not a bad trade.”

He tossed the double-headed sheep forward, indicating they could have it, and turned to walk toward the forest’s edge.

The scarred man stared at the boy’s slight figure, then drew from his chest a pistol, black as night.

A rare treasure—something from before the Great Cataclysm. Back then, guns were common in many countries, as easy to buy as cabbages.

Though, cabbages weren’t easy to come by anymore either...

After the Cataclysm, the human elite migrated to New Star, leaving Blue Star in ruins. Manufacturing guns became nearly impossible. Any that remained were consumed over centuries, and those left were vanishingly few.

Who’d have thought this gang leader possessed one? Truly, being a bandit in these times was a lucrative line of work.

He raised the pistol, aimed at Tang Fei’s back, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

He had no intention of letting him go. Everything so far had been to lull the boy into complacency, to strike when his guard was down.

Predators never left survivors.

But Tang Fei, as if sensing it, suddenly paused and turned to look their way.

He saw the scarred man and the gun in his hand.

He was still smiling.

“Die!” the scarred man roared.

He hated Tang Fei’s smile. He swore that when the boy was dead, he would flay that smiling face and hang it on a branch to feed the ants.

Bang!

The bullet burst from the barrel, whistling toward Tang Ye’s head.

Tang Ye merely tilted his head—so casually it seemed he was simply shaking out his matted hair.

The shot missed.

As the scarred man prepared to fire again, he suddenly felt a chill at the back of his neck.

Puzzled, he reached back—and his hand came away slick with blood.

His pupils dilated. Only then did he feel the pain—a thin red line had appeared, growing wider, then suddenly gushing.

Behind him, the kukri hovered in midair—the silent culprit that had slit his neck.

Silent, invisible, yet chilling to the bone.

“Qi Manipulation...” the scarred man gasped.

He hadn’t expected to provoke a practitioner, much less a master of Qi Manipulation.

So young—how could he be so confident?

“Surprised?” Tang Fei said, smiling. “The old man always said, don’t trust in human nature—it doesn’t exist.”

“Predators leave no survivors. How could I believe a predator’s promise? How could I believe you’d truly let me go?”

“Blame yourselves for your reputation—always so thorough, never leaving loose ends...”

The scarred man felt his strength draining fast; even standing became a Herculean effort.

“So tired,” he murmured. Whether he meant this moment or his tumultuous life, no one knew.

Then, eyes wide, he crashed to the ground.

“Tiger!”

“Boss!”

“Everyone, get him—kill that brat!”

The remaining seven predators, eyes bloodshot, charged Tang Fei brandishing weapons.

Tang Fei raised his right hand and, with a few casual lines drawn in the air, sent the kukri spinning into the crowd, guided by his Qi.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Bodies froze in twisted postures, then collapsed one after another.

It was like slicing vegetables.

These mere brutes could never match a cultivator—they lived in different worlds.

Tang Fei retrieved his blade and rifled through the bodies, pocketing everything useful, especially eyeing the scarred man’s pistol with longing.

Unfortunately, there were only three bullets left in the magazine—far too few. He shot the scarred man a resentful glance. Such a precious thing—why waste it on someone like me?

I’m not worth it.

“Such a squanderer!” Tang Fei cursed.

The scarred man offered no reply.

With the matter settled, Tang Fei hefted the wild sheep and set off for home.

In the apocalypse, who was the hunter and who the prey? Only at the moment your eyes closed would you know for certain.

Just then, the ashen sky—like diluted ink—was pierced by a silver point of light. It grew rapidly, tracing a bright arc across the vast firmament, falling like a meteor to crash into the earth with a resounding clang.

Tang Fei darted like a rabbit behind a boulder, hiding himself but unwilling to flee too far. From cover, he watched warily.

Surely the deaths of a few predators hadn’t provoked so great a response?

Bang!

A silver hatch burst open, and a figure clad in a tight black uniform and matching helmet wriggled out of the pod.

Wriggled, because the metallic capsule had landed upside down, and she was forced to crawl face-up, back down, inching forward bit by bit.

She, because as she burrowed free, her helmet’s face shield retracted, revealing a dazzling, beautiful face.

Tang Fei gasped.

Her skin was so fair!

Her family must never lack for water.

She must wash her face at least three times a week...

Tang Fei, after a moment of envy at such abundance, faced a new question:

Was she edible?