From the moment Mason Mao began to understand the world, his eyes saw only his brother and sister. Though he had a father, that man never invested much energy in him. Mason kept his distance from his father since childhood, knowing only that he was the son of the tribe’s chief.
Mason Mao never understood his father. He had never felt warmth from him; mistakes were met only with cold rebukes. In Mason’s eyes, his father was strict—almost devoid of feeling toward him.
From the earliest memories, in just a few short years, what Mason felt from his father was only coldness. It was Terry Mao who taught him to hunt, Lily Mao who taught him to dress and eat. He still remembered once, when he broke something important used for ritual by accident—not only was he punished, but beaten harshly in front of the whole tribe.
Gradually, Mason Mao’s feelings for his father shifted from coldness to fear. That time, it was Terry Mao who saved him, taking his place for the punishment.
In Mason Mao’s ears, his father’s teachings always echoed: "You are my sons, children of the tribe’s leader. Every word and deed must be correct, must set an example for the tribe."
As a child, Mason Mao was terrified of the dark. Every night, he dreaded sleeping alone, but that was his father’s rule. Staring out at the pitch-black world, he couldn’t sleep, always feeling as though monsters would silently crawl onto his bed and devour him.
Because of this, Mason would cry at night. Only Lