134: Who lit the first fire?

Zhang Xuanyi’s gaze swept over the man’s dark, weathered face, and he nodded.

The Thirty-Six Villages were entrenched in the roots of this mountain range, like the veins of the earth—simple, yet filled with power.

When he stepped into the vast valley embraced by the mountains, he finally understood the weight of this "witnessing."

Hundreds of people surrounded a massive makeshift plaza, in the center of which were dozens of stone fire pits of various sizes.

The air was thick with the dry, hot scent of pine resin, dried grass, and earth, while the roar of the crowd threatened to overturn the sky.

A grand event called the "First Folk Fire-Starting Competition" was in full swing here.

The contestants showed off their Divine Abilities, using a wide variety of methods.

A burly man held two pieces of flint, striking them violently until sparks flew everywhere, drawing cheers from those around him.

Not far away, a stylish young man looked out of place; he pulled a battery from his backpack, touched two wires together, and instantly ignited some cotton wool, his movements efficient, yet it drew a chorus of disdainful boos.

Even more bizarrely, an elderly man with his eyes closed in concentration sat with the wood shavings before him perfectly still, yet the veins on his forehead bulged as if he were trying to conjure fire from thin air with his mind alone—truly mysterious.

On the judges' stand, several retired old Daoists wearing faded robes sat upright, holding scorebooks and meticulously grading the "correctness of technique" column.

They scoffed at the battery-lit fire and nitpicked the angle and force of the flint striking, as if this were not a test of survival skills, but a rigid, ritualistic ceremony.

The competition quickly entered the finals.

Amidst expectant gazes, a frail, mute girl was helped onto the stage.

Her hands were severely deformed, withered like two dead branches, making it impossible for her to hold any tools.

The entire venue instantly fell silent, with many eyes showing pity and confusion.

The girl knelt on the ground, clumsily clamping a dry wooden stick between her disabled elbows and setting it upright on a wooden board with a groove.

Unable to spin it rapidly with her palms like a normal person, she could only rely on the violent swaying of her entire upper body to drive her elbows, grinding bit by bit.

The movement was slow and grueling; sweat soon soaked through her clothes, and every sway seemed to exhaust all her strength.

Time ticked by, and the other contestants had long since succeeded in starting their fires, accepting cheers with triumphant pride.

Only she remained on the field, lonely and repeating those near-masochistic movements.

Whispers began to arise from the audience, and the judges also showed signs of impatience.

However, just as one of the judges was about to strike the gong to signal the end of the competition, a faint, almost imperceptible wisp of blue smoke curled up from the board in front of the girl.

At first, only a few people noticed, then gasps followed, and finally, all hundreds of people in the venue stood up, staring intently at that increasingly thick wisp of smoke.

The girl’s movements quickened; a startling brilliance erupted in her eyes, as if an invisible flame were burning within her.

Suddenly, a small, bright yellow flame "popped" into existence amidst the wood shavings!

It took the longest time, yet it was the most breathtaking!

The entire venue was silent at first, then erupted into thunderous applause and cheers.

However, the chief judge slammed the table and sternly announced: "This method violates the rules, the technique is riddled with errors; it will not be counted, and she is disqualified!"

The cheering ceased abruptly.

The light on the girl’s face vanished instantly; she stared blankly at the flame she had given her all to ignite, her eyes welling up with tears.

Just then, a figure swept through the crowd like a gust of wind and instantly leaped onto the platform.

Zhang Xuanyi snatched the microphone from the judge, his voice echoing through the amplifier across the entire valley: "Fire recognizes the heartbeat, not the rules!"

His icy gaze swept over the stunned panel of judges; he grabbed the scorebook filled with "standards," tore it to shreds in front of everyone, and tossed it into the fire basin in front of the girl.

An incredible scene unfolded!

The paper ash did not scatter but, the moment it rose, erupted into flames, converging in mid-air into a firebird about to take flight!

The firebird was lifelike, its feathers made entirely of dancing flames; it circled three times above the heads of the hundreds of people present, let out a clear cry, and then dove down, vanishing into the girl’s small furnace.

