In the heart of the vast and boundless Cang Mang Mountains lies a small village known as Shi Cun. Surrounded by towering peaks and deep chasms, nature embraces it from all sides. In the early morning, golden dawn hues cascade like shattered jewels from the sky, gently bathing the land in warm light.
In the village square, a group of dozens of children, ranging from ages five to teens, exercise their bodies with loud, rhythmic grunts and calls as they harness this radiant dawn energy. Each tender face shows intense focus—older children’s movements cut through the air powerfully, while the younger ones mimic them awkwardly but earnestly.
Before them stands a middle-aged man, his body strong like that of tigers or leopards, dressed in thick hide armor with long jet-black hair cascading down and gleaming eyes scanning every child diligently. With a calm voice tinged by solemn purpose, he teaches:
“When dawn breaks, all things breathe anew; the energy of life flows most powerfully! Even if we cannot eat mist or breathe qi as legends tell, training beneath this rising sun invigorates bodies and fills young spirits with boundless vitality. Each morning’s training shapes one’s future: stronger limbs, better circulation, and ultimately one’s only means of survival here in the dangerous wildness.
Now hear me…do you understand?”
“Yes!!” comes a united roar full of youthful energy. However, one clearly lost-in-thought child calls out moments later. A tiny one of two or younger, who just began walking a few months before, had also joined—somehow slipping into this older class. Despite shaky steps, he joyfully mimics the others. Arms flay, and feet wobble. Residual milky drools streak his cherubic jaw—a scene so irresistibly cute that watching adults across different spaces chuckled.
Elderly sages sat nearby cross-legged atop stones, silently absorbing heaven’s essence yet exchanging approving smirks at that tiny frame. Meanwhile muscle-bulging warriors clad bare-chested in only leather also grinned; weapons from polished bones and blackened blades twirled by their powerful limbs gleamed.
This tough mountain realm demands survival amidst perilous beastly threats; every day a battle hard-fought by strong men who hunt with pride while defending others’ lives. Tragically many don’t get to grow to be part of their tribe’s adult ranks. Only physical power protects one from this fierce land: training together is not only customary from youth—it is their unshaken law.
With a stern clap breaking amusement among boys, their coach commanded: “Revert your attentions!”
Energies re-directed, dozens resumed practice in that shimmered morning light together again. Little toddlers exhaled tired whimpers as he ploped to plop onto grass. But like fleeting fatigue, distractions soon pulled at his attention—a small vibrantly rainbow-colored songbird hipping along close—lure too potent for this bright, curious spirit. Tumbles punctuated chase attempts repeatedly yet only annoyed grumbles escaped his sweet cherub mouth before he got up again in pursuit!
A booming voice later signified completion’s cue: “Cease exercises!”
Excited, relieved, they all whooped and scurried home, a rush of movement to breakfast time. Giggles spread as elders stood from giant stones, and adult hunters returned home in groups, banter exchanged while carrying gear.
This mountain village doesn’t measure large in population—just slightly over 300 strong across youth into ancient elders. Their humble abodes are stacked with heavy stone blocks. At its forefront sits an old massive thunder-blasted log measuring nearly ten meters around, now dimmed of glowing leaves that once lit mornings brilliantly under dawn rays.
Among homes, energetic kids bounced from house to table outside. Their diets weren’t abundant: basic grain cakes, fruits mixed in with little bits of meat given to boys’ stoneware dishes.
Though surrounded by verdant wilderness buzzing with animal presence, food sources for hunters remained a harsh challenge due to deadly monstrous opposition lurking deep. Any misstep means irreversible bloodshed and deaths.
Survival’s edge weighed heavy upon all minds, for no life is expendable. Each toddler learned early to recognize scarcity and value—eating, learning, growing up with the intertwined reality that every bite of meat symbolised struggle by adults.
At its central village dwelling resided Chief Shi Yun Feng’s compound—a giant stonewall building bordering an old dark timber from lightning strike long ago. Beside it, over steaming pot contents of milky essence bubbling warm, fragrances wafting thick—this wise ancient was preparing thick medicinal brews adding greenery to creamy soup stirred rhythmically.
Before much longer came calls: “Little Rascal come eat!”
This white-skinned infant was named Xiao Bu Di; mother and father both fallen by time he could merely hold spoon upright, now a year old baby who had grown sipping beast milk instead of human. While others would’ve weaned long past this, he clung joyfully to milky tastes much to teasing peers’ delight.
“Ieaaaa—phew!” His earlier play had exhausted him. He sat panting where he flopped earlier.
Hormoners called again. “Time for baby’s drinks!”
Scoldings rolled over them from their elder: “Silly boys; all passed through similar stages, didn’t you remember? He’s no exception!”
“We sure weren’t drinking breast milaaay at 18 months, heh…”
Unflappable, that cherub grinned with eyes gleaming shut like crescent moons while spoon dipping straight into thick milk bowl—gluttonously gulped. He drank happily.
Soon after midday meal finished, multiple seniors arrived at Grand Chief Shi Yun Feng’s homestead. Even though advanced in age, all bore spirits full-of-life.
“Things feel off lately. Something big’s been moving nearby late night. Tremors shaking our rest,” one shared worriedly. Another affirmed with grim tone: “Multiple disturbances, chills crawling over old bones. I fear monstrous things roam deeper in dark woods.”
The chief listened silently as they described strange sensations in recent sleeps: massive beasts moving near unseen.
“It fits my instincts too,” Shi mused slowly, “Something stirs in the distant wilderness’s heart—a discovery that’s attracted ancient forgotten beasts out to converge… perhaps even awakening long dormant predators or entities…”
A shocked murmur rippling: “Are You hinting about Mountain Treasures??”
One old man exclaimed eagerly, bushy whiskers bristling wide with surprise—but this spark dimmed swiftly. None possessed the capability of even approaching such riches hidden deep. Decades without proof from that unreturnable region left hope thin.
Still, with food reserves dwindling fast…
“Chief, some men may need sending out again.” Suddenly came confident steps: a powerful form entering, wearing heavy iron swords across broad back, a body shaped with bear muscle and strength of wild animals—this man was Shi Lin Hong—the village’s hunting leader, and potential heir for chieftain.
Yun Feng nodded, creased forehead heavy in thoughts.
“Food scarcity worsen each passing sunset, yet our boys all growing rapidly…” One elder pointed sadly.
“We’ll scout carefully, in daylight. As long as vigilance remains,” Shi Lin responded confidently.
Minutes stretched into planning as dozens among younger men rallied beside Thunder-Tree in central gathering.
Their chief then addressed each:
“Guiding Spirit protect us all—young hunters go only as fate permits! Return fat with success—abounding catch in hands and healthy blood returning. Forever shall this land provide if we keep faith strong.”
Prayers echoed beneath silent swaying branches once more—an ancient tree’s watchful guardian standing guard above these people below.
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