The gods grow hungry

Chapter 3:The Jia Clan's Secret

The mountains did not welcome him.

They rose up jagged and cold, their peaks hidden in grey mist that never seemed to lift. The path was narrow and winding, barely visible beneath layers of fallen pine needles. Zhong Yue had been walking for three days. His body was failing. The flame in his chest had dimmed to a faint glow, barely enough to keep him upright.

But the voice had been clear. "They are here. The ones who still remember."

"Remember what?" he had asked.

"The spark. They carry it without knowing what it is."

Now he stood at the edge of a hidden valley, his legs shaking, his vision swimming. Below him, tucked between the mountains, lay a village. It was small. Fifty houses maybe. Wooden roofs and thin smoke rising from stone chimneys. It looked peaceful. It looked afraid.

He took one step forward. Then his legs gave out.

The world tilted. He fell.

The last thing he saw was an old man running toward him, grey hair wild in the wind, eyes wide with alarm.

"Easy now."

The voice was rough but kind. It came through the darkness like a rope thrown to a drowning man.

"You're safe here."

Zhong Yue opened his eyes. He was lying on a straw mat in a small, warm room. A fire crackled in the hearth. The old man sat beside him, watching with steady eyes.

"Who are you?" Zhong Yue asked.

The old man snorted. "I should be asking you that, boy. You collapsed at the edge of my village looking like death itself. We thought you were a corpse until you started breathing again."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry won't feed you. But it's a start." The old man leaned forward. "My name is Old Wu. I'm a hunter. And you are a problem."

"I'm not a problem. I'm just passing through."

"No one passes through here. This valley is hidden. We made sure of that. So how did you find us?"

Zhong Yue hesitated. The flame pulsed in his chest, warm and insistent. It wanted him to speak.

"I followed a light," he said.

Old Wu's eyes narrowed. "What light?"

"A small one. A spark. It's here, in your village. You don't know what it is, but you protect it."

The old man went very still. The fire in the hearth popped and crackled. Outside, the wind howled against the mountains.

"How do you know that?" Old Wu whispered.

"Because I carry the same spark. Because I am Fuxi."

The word hung in the air like a blade. Old Wu's face went pale. He stood abruptly, knocking over a wooden stool.

"Don't say that word," he hissed. "Not here. Not ever. If the sky-rulers heard you, they would burn this village to ash."

"They already burned everything else. What makes you think this place is different?"

"It's different because we keep our heads down. Because we hide. Because we survive."

"Survival is not living," Zhong Yue said quietly.

Old Wu stared at him for a long moment. Then he turned and walked to the door. "Stay here. Don't move. If anyone asks, you're a lost traveler. Nothing more."

He left before Zhong Yue could respond.

The next day, Old Wu came back. He brought food and water and a heavy cloak. He did not speak while Zhong Yue ate. But his eyes kept drifting to the window, as if expecting something terrible to appear at any moment.

"You said you carry the spark," Old Wu said finally. "Prove it."

Zhong Yue set down the bowl. He closed his eyes and focused. The flame inside him stirred. Slowly, carefully, he let it rise to the surface. His skin began to glow with a faint golden light. The air around him grew warm.

Old Wu stumbled back. "By the ancestors," he breathed. "It's real. It's really real."

"Where is yours?" Zhong Yue asked.

The old man's face twisted. For a moment, he looked like he might refuse. Then he nodded toward the door. "Follow me."

They walked through the village in silence. The villagers watched them pass with wary eyes. Zhong Yue saw fear in their faces. Not just of him. Of everything. Of the sky, of the wind, of every shadow that moved.

Old Wu led him to a small shrine at the center of the village. It was a simple stone building with a single door. Inside, it was dark and cold. In the center of the room sat a stone bowl. Inside the bowl was an ember.

It was tiny. Weak. Barely alive. It glowed with a faint, flickering light that reminded Zhong Yue of his own fire, but much smaller. Much more fragile.

"Our ancestors protected it," Old Wu said quietly. "They passed it down from generation to generation. But we don't know what it is anymore. We just know we're supposed to keep it safe."

"How long have you had it?"

"Ten thousand years. Maybe longer. The old stories say it was once part of a great fire. A fire that burned in the hearts of all people. But the gods took that fire. They broke it. And all that's left is this."

Zhong Yue knelt beside the bowl. His own flame reached out, and the ember responded. It flared slightly, brightening for just a moment.

"It remembers me," he said.

Old Wu stared. "What do you mean?"

"The ember. It knows I'm here. It knows what I carry."

"You're saying it's alive?"

"It's always been alive. You just forgot how to listen."

The old man's face crumpled. He looked at the ember with new eyes, and Zhong Yue saw tears glistening there.

"All these years," Old Wu whispered. "We thought we were just keeping a dead tradition alive. A symbol. A memory. But it's real. It's been real the whole time."

"It's more than real," Zhong Yue said. "It's the key to everything."

Before he could explain, a scream cut through the air.

They ran outside to find the village in chaos.

A sky-ruler patrol had arrived. Three of them, riding winged beasts with scales like black iron. They landed in the center of the village, their heavy boots crushing the carefully tended garden. Their faces were beautiful and cold, just like the gods who had thrown Zhong Yue from the sky.

"Tribute!" one of them shouted. "The lord demands tribute!"

The villagers gathered. Heads bowed. Faces pale. They had done this before. They knew the ritual.

The lead patrolman pointed at a man and a woman standing near the well. "Those two. They look strong enough."

The man stepped forward, shielding the woman with his body. "Please," he said. "Take me. Just me. Leave my wife."

The patrolman laughed. "You think you get to choose?"

He struck the man across the face, sending him to the ground. The woman screamed.

A young girl broke from the crowd and ran toward them. She was maybe fourteen, with dark hair and eyes that burned with fury.

"Mother! Father!"

Mei Ling.

She was too slow. The patrol grabbed the couple and threw them onto the backs of their beasts. The girl reached for her mother's hand, but the beast rose into the air, wings beating like thunder.

"Let them go!" Mei Ling screamed. "Let them go!"

The patrolman looked down at her and smiled. "Be grateful we only took two. Next time, we'll take you as well."

The beasts rose higher. The patrol laughed. And then they were gone, leaving the girl crying in the dust.

Zhong Yue stood frozen. The flame in his chest burned with a new and terrible heat.

"Who are they?" he asked.

Old Wu's voice was heavy. "The sky-rulers' tax collectors. They come every few months. They take whoever they want. We can't fight back. We can't run. We just have to watch."

The girl was still screaming. Her voice cracked. Her fists pounded the ground.

Zhong Yue looked at her. Then at the villagers. Then at the sky.

"Never again," he said.

Old Wu grabbed his arm. "Don't be stupid, boy. You'll get us all killed."

Zhong Yue pulled free. His eyes glowed with the fire inside him.

"Then we'll die standing," he said. "Not kneeling."

He walked toward the girl. The villagers parted around him, silent and afraid. He knelt beside her in the dust.

"What's your name?" he asked.

She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears and rage. "Mei Ling."

"Mei Ling," he said softly. "I can't bring them back. But I can teach you how to make sure this never happens again."

Her eyes narrowed. "How?"

He reached out and touched her shoulder. For a moment, just a moment, the flame passed from his hand to her heart.

"By remembering who you are," he said. "By believing."

She stared at him. Something shifted in her eyes. Something fierce and unbroken.

And in that moment, the ember in the shrine flared brighter than it had in ten thousand years.