The winter night wind howled like a wounded wolf through the snow-covered mountains of Liangzhou, carrying the scent of damp earth and the creaking of bare branches that clung to life despite the harsh frost. In a small village nestled between the hills, where wooden doors were bolted shut at dusk for fear of the night's demons, a ten-year-old boy peeked through the window of his humble hut, gazing at the cloud-filled sky. His gray eyes, inherited from his mother—a descendant of northern warriors—glowed in the darkness like forgotten embers.
His name was Lian, but his mother always called him "my little wolf," for she saw in his eyes a spark that did not belong to an ordinary child.
-
It wasn't the biting wind that woke the village from its slumber in the middle of the night—it was the frantic cries of horses storming through the narrow streets like a river of molten lava. Fifty riders clad in black armor, adorned with golden dragon insignias, carried torches that set the darkness ablaze with a blood-red glow. This was no random raid... They knew exactly where they were going: Lian's family home.
"Kill them all! Leave no child alive!"
The command of their leader, his face hidden beneath a demonic-masked helmet, sliced through the night like a blade.
Hiding inside a wooden chest beneath the bed, Lian peered through a small crack between the planks. He saw a sword pierce his father's chest as the man desperately tried to defend the door with a wooden staff. He heard his mother's scream as she collapsed, stabbed while trying to shield his infant sister beneath her cloak. Even the baby was not spared... The knight crushed her beneath his heavy boot as if she were an insect.
-
Blood soaked the dirt floor, splattered against the walls, filling the air with its thick metallic scent.
Lian did not cry. He did not scream. His heart nearly stopped.
Something inside him... shattered.
It wasn't sorrow that consumed him—it was a black frost creeping into every part of his being. In that moment, a strange voice whispered inside his head, as if echoing from another world:
"Do not move... Do not breathe... Be dead so they think you are dead."
The knight who entered the room lifted the chest with ease but did not glance at the dark corner where the boy had pressed himself against the wall like a shadow. Perhaps it was fate. Or perhaps it was that primal instinct—one that teaches children how to die for the sake of life.
When the riders finally left, turning the house into a pile of ashes, Lian emerged from his hiding place. His bloodstained clothes had frozen in the cold, yet he did not feel the chill. He no longer felt anything at all.
-
He walked into the nearby forest, leaving behind the ruins of everything he had ever known. The snow began to fall again, as if the sky itself was mourning what he could not.
Deep in the woods, where ancient trees blocked out the moonlight, he heard a long, haunting howl rising from the hills. It was not the howl of an ordinary wolf... It was something more. As if the earth itself was calling him.
The boy followed the sound, though each step tore at his wounded feet.
At the peak of an abandoned hill, he stopped. A massive silver-furred wolf stood atop a rock, its golden eyes staring at him, unafraid. It did not attack him. Instead, it turned away and walked forward, as if saying:
"Follow me if you dare."
-
After hours of walking, they reached a hidden cave behind a frozen waterfall. Inside, Lian found something unexpected—a lifeless old wolf lying on the ground, surrounded by four shivering newborn pups.
The silver wolf that had led him there approached the pups, then turned to him once more. In that gaze, Lian understood the unspoken message:
"This is your place now... These are your kin."
By dawn, the silver wolf had passed away, leaving behind its young and a lone human boy to survive together. That night, as he held a small black pup close for warmth, Lian chose a new name—one that would one day become legend:
"Lang Xian... The Immortal Wolf."
-
As the first rays of morning light pierced the cave, the boy stared ahead with eyes that no longer belonged to a child. His family's blood would not be spilled in vain. Every drop would be repaid—with the blood of his enemies.
But before he could have his revenge, he had to become stronger than them all.
The forest would teach him cruelty.
The wolves would teach him patience.
And the bleeding wound in his heart would be the fire that burned inside him for years to come.
Far away, inside a grand imperial palace draped in silk and gold, a man in a purple robe whispered to the sleeping emperor:
"The rebel general's family has been dealt with, Your Majesty... No one survived."
But the whisper was a lie.
The wolf still lived.