The old man's words stunned everyone—Flame Valley! Wasn't that the very place they'd been desperately searching for all this time?
Is this what they call 'searching high and low only to find it without any effort at all'?!
Afterward, the old man introduced himself: Old Fang, age forty-five. At home he had a forty-year-old wife, and the only child they had left was a three-month-old son.
Flame Valley, true to its name, was scorching hot everywhere—as if you were trapped inside a furnace.
Everyone living in Flame Valley wore very little because of the heat; over time, it became a local custom: just a strip of cloth on top, a cover for the important bits below, and nothing else.
And just like the rest of the desert, water in Flame Valley was incredibly precious.
To win the gods' favor, every three months they held a sacrificial ritual—and the offerings were always infants under five months old.
As for this brutal custom, the commoners had no right to object. All they could do was obey, because rain meant everything to them. To keep the ritual going, families had to take turns making these cruel offerings—their children!
But he simply couldn't stand to watch his own child sent up to the altar, left to starve and bake to death under the sun. That kind of heart-wrenching pain was beyond ordinary understanding.
He'd already gone through this ritual twice before. The first time, when he was thirty, his newborn was sent to the altar.
The only one who survived after that was a daughter, now married, but still unable to escape this cruel fate—she must bear children just to be offered to the gods.
The second time was when he was forty, and his newborn son was chosen—just one month old!
Now his wife is forty, and after losing two sons, the doctors say she'll never have another child. Yet even so, their only son must face this cruel ritual.
No, he couldn't do it. He couldn't bear to see old parents bury their young, couldn't watch his child cry on the altar until he starved or baked to death. That kind of pain felt like someone was ripping out his heart.
Now his son was three months old—smiling, playing, making people happy. But why did fate have to be so cruel, why take his life again? He was just a child...
So, unwilling to watch his wife cry every day, unwilling to send his son to die, he worked up the courage to come to Poplar Grove, hoping to find a passing caravan—if anyone would take his child away, he'd agree, as long as the boy could escape this fate.
He knew that if the child was sent away, he and his wife would be executed, their ancestors' graves desecrated, villagers spitting and beating the tombs as punishment. But even so, he couldn't let his son die. If he had to, he'd face hell and answer to his ancestors, even if they beat him to death.
Everyone listened, frowning. It was horrifying—just hearing about it made them furious. How could there be such a terrible ritual in the world?!
“It's too cruel! How could anyone use children for sacrifices? Is your king insane? They're just kids!” Liam Willow shouted, deeply upset. Life is precious—how could anyone be so absurd?
“Yeah! This is just superstition—starving and baking children to death for a ritual? Don't you see how cruel that is?” Eli Crane added, furious. He couldn't believe such a place existed, treating life so cheaply.
“We're just commoners—we have no right to object. Do you think we want to see our own children treated like this? Our hearts bleed...” At forty-five, Old Fang’s hair was streaked with white—he clearly had more than his share of worries.
“You’re just stuck in old ways! Do you really think this will make it rain?” Liam Willow snapped, still fuming.
Old Fang shook his head. “No. But the king doesn’t stop the ritual just because it doesn’t rain. Instead, he blames it on not enough sacrifices—not sincere enough—so more children are chosen.”
“That’s nonsense! Your king is totally insane—how could anyone believe killing children would bring rain? Buddha is supposed to be merciful, right? How can anyone treat life so cheaply—especially a child!” Liam Willow protested, unable to accept such logic.
“Are you really from Flame Valley?” Ivy Shen’s voice trembled for the first time. She honestly couldn’t believe it—she had thought finding Flame Valley would take ages, maybe forever.
But she never imagined that an unusual sandstorm at night would blow them straight here—to Flame Valley.
Second, after hearing about such a cruel ritual, rage burned in her heart—she wanted nothing more than to kill every one of those superstitious fools!
“Yes, I’m from Flame Valley. Uh—why are you all so happy?” The old man was baffled by their excited faces. What was going on?
“How should we address you?” Ivy Shen asked, snapping out of it and turning to the old man.
“Everyone in the village just calls me Old Fang,” he replied, a little embarrassed.
“Big brother, to be honest, we came here to find Flame Valley. Can you take us there?” Ivy Shen asked, getting straight to the point.
Old Fang was startled, then quickly waved his hand. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but you really can’t go!”
“What do you mean?” Adrian Night asked, confused.
Old Fang sighed. “Flame Valley has always been closed to outsiders. If any stranger enters, it means certain death.”
“You hate outsiders that much?” Ivy Shen asked, narrowing her eyes slightly.
