I Have Heaven-Defying Comprehension, but Can Only Grasp Evil Arts and Demon Tomes

This story began the moment a young boy touched a black bone slip in the Filth-Hiding Pavilion. It ended one afternoon in a teahouse, when an old man told the boy’s story. Two hundred years, one person, one city, one world. Some say this is a story about power. Some say it is a story about sacrifice. Others say it is a story about right and wrong, good and evil, the Way of Heaven and the human heart. But when all is said and done, it is simply a story about finding your way home. A boy left home and traveled a very, very long road. He endured countless hardships and did countless things. He mastered demonic arts, built the Ashen Ruins, fought the Way of Heaven, and mended the sky. He died, then came back to life. He slept for a hundred years, then awoke. And then he went home. Back to the lotus field, back to the grave, back to the little three-petaled flower. He sat beside the stone stele, leaning against the person who had waited for him. He closed his eyes and dozed in the afternoon sunshine. For all the filth in this world, there are still embers worth protecting. For all the suffering in this human realm, there is still a home worth returning to. May every boy who leaves home find the road back. May every glowing ember live to see the light of dawn. May the flame of this world be passed on forever, and its ashes burn bright without end. Mr. Fang, final chapter of The Ashen Chronicles, The Ember Abode, two hundred years into the Ashen Era, spring