Please read, ’before you read’, note. (also content warning, since it gets pretty... Uh well you read it because surprises are made to surprise.)
Chapter 1: The Cursed Fate.
Two eyes opened at the end of the spirit world. That was one of the seven domains; it had been silent for so long that it had forgotten what living meant.
The figure’s eyes closed again and then opened slowly.
A pale white serpent coiled around the throne, hissing softly as it whispered to the figure, ’Great master, you have awakened.’
"Who am I...?"
***
26 March 1989
Mo Fei adjusted the strap of his bag and sighed. He had been in Qinghua for two months, and yet he still didn’t know the name of the street that connected his apartment to his university. He was nineteen, which meant he was old enough to be on his own but young enough to still think he knew everything.
He passed the old antique shop on Qing Street. Like any normal day, the windows were dusty, displaying worthless trinkets, chipped coins, and faded paintings that only an antique lover would buy... But his eyes caught something different. A strange box sat near the edge of the counter.
It was carved with twelve holes interconnected with eleven black spots and decorated with seven feathers glued to its surface. They were arranged in a manner that said a number... ’13.’
Mo Fei grasped the door handle and opened it, encountering the musty scent of objects from a bygone era.
The shopkeeper greeted him with a small, gentle nod. He seemed old and haggard, giving off the attitude that he would rather be anywhere but there. He gave the man a look of pity, which made him uncomfortable enough that he pointed to that box and said, "So how much for that useless box?" as an attempt at a joke.
Which fell flat.
The shopkeeper ignored his teenage impudence. "This box defines the eleven worlds of calamity. The path of An Jie."
"How much?"
The shop keeper looked at the box, a paper hung behind. "Seven copper coins."
"Copper coins?" Mo Fei furrowed his brows and stared at the box.
"Some things demand old prices."
"That’s just absurd." Well, just a bad sales pitch, nothing more or less. He rolled his eyes and walked back out of the shop without a second thought.
***
Mo Fei pulled his walkman out of his pocket, rewinding the cassette with a click. He had been listening to the same Queen album for weeks, and he still couldn’t skip the songs he hated. The street smelled like exhaust fumes and fried dough, the two constants of city life.
Upon returning to Qing Street. He saw people stood motionless, gazing at the sky with expressions reminiscent of those seen in horror films. The elderly shopkeeper, holding a cup, exited after Mo Fei.
A cold sweat formed on Mo Fei’s palm.
Parents were holding their child like a lifeline. The buildings stood over them, tall and completely still.
What were they scared of? He approached an elderly man; his pale, bloodless face and the way his wrinkled hand gripped the shopping bag caused the plastic to crinkle with his tremors.
Mo Fei asked him. The old man’s deep old eyes locked on his, but what he said was more absurd than the words of the shopkeeper.
"Don’t you know about the feather of calamity, Ji Yu?" His voice was like a cracked old, dry paper. "It chooses new Gods, and they die... miserably. They vanish between worlds..." He paused; his hands reached for his shoulder, and he scratched it. "The lands of ancient Gods. The one no one returns from."
The lands of ancient Gods?
His words were chilling, but it was impossible, right? That thing was too absurd to believe. "A feather killing someone? Right, right, I’m already dead by that logic." Humorless jokes—that was what he was good at. He turned, ducking into an alley.
"Nothing happened!"
That was his last coherent thought before the same old man screamed, frantically waving his hand and clawing at his neck. Sweat poured down his contorted face, and embedded in his skin was a mark. An eye with two feathers driven into it like nails.
Mo Fei gazed at the sky in disbelief. Hundreds of feathers were descending, yet no birds were visible.
The most stunning thing was that these feathers were not ordinary-looking. Instead, they appeared as dark as a moonless night, each one defined by sharp edges. The corner of the quill dripped with blood.
The sky itself resembled a page of a god’s notebook. The feathers fell slowly, the blood on their tip used as ink. They inscribed names in Mandarin across the sky. A single stroke completed the name: Shi Huowan. Mo Fei inferred that this must be the name of the elderly man who was screaming.
Mo Fei stumbled backward, his feet moving against his will. His gaze watched the stroke form...The feather moved, writing his name in perfect red strokes.- "Mo Fei"- his entire body went cold.
"Tian na! It can’t be just a feather. What the hell?" his eyes widened at the sight. .
The elderly shopkeeper next to him dropped his teacup, porcelain shattering across the ground. His face went pale, trembling fingers pointing at the illuminating letters above. "Run, boy!" he yelled at Mo Fei. "Get out of here!"