Boom!

A blaze more than a person's height shot into the sky, the heat wave sweeping in all directions, illuminating everyone's faces in a crimson glow.

The flame was warm but not scorching; it seemed to contain an indomitable vitality.

Zhang Xuanyi’s voice sounded again, calm but carrying an unquestionable majesty: "From now on, the rules of this competition have changed. Victory or defeat will not be determined by technique or speed. Whoever’s fire can ignite the most hearts is the winner!"

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away at Tianshi Mansion.

Su Qingzhu took advantage of organizing old scrolls to sneak into the archives, which were only open to peripheral deacons.

Her purpose for this trip was only one—to consult the classified file titled "Origin of the First Fire."

The file was sealed in layers, but after opening it, the records inside left her deeply disappointed.

The records of successive Tianshi were contradictory and chaotic.

One account claimed fire was bestowed upon the Yellow Emperor by a Heavenly God at the peak of Kunlun Mountain, symbolizing divine right; another said the Suiren Clan imitated lightning strikes, stealing thunder from the wind and rain, marking the beginning of Mortals defying the heavens; even more absurd stories claimed the first Tianshi received a spark in a dream, and upon waking, found talisman paper burning without wind.

These records were less like history and more like fabricated stories intended to deify themselves.

She flipped to the last page in disappointment, but her movements suddenly froze.

That page had no text, only a yellowed black-and-white photograph eroded by time.

In the photo, a group of miners dressed in Republic of China-era attire, shirtless, were dancing happily around a bonfire.

Their faces were covered in sweat and coal dust, yet their smiles were incredibly radiant.

One of the lead miners held a torch high, and the flame burning at the tip of that torch actually formed the same strange pattern as the "Ancestral True Fire" worshipped day and night inside Tianshi Mansion today!

Su Qingzhu’s heart began to race.

She immediately pulled out a miniature camera, and just as she was about to capture this subversive evidence, the alarm above her head emitted a piercing screech without any warning!

"Someone has broken into the restricted area!"

Several deacons holding Magical Artifacts burst through the door in an instant.

At that critical moment, Su Qingzhu made a crazy decision.

She did not run away; instead, she turned and stuffed the precious roll of film into an old copper stove used for heating in the corner, then screamed with all her might: "Fire! There's a fire in the archive room!"

The shout caused massive chaos.

The deacons were afraid to damage the archives, and for a moment, they were bluffed by her, scrambling in a panic to find a water source.

In the final instant before the flames engulfed the film, the high temperature seemed to act as a final developer; on the negatives, more similar scenes faintly appeared: soldiers lighting cigarettes in trenches, potters covered in mud beside ancient kilns, disaster victims huddling for warmth by shacks during famine years... countless eras, countless ordinary faces, the flames in their hands all bore that sacred and unique pattern.

A voice roared in her mind: What you have sealed away is exactly what we live every day.

Meanwhile, in the deep waters of the Yangtze Three Gorges, Cui Wujiu was rowing a small boat alone, investigating the recently frequent "Ghost Fire Incidents."

At night, the river surface would often reveal the outlines of ancient warships, with flickering lights and fluttering banners, as if the Battle of Red Cliffs were replaying.

The authorities classified this as "a collective hallucination caused by water vapor refraction" and quickly sealed off the relevant waters.

But Cui Wujiu did not believe it.

Beneath a cliff with turbulent currents, he discovered a submerged stele that had been washed smooth by the river.

By the moonlight, he barely managed to discern the eight ancient characters carved on it: "Those who serve the fire shall die, those who pass on the fire shall live."

Just as he was intently studying these eight characters, the calm water surface suddenly rippled, reflecting not himself, but a scene he never expected: a shirtless man squatting on the ground, teaching a child hand-over-hand how to rub wood to make fire.

The background was incredibly familiar—it was the site of the Southwest Fire Pit Village, which had been demolished by total blasting three years ago to build a water conservancy hub!

