Chapter One: Blood Moon

Born into the world of the living, ill-fated by the heavens; dead and fallen to the underworld, bereft of order and kin. By chance, in a time when yin and yang were in chaos, I dared to descend three thousand fathoms from the azure skies!

When Pangu cleaved the heavens, the Five Sages manifested upon the earth. There arose six races of sentience: Divinities, Immortals, Humans, Ghosts, Demons, and Fiends. All living beings belonged to these races. Yet the world was thrown into turmoil, wars raging like wildfire, bringing devastation and unrest to all creatures. Thus, the Five Sages convened and, drawing upon the Three Books of Heaven, Earth, and Man—the Divine Register, the Map of Rivers and Mountains, and the Book of Life and Death—used the great cycles of fate to seal gods and lay the dead to rest, restoring order to the chaos, setting the bounds of heaven and earth.

Through the might of the Divine Register, and the breath of heaven and earth, the Five Sages fashioned a new race that stood above the six: guardians of the heavenly order, named Gods.

Yet fate, in its ceaseless turn, ever seeks balance. Where there is yin, there is yang; what gathers must disperse; when the laws of the world seek to shroud all, there will always be loopholes beyond their reach. No one knows their cause; no one can unravel their transformations.

This is the Way.

At the northernmost edge of the Eastern Divine Continent lies a mountain, spanning ten thousand fathoms, known as Plum Mountain.

Beasts dwell upon Plum Mountain. Hundreds of years ago, seven demon kings descended from its heights to aid the last human sovereign in battle, only to fall, their weapons shattered and their souls consigned to the Yellow Springs. Though later deified, their divinity was but in name—a thinly veiled captivity.

Yet the demon line of Plum Mountain was not severed. Through centuries of spring and autumn, it grew ever more vigorous, becoming one of the twelve infamous haunts of the continent—a forbidden abyss, a devil’s lair where life itself is proscribed.

It is said that Plum Mountain holds one forest, seven peaks, and twenty-nine valleys. The seven great demons are merely the masters of the peaks; so long as the primeval forest stands and the demon kings remain unharmed, the demon bloodline of Plum Mountain shall never die out, flourishing unceasingly to fill the land.

Eight thousand dazzling bones vanish amidst the mortal dust, myriad blossoms scattered into the nether paths—the legend begins here at Plum Mountain...

I am a demon, and so be it.

Let the world despise me—what does it matter?

The heavens decree, all beings seek enlightenment,

Yet my base life is steeped in disgrace, and I shall do no good, even in death!

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Most of the time, Plum Mountain is shrouded in perpetual twilight. Though the world beyond is bathed in the warmth and bloom of spring, here confusion reigns: daylight never lasts more than three hours, and the rest of each day is eternally cloaked beneath a sky of muddy yellow or pitch black. The gloom is made worse by ceaseless miasma, chilling the heart and warning mortals to keep away.

Tonight, a blood moon hangs in the sky—a rare night when the moon can be seen at all.

A giant crimson orb occupies nearly the whole of heaven, as if it might crash down at any moment. A mere glance reveals the broken ring and scarred, mountainous craters—marks left upon the night’s pearl by the war of gods.

As the blood moon rises, its light falls like rain, drizzling down to the earth and spreading in rivulets, painting the world in thick scarlet as though in the aftermath of beheading, when blood spurts from the neck in a vivid, dazzling display—heralding only death.

The blood moon is not only ill-omened; its very appearance is a calamity. As its crimson glow floods the land, the Eastern Divine Continent seems to open the gates of the netherworld. Fiends and specters, demons and monstrosities, all emerge to cast terror and death across the four corners of the earth.

Even before the moon has fully unfurled, the weaker spirits of the mountain have already hidden themselves away, anxious and uneasy, awaiting the howling of wolves at the moon’s rise and the frenzy of a hundred beasts to subside.

Beneath the crimson night, near the jagged outskirts of Plum Mountain, a pitch-black figure slowly crawled along the ridge. Despite its halting gait, it moved with unwavering resolve, step by step toward the rocky bluff halfway up the crag.

It was an ugly, crippled monkey.

Short, small, and frail, its fur was torn away in patches, revealing bloodstained, bare skin. One jutting tooth was broken, the other a jagged stump. Its eyes were uneven, one large, one small. One leg was grotesquely twisted and thickly wrapped in grass, yet yellow pus still oozed from the edges, as if the break had not yet healed, making each movement seem as though the limb might snap again at any moment.

On its back, it carried a bundle of tangled weeds, twisted and matted, concealing unknown cargo.

So grievously wounded—what could it possibly be doing out here, and why choose the very hour when the blood moon loomed overhead?

Moreover, its mind remained unclouded; it still possessed its wits.

The monkey climbed the rocky bluff with the utmost caution and difficulty. Once, dozens of caves and burrows pocked the cliffs, but now all were gone, buried beneath heaps of stones that sealed the entrances, cutting off passage from within and without.

Drawing near, the monkey reached the nearest pile of rocks and pressed its ear to listen. Faintly, it heard heavy breathing and suppressed sobbing from within—some creature within, desperately fighting the mania and confusion stirred by the blood moon.

After listening for a moment, the monkey turned away without hesitation, crawling toward another spot. Its bare skin was scraped and bloodied by rocks and branches, yet it paid no mind, eyes cold and unwavering, as if the pain of its broken leg had nothing to do with it—utterly indifferent.

The second place it sought was the largest of the stone piles. Pressing its ear once more, the coldness in the monkey’s eyes was instantly replaced by a flash of savage cruelty, fierce as a specter. Without delay, it tore the tangled weeds from its back and, after some fumbling, drew out two field mice, not yet dead.

The two mice were scrawny, like the monkey itself, their four limbs broken and long since on the brink of death. When pulled out, they only trembled faintly, unable to make a sound. Yet these two mice made the monkey’s eyes blaze with hunger, its tongue licking its lips, its throat bobbing—it was clearly starving.

With a sudden snap, the monkey bit one mouse’s throat, tearing off its head in a single bite.

But it did not eat immediately. Instead, it shook the mouse’s body, flinging blood across the ground before the cave entrance, then swiftly turned and hurried away, crawling on all fours, its broken leg pushing desperately against the earth, imparting a note of panic to its retreat.

Along the way, it tore off the head of the other mouse, carrying its corpse in its mouth, leaving a trail of blood behind to mark its path.

Almost as soon as the monkey’s shadow vanished behind the crag, the breathing within the cave grew heavier, now booming and bellows-like. The stones blocking the cave mouth began to tremble until, with a thunderous crash, they collapsed outward and a gigantic black figure burst forth.

It too was a monkey, but unlike the first, it was massive and burly, its body fat and powerful, black fur streaming in the night wind, two great fangs jutting fiercely above blood-red eyes—an aura of menace like a demon god!

From afar, wolves howled and beasts roared in chorus, their savage cries echoing over all of Plum Mountain.

The giant monkey’s mind was lost to frenzy; it felt no fear of its usual taboos. Its nostrils flared, instantly catching the scent of blood. With a pounce, it devoured the mouse corpse and the blood-soaked earth in several gulps.

The taste of blood intensified its mania; wracked with torment, it could not help but throw its head back and howl, its roars joining the tumult that shook the mountains.

Soon, the giant monkey caught another trace of blood on the air. With a shriek, it dropped to all fours and charged madly toward the source, nearly crazed, sending birds and bats flying in terror.

Within moments, the giant monkey reached the edge of the bluff. Here, no grass or trees grew—only bare rock, the sort that, in later times, would be prized as fine granite, but to the beasts, it was nothing more than barren wilderness.

The source of the blood scent was a stone hole the size of a human head, its entrance narrow, barely large enough for the giant monkey to insert its head. Ordinarily, a sentient demon monkey would never do such a thing, but under the blood moon’s spell and the lure of blood, all caution was lost.

Without a moment’s thought, the giant monkey thrust its head into the hole, eyes red as blood, snapping and biting at random, a foul wind rushing out.

Suddenly!

A shadow plummeted from above the entrance—sharp bone shards, weighted with the crippled monkey’s entire body, plunged into the nape of the giant ape’s neck and pierced through, the sharpened tip like a spear driving deep into the stones below. The wooden shaft wedged the monkey’s head tightly in the hole.

In a single stroke, there was no retreat!

A bloodcurdling scream echoed across the bluff.

The searing pain and threat of death instantly snapped the giant monkey from its frenzy. It howled in terror, thrashing wildly to break free, but each movement only deepened the agony, sending spasms through its flesh.

Thrown aside, the crippled monkey quickly clambered up again, half-crawling, and produced another branch with a bound bone shard. Aiming carefully, it stabbed at the giant monkey’s eye!

With a wet sound, blood spattered across the giant monkey’s face, spreading rapidly.

“Roooar—!”

The roar trembled, losing its force and turning into a moan of pain.

The crippled monkey did not stop; baring its teeth, it stabbed again and again, withdrawing and plunging the bone shard into the bloody mess.

Over and over, endlessly, relentlessly.

The howls rose and fell with the rhythm of the stabbing—at first fierce, but quickly fading, soon reduced to mere whimpers and the last quivers of life...

Now, the cruelty in the monkey’s mismatched eyes faded into focus—calm and attentive, like a scholar bent over his desk, wholly absorbed in his task.

After a final, violent shudder, the giant monkey was still, life fled to the Yellow Springs.

Yet the stabbing did not cease. The crippled monkey continued until the head was a honeycomb, until the bone shard snapped in two. Only then did it stop.

Then, it leapt onto the giant monkey’s body and tore into it, devouring the flesh in great, ravenous gulps.

To it, this was food.

The crippled monkey’s memories were vivid. It clearly recalled moments from its own birth, the feeble body of its mother, the shrunken teats that yielded not a drop of milk. Less than half a year had passed in this world, every day etched into its mind. Yet it also bore memories from another world—thirty years of life: searing hatred, the exhilaration of vengeance, memories branded deep in its bones.

Those breathtaking explosions, flames dancing across the sky...

The desperate scrambling for survival, the endless flight...

The blood-soaked slaughter, the intrigue and machinations...

That cold and ruthless human world, devoid of justice...

Scene after scene, all replayed in its mind.

It knew its past life, and its current one. Whether this was reincarnation or transmigration, it did not care; none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the situation before its eyes—facing it head-on, surviving.

Even as a crippled, ugly, weak monkey—no more than a pitiful beast—it would not give up.

Born a demon, it would live as a demon!

To live is heaven itself.

Whoever stands in the way—let them die!