三十四
The world spun, and Cang Yan awoke not in the embattled palace but beneath a sky awash with scarlet and gold.
He lay on sun-warmed grass at the edge of a laughing river, the scent of wild ginger and sweet plum blossoms on the breeze.
For a moment, he felt impossibly light, a boy again, limbs long and strong, the weight of centuries washed away.
He sat up and gazed around, blinking at the familiar chaos of a Demon Realm village in its prime.
Children tumbled through the streets, their laughter ringing like bells.
Merchants hawked baskets of spirit fruit and bottles of fiery wine.
Musicians played on every corner, the air alive with celebration.
A woman called his name, soft, warm, full of simple joy. He turned to see her, his nursemaid from childhood, waving a hand and beckoning him over. "Come, Yan'er! Your friends are waiting at the river!"
He grinned, heart soaring, and ran to join a band of demon children.
They played wild games beneath the willows, chasing dragonflies and daring each other to leap the widest stones.
For a time, there was no fear, no power, no destiny, only the golden days of youth, full of mischief and boundless laughter.
As years passed in a blur of sunlight, Cang Yan grew tall and strong, his hair shining blue-black, his eyes bright with curiosity.
He learned to hunt with the village elders, to swim in moonlit lakes, to dance at the harvest festivals.
Friendships blossomed, fierce and loyal, brothers and sisters by choice, not blood.
Yet shadows gathered at the edges of his world. His father, then-Lord of Demon Realm, was a stern and distant presence, a man of iron will, revered and feared by all. Cang Yan's mother was only a memory, a gentle voice in his dreams.
On the day he became a teenager, his father called him to the great hall. Cang Yan stood proud, expecting praise for some feat of bravery, but instead was met with cold expectation.
"Yan," his father intoned, "you are not a child anymore. This realm will not rule itself. You must learn to carry its burdens."
Cang Yan bristled. "I want to travel, to see the Eight Realms. I want to write songs and taste every festival. I want to live before I lead."
His father's eyes hardened. "Duty is not a choice. You are a demon lord's son. Your life is not only your own."
The words stung. Cang Yan left the hall in silent rebellion, rage and longing warring in his chest.
He wandered for days, running wild in the mountains, sleeping by sacred springs, dreaming of freedom.
Yet, wherever he went, the needs of his people called him back: a sick child needing a healing brew, a quarrel between neighbors, a river that ran low in summer's drought.
He returned each time, grumbling and proud, but a seed of responsibility took root. His friends saw the change, how he listened more closely, how his laughter grew quieter but deeper. He wielded his strength to defend the weak, to build and mend, to bring joy to the village children.
Adulthood arrived with a storm. His father fell ill, the noble lord's strength fading like autumn leaves. In his final hours, he summoned Cang Yan to his side. "You must lead now, my son. Do not let the realm fall to chaos. Protect them. Become the fire that lights their way."
Night and grief fell on the demon capital, draping the city's spires and lantern-lit streets in a velvet shroud.
Cang Yan, now a grown man with shoulders broad and eyes grown serious, stood at the heart of his late father's palace.
The laughter of his childhood was a memory drowned by the echo of sadness, courtly demands, the cold clang of ritual bells, and the ever-present weight of expectation.