A five-year-old boy curls up in the fur of a vicious dog. Beneath the cotton robe torn by fangs, every rib is visible.
He licks the dried beast's blood from the blue bricks. Its salty, iron taste slides down his throat, while his empty stomach twists and burns.
Children's laughter comes from beyond the ruined courtyard. A muddy, stale bun flies over the low wall. "You little mutt, bark twice and we'll give you a treat!"
Silently, he clutches the jade cicada his mother left behind. Its warm, smooth touch is the only comfort in the freezing night.
Then, on a rainy night, a fever burns through him, and the cicada's edge cuts his palm.
Blood-soaked runes rise in the darkness, and ancient syllables brand themselves into his mind: "With a broken spiritual root, burn bone for fuel and blood for a torch..."
Thunder cracks outside the window, lighting up his fever-red eyes.
Cultivate Qi? Then he will use these broken bones to burn through the dead end set by the Heavenly Dao.