“Well, let me explain. It started over twenty years ago—one day, a group dressed like you came to the valley, bringing lots of money for the king. They asked him to forge a chain said to last ten thousand years. They were very polite, and the king thought money would help him find water, so he agreed. But when the chain was finished, those people killed the king and took all the money. If the young master and Ah Lei hadn’t gone hunting, they’d have been killed too. It was a terrible wound for the young master, now our king. Since then, he banned all outsiders—any found are killed on sight.” Old Fang explained the valley’s taboo.
Ivy Shen was stunned for a moment. So it was true—Cao Wan’er had sent people here, and after getting what they wanted, they killed the king. Ruthless!
“Ha! Such an arrogant tyrant. I’ve never been afraid of people like that,” Lucian Vane said, unconcerned by the old man’s story.
“Don’t underestimate Flame Valley! We have two powerful guardians—one commands fire, one commands ice. If they catch you, you’ll be burned or frozen alive.” Old Fang trembled as he spoke; this was why the villagers dared not speak out.
“Fire and ice powers? There are really people like that in the world?” Ivy Shen asked, puzzled.
“Yeah, that’s the secret why no one has ever conquered Flame Valley. Everyone calls them the Fire God and the Ice God,” Old Fang continued.
Eli Crane frowned. “If there’s really an Ice God, why not just make more ice and let it melt into water?”
“Yeah, wouldn’t that give you water directly? Why do you go through all this?” Liam Willow asked, equally confused.
“No, it won’t work. The Ice God’s ice only kills—never turns into water. In the desert, he can’t make much, but he can shape it into swords that pierce a person’s chest!” Old Fang said, still a little afraid.
“Ha, what a magical country,” Ivy Shen sneered, not intimidated by his scary story.
“Miss, don’t act so unconcerned! The Fire God is really powerful—his flames can burn people alive!” Old Fang said, eager to warn them how dangerous it was, hoping they wouldn’t go.
“Really? I’ve been to hell—could this place be worse?” Ivy Shen scoffed. She was determined to go, because she had to save her sister.
Old Fang was baffled. “Uh... you know, over the last twenty years, lots of people have wandered into Flame Valley by accident—and all of them were executed. Why would you risk it?” He was genuinely kind, just couldn’t understand.
Ivy Shen looked at him and said honestly, “I need to find your best chain-maker. I need him to forge me a sword—a sword that can cut a Ten-Thousand-Year Chain.”
“What?” Old Fang was shocked by her request.
“What’s wrong? Is there a problem?” Ivy Shen asked, seeing his surprise.
Old Fang sighed. “Miss, I advise you not to go. Only one person in the valley can make the Ten-Thousand-Year Chain, and only one can forge the sword to cut it—our king.”
“Your king? He forges swords himself?” Caleb Miles leaned in, confused. Kings usually have others do the work—why would the king do it himself?
“You don’t know—the Ten-Thousand-Year Chain is made from iron burned in the valley’s depths for thousands of years. Only the king can handle it; anyone else would be burned alive. That’s the king’s power—no one else can do it. And the king hates outsiders—why would he ever forge you a sword?” Old Fang said honestly.
“How about we make a deal?” Ivy Shen suddenly looked at Old Fang with a sly smile.
“Uh?”
“Do you want to save your son?”
Old Fang was stunned, then quickly nodded. “Miss, you’re willing to take the child away?” he asked in amazement.
“No,” Ivy Shen shook her head. Instantly, disappointment flooded Old Fang’s face.
“Don’t you want to be with your wife and child?”
Of course I do, of course I want that—but that’s just not possible," Old Fang sighed. He never wanted to be separated from his child. He was already in his forties; if this boy died, he’d have no one left.
Ivy Shen smiled, full of confidence. “If you take us into Flame Valley, I promise your son will survive the ritual in three days. But you have to take us to your home and tell us everything about Flame Valley,” she said calmly.
How could that be? No one has ever changed the ritual in centuries. My son—can he really survive?' Old Fang was extremely agitated.
It’s not that no one’s tried to change it—just that no one capable ever showed up. Now I’m here, and I can rewrite this history,' she insisted. She couldn’t let such a cruel ritual go on now that she knew.
“Xin’er,” Liam Willow suddenly grabbed Ivy Shen’s hand, eyes full of pleading. “You’re sure you can really do this?”
Seeing this, Ivy Shen understood Liam Willow’s pure, kind heart—he couldn’t bear Old Fang’s suffering. “Don’t worry. I promise I can do it!” she said.
“Believe in Xin’er!” Caleb Miles clapped Liam Willow on the shoulder. He’d made it this far by believing, and he knew Xin’er could do it—no matter how hard it was.
The other husbands felt the same—no matter what Xin’er said, they’d believe her. After all, she was their wife.
(Irrelevant passage—asterisks only.) Skip.
(Irrelevant author note. Skip.)