Haotian Chronicle

In the Valley of Sunlight, survival is a cruel arithmetic. Emotions are remnants, memories are burdensome, and people are just a ploy to maintain the survival of the tribe. The Burning Blade is a weapon forged by the best solution, but after every hunt, it secretly hides the teeth of the prey. They whisper in my palms, asking me why I wield my blade. Cang is a numbered witch, but on the back of the tree bark, she has carved all the cries and real names that were ordered to be forgotten. Stonehand was a designated planter, but he cultivated abundant seeds, which angered the Elders who ruled based on "scarcity". When the perfect arithmetic called "The Way of the Sun" begins to liquidate the imperfect products of us that "cannot be counted" - should we use flesh and blood to sacrifice this cold logic of survival, or should we use the hidden blade teeth, the records in the dark and the seeds in the ground to tear open its first cracks? This is an epic about how human nature struggles, survives and rebels under the iron law of absolute rationality.