Zhang Cuo was afraid of the dark. At least long ago, he had been. Darkness was endless, boundless. It devoured…
Zhang Cuo was afraid of the dark. At least long ago, he had been. Darkness was endless, boundless. It devoured everything and led nowhere. In the dark, sound is the only thing he can still sense. His father's exhausted breathing. The crash of the door being kicked open. The harsh, alien shouts of Khitan soldiers. The clash of swords and blades. Fierce, desperate arguing. Then a long, long silence. And finally, the dull, heavy thud of something falling to the ground.
Zhang Cuo had understood nothing, and yet somehow, in that moment, he understood everything. He knew he had to run. Run from the ongoing carnage, from the eternal darkness, from everything. He stumbled blindly through the dark, first breaking his leg. Then he crawled on his hands and knees, scratching his palms. In the end, with his elbows, he dragged himself forward inch by inch. He heard a woman's voice just ahead, faint and blurred. He smelled the sweet, lingering scent of candied hawthorn. And beyond it, he saw the faint, long-lost glow of light.
A woman stood there, clad in green with crimson sleeves. She set down her sword, kneeling before him. She offered a few small, round healing pills. Zhang Cuo swallowed them. Then she handed him the candied hawthorn skewer that had long grown cold.
"Some paths," she said, "you have to walk yourself before you can understand. A'Cuo, this is the last lesson your father taught you."
"My name is Zhu Yu," she said, "and from now on, you'll be coming with me."