Chapter 1 — The Road Without Light

The forest seemed to have no end. Or at least, that was what Lin Yue believed. She moved forward blindly, one hand stretched out in front of her, feeling for the slightest tree, the smallest rock, the faintest breath of wind. Her bare feet sometimes sank into the damp earth, and the cold bit into her bones. Every step was an effort, every breath a reminder that life could be too heavy for a single body to bear.
She had been walking for what felt like an eternity. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but she no longer had the strength to search for food. Every village she came across seemed deserted, every path seemed to lead her back toward a loneliness she already knew far too well. The last time she had seen the world was behind her closed eyelids. Light had ceased to belong to her the day she lost everything that had given meaning to her life.
The wind sometimes carried scents to her: a wood fire, wildflowers, rain falling upon dead leaves. These fragrances were maps, guides she followed clumsily. But sometimes, they deceived her. Sometimes, they announced the presence of inhabitants who had fled long ago, or food that no longer existed.
Her hands traced the emptiness before her. The branches of a tree, damp moss, rough bark. Every texture was a world she explored with her fingers. She was learning to “see” with her skin, to read contours, rough surfaces, hollows, and bumps. Her entire body had become an instrument of perception. Her hearing caught the slightest crack, the faintest rustle of leaves, sometimes even the beating wings of an invisible bird.
She had been walking alone for days, perhaps weeks. Time had lost all meaning. The hours blurred into nights, and the nights melted into an endless silence. Hunger had given her the strength to keep going, but she no longer begged. The few inhabitants she had encountered looked at her with pity, or worse, with suspicion. So she learned to hide, to disappear, to disturb no one.
Sometimes, she stopped. Her knees buckled beneath the weight of exhaustion. Her back hunched under the invisible weight of her pain. She would sit upon the cold earth, her hands resting against her legs, breathing in the world without seeing it.
It was during those moments that the memories returned.
Her husband… his laughter… his warmth… the touch of his hands against hers.
And with every memory, a new wound tore open in her heart.
She had built a grave for him in the woods, simple and fragile. A piece of wood planted into the earth, his name clumsily carved into it, the soil packed down by her own hands. It was all she had left of him.
Whenever she remembered that moment, she could still feel his presence clinging to her fingers, the weight of his body in her arms. The world had continued to turn, but for her, it had stopped there, beneath a silent tree, inside a grave she had dug alone.
The sun rose, the sun set, and Lin Yue continued walking.
She no longer knew how long she had been walking, nor how many days had passed since she left the village. The cold and hunger had become her constant companions. Every step was painful, every breath felt like an accomplishment.
But she kept moving.
Because she had to move forward.
Because she had to keep going.
Even if no one was waiting for her, even if the road led nowhere.
And within that silence, within that solitude, something else began to grow.
A strange determination, quiet and almost painful.
She did not want to die.
Not yet.
She did not want to let her body fade into oblivion, nor allow her memories to disappear into the wind.
She wanted to walk.
She wanted to survive.
Even if it meant walking alone, blindly, through a world she would never be able to see again.
The wind rushed between the trees, gently brushing against her face.
She raised her head slightly, as if trying to feel its presence.
She was not afraid.
Or perhaps she was.
But she had learned to keep moving despite the fear.
The road continued before her, invisible and endless.
And she continued to walk.