Records of Broken Bones of Heroes

Three years after the apocalypse of the Dajing Dynasty, Qingxi Village, a water town in the south of the Yangtze River.​ Shen Yan clutched the newly touched crucian carp and walked briskly across the bluestone road. The shadow of the old locust tree at the entrance of the alley slants across the adobe wall, and smoke is rising from the chimney of his house - my father should be sharpening the wood knife, and my mother must be kneading dough in front of the stove, waiting to make fish soup for him.​ "A Yan is back!" Uncle Wang next door was sitting on the threshold, weaving a bamboo basket, with a loud voice, "Your mother-in-law was talking about you just now, saying that the crucian carp will be stewed more rotten today."​ Shen Yan grinned and was about to answer when he saw flames rising into the sky in the direction of his house. Thick smoke and a burnt smell hit his face. He was so shocked that the fish in his hand fell to the ground and he rushed over like crazy.​ "Dad! Aniang!"​ The thatched house had been engulfed in flames, the wooden beams crackled, and sparks splashed on his sleeves, burning him so much that he was unaware of it. The fire was not extinguished until late at night. In the ruins, the bodies of his father and mother were huddled together, and their faces could no longer be identified. Shen Yan knelt on the scorched earth, and his fingertips touched a piece of black iron embedded in a crack in the wall that was not owned by him. The edges were sharp and stained with dark red rust after being burned. It was definitely not a kitchen utensil.​ He clutched the fragment tightly in his hand, his nails digging into his flesh. The boy who chased butterflies all day long and laughed heartlessly had all his innocence burned away by the fire overnight.