The image vanished in a flash, but Cui Wujiu felt as if he had been struck by lightning, suddenly realizing the truth.

The so-called ghost fire, the so-called hallucinations, were nothing more than history that had been forcibly erased, now using the river as a mirror, desperately trying to return to life.

The next morning, a pile of carefully arranged dry kindling appeared on the riverbank, with a smooth, polished fire drill stuck next to it.

Cui Wujiu left no words behind; he turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the morning mist.

When Zhang Xuanyi returned to the street corner where he used to set up his stall, he found that the place where the "Ten Thousand Dharmas Cultural Experience Hall" sign used to hang had been transformed into an open community shared-cooking space.

A brand-new slogan was painted on the wall: "Everyone can start a fire, every home has the glow of a stove."

A group of gray-haired elders were happily teaching their grandchildren how to use the simplest fire-drilling tools, and the children’s clumsy movements drew constant laughter.

The air was filled with the aroma of food and the warmth of firewood, brimming with the coziness of human life.

Just as Zhang Xuanyi was watching this with satisfaction, two men wearing black robes and solemn expressions suddenly burst in.

On their chests was embroidered an emblem of a flame bound by chains—the "Orthodox Fire Cultivator Alliance."

"Such crude methods are a blasphemy against the sanctity of the Dao of Fire!" one of them shouted sternly. "By order of the Alliance, this place is to be sealed immediately, and all fire-starting tools are to be destroyed!"

The elders and children were terrified into silence.

Zhang Xuanyi calmly blended into the crowd, walked over to the main stove, pretended to tidy the firewood, and silently buried a fragment of the reverse fate altering compass, disguised as an accidentally dropped stone, into the ashes beneath the main stove.

A moment later, the black-robed man who was berating the crowd suddenly slipped and fell headfirst into the stove pit next to him.

Although there was no fire in the stove, when he crawled out, his face was covered in soot, looking utterly disheveled, which made the children burst into giggles.

The other black-robed man was furious at the sight and was about to lash out at the crowd, but suddenly felt an intense itch in his throat and began to cough violently.

He coughed heart-wrenchingly, and in the end, he actually spat out a mouthful of pitch-black phlegm containing sparks.

As soon as the black phlegm hit the ground, it emitted a charred stench.

An elder who knew what he was looking at cried out: "It's Fire Poison! This is Fire Poison accumulated in the lungs for years due to improper Cultivation!"

The onlookers immediately roared with laughter: "Haha, you can't even manage your own fire, yet you dare to come and manage other people's stoves?"

The two black-robed men, red-faced amidst the ridicule of the crowd, could no longer stay and fled in a panic.

Late at night, Su Qingzhu was organizing her interview notes in her apartment when her laptop automatically played an encrypted video without warning.

The scene was eerily familiar; it was the surveillance footage from inside the investigation car that had been burned to a hollow shell when her father died in the line of duty.

The fire started from the dashboard and quickly engulfed the entire driver's seat.

In the final second before her father’s figure was completely covered by the flames, a line of words formed by firelight clearly appeared in the reflection of the dashboard glass—"Fire is not a gift, it is a right."

Su Qingzhu felt as if she had been struck by lightning, her whole body trembling violently.

She rushed to the kitchen and stared intently at the old-fashioned coal stove.

By the moonlight shining through the window, she was horrified to discover that on the inside of the stove wall, seven charred little characters had been branded at some point: "I have lit everything you spoke of."

Outside the window, a night rain had just stopped, the dark clouds dispersed, and the moonlight was like water.

Su Qingzhu subconsciously looked up at the sky, seeing the Big Dipper in the night sky emitting an unprecedented, brilliant light, its long handle pointing slowly and firmly, inch by inch, toward the south—the direction of Zhang Xuanyi.

She took a deep breath, turned around, grabbed the camera on the table, pointed it at the lens, and said softly but resolutely: "It is our turn to write history."

And in the distant north, deep within the mountains known as the "Dragon Vein of the Dao of Fire," a pair of eyes that had been silent for a century slowly opened.