Under the prayers of the clan chief and some elders, all the able-bodied men wore solemn expressions and performed their rites. Many women and children had also gathered, silently praying for the safe return of their hunting kin. The mountains were perilous; beyond the village guarded by the ancient willow, lay a world teeming with terrifying beasts and monstrous birds.
Thus, the strongest men of the village set forth, bearing mighty bows and broadswords into the vast wilderness, the primal aura of the desolate lands rushing to meet them.
Watching the hunting party depart, Old Clan Chief Shi Yunfeng led a group of children to the grassy clearing at the village entrance. Sitting cross-legged, he said, “Alright, you little rascals, it’s time for your studies.”
The children immediately sulked, listless and reluctant, clustering around him like wilted leaves.
“Chief Grandpa, those bird-script and turtle-glyphs are as complicated as ghostly talismans. Why bother memorizing them?”
“Yeah! Dad’s archery lessons are way more useful!”
The children whined in unison, their faces twisted in protest.
“You foolish brats! Bone-script is the sacred script of the ancient behemoths, symbols of unimaginable power inscribed on their very bones. Countless would kill for the chance to learn it. Mastering it would make you many times stronger than your fathers!”
The old chief scolded them, exasperated.
“Chief Grandpa, show us the power of bone-script!” urged an older boy.
“Little Rascal, come here!” the chief called.
Little Rascal, who had been tugging at a yellow dog’s tail after chasing a five-colored sparrow, blinked his bright eyes and toddled over. “Ee-ee, what is it, Chief Grandpa?”
“Show them the bone-script I taught you.”
“Okay!”
Little Rascal obediently extended his tiny hands, clenched his fists, and strained until his face flushed red. With a resonant *hum*, a glowing symbol appeared in his palm—metallic, as if forged from molten gold. Soon, his other hand mirrored it.
He then lifted a boulder taller than himself.
“Amazing!” the children gasped.
“Did you use up all your milk strength?” teased an older boy.
“Ee-ee, yes! All gone now!” Little Rascal plopped down, giggling, as the symbols faded.
“So, this is the fabled power of bone-script?” The children’s eyes sparkled, their earlier disinterest vanished.
“Don’t get ahead of yourselves. This is just the beginning. It pales in comparison to the celestial bone-scripts of legend,” the chief said, nodding and then shaking his head.
“Chief Grandpa, tell us about the outside world!”
The old man’s gaze turned distant, lost in memory.
“The world is vast—endless. Distances span millions of miles, realms beyond realms. Even a lifetime isn’t enough to traverse a single domain. Communication between human lands is rare, for the wilderness is ruled by monstrous beings. Even grand cities can fall overnight to the wrath of ancient beasts. Yet, among humanity, there exist prodigies—warriors whose might rivals the heavens.”
The children listened, equal parts awed and yearning.
“Are there treasures or elixirs that can transform us overnight? How strong are these prodigies?”
“Grow strong first, and you’ll see,” the chief chuckled.
“Can we explore the world if we master bone-script?”
“Even crossing half our own domain would be a feat!”
The children fell silent, stunned.
“I can only guide you. The rest depends on you. What I teach is no less than what outsiders learn.”
His hand brushed a strange bone-jade in his robe.
For once, the children listened intently, not dispersing until noon.
“So hard! The chief said it’ll take years for most, and some may never succeed!”
“But Little Rascal did it, and he’s so tiny!”
The boy, oblivious, resumed tormenting the poor dog.
As the sun dipped, casting golden hues over the stone huts—serene as ancient temples—the hunting party returned, their silhouettes towering against the scarlet sky. Each man dragged colossal beasts: dragon-horned elephants, one-legged kui beasts, winged serpents thick as barrels…
“They’re back!”
The village erupted in joy.
The elders gaped. These were creatures that usually massacred hunters—iron-skinned, thunder-voiced, mountain-striking killers. Yet today, they lay slain.
“We were lucky. A titan passed through the mountains, crushing many beasts. We merely finished the wounded,” said Shi Linhu, the hunt leader, laughing.
“But… some footprints were human-like—hundred meters long!”
The village trembled.
Something unnatural stirred in the depths, drawing ancient horrors near.
Yet tonight, the village feasted. The chief led them to the willow, piling the bloody carcasses upon the altar—a grand sacrifice beneath the sacred boughs.
The children’s laughter echoed, the air thick with triumph and the scent of blood. The Desolate Lands had yielded, but the true storm had yet to come.
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