His whole body froze; feet refused to move. Then his blood began to boil within his skin. Mo Fei flew his hand toward the spot, finger grasping something soft like wool–the ’Ji Yu’ feather.
His veins darkened, spreading like tree roots beneath his skin. Mo Fei’s throat only let out a pathetic whimper. Then another full-throated scream as the pain intensified.
First, the shopkeeper recoiled, his eyes reflecting shock. Subsequently, the crowd focused on Mo Fei, observing a young man shouting in the street, their faces displaying horror.
"Poor kid. He was new here, and he is facing this."
"To die like this..."
"The second chosen one today."
Mo Fei’s eyes blurred by tears, the pressure threatened to burst from eyes. Ji Yu had stolen his senses, stripping him down to nothing but pain. Around him, the crowd kept whispering. Some felt pity; others felt gratitude that it wasn’t them. The pain was his alone; no one could have changed that.
Five more screams from the crowd beside the first chosen one, and now Mo Fei could feel the relief of the others; it was palpable, annoying. The collective exhale of the crowd, as if they had never breathed for decades.
A mother drew her child closer and exhaled, while another shopkeeper wiped his brow and looked away, treating the situation as a minor incident. Mo Fei overheard someone saying, "Thanks to the ancestors, it wasn’t us." That visceral selfishness...
"Darn it!"
His vision blurred further. The pain consumed everything, including his thoughts, memories, and sense of self.
Zzipp
"AAARG!" The skin of his shoulder split in two. Blood burst out of the skin, dripping on the ground. The whole street stepped back, watching the chosen ones suffer. A chain made of flesh came out of his shoulder. It wrapped itself around Mo Fei’s throat.
Crack!
His neck snapped, and eyes closed.
The last thing he knew was the memory of his mother’s face, and her words echoed directly through the head: "You’re still too young and naïve, Mo Fei." The voice faded. The street returned.
Mo Fei’s body lay on the street. Only the witness stared; the mother covered the eyes of her kid. Her other hand held her mouth, stopping herself from throwing up.
"I should have gone back." That was the thought that remained in that world.
***
He had expected death, but got something worse.
His eyes flew open. Cold stone scraped his cheek when he jolted awake, gasping for air. The stench of rot and old dust filled his lungs.
Mo Fei looked at the sky where birds were flying on their stomachs, facing the void.
In a daze, he looked at his shoulder. The skin slowly knit together, healing. A gentle mist emerged from the wound, and the pain persisted for only a few seconds.
He pushed himself up. A smooth piece of fabric brushed his wrist. A simple, silk-soft ribbon was tied to it, made of plush wool with a silver color, a symbol of peace.
It was not there before? Or was it? He couldn’t remember. Embedded in the ribbon were the numbers 1 through 11 in Mandarin calligraphy. The first character (1)-壹-was glowing with a soft, dimming silver moonlight. The others were dull, dark grey like a stormy cloud.
"What is this ribbon? Who tied it?" A chilling thought settled inside his bones. To question insanity was also a descent into madness itself.
"Standing won’t give me anything." He groaned.
The fields gave way to a forest where the trees grew in geometric spirals. A stream flowed. The water reflected the light clear as glass, utterly quiet, an acknowledgment of the silence of that world.
A fish, composed of swirling mist, leapt from the river, revealing its flesh. It re-entered the water with the swift urgency of fleeing prey.
Mo Fei’s eyes scanned the surroundings. The entire world was like a carefully curated diorama of peace, but peace wasn’t about having no fear; it was just... mind being sane.
When he took the next step, his leg hit something soft. His gaze fell to the surface; a rotting human face was staring back up at him. Then the face grinned at him; he grinned back. "Haha... Hahah..." he chuckled. "That’s quite a dream."
"Fuck!! This is real!" his throat tightened, and he scrambled back. He sprinted back out of the forest, stopping at the same spot he had been spawned.
"What in the blasphemy is this..."
He looked up, watching the sun begin to set.
His eyelids grew heavy, as if the world itself was signaling a time to rest. Everything was silent, and then his body faltered near a tree, unable to support its own weight. He collapsed gently, like a falling leaf. ’What if I sleep and never wake up again? What if I get attacked?’
Mo Fei’s body couldn’t bear the weight of that thought. His last conscious act was to hold his ribbon in his grasp, the smooth wool comforting him.
Then the world shattered.
A unified screech tore through the silence. The sky cracked like a spider’s web. The silver sun bled into darkness. And on his wrist, the first number–壹–flared bright, then went grey. The second number–贰–(2) slowly glowed.
Mo Fei jolted up. His eyes scanned the surroundings. He was being pulled into another world.
What the hell?? Not even a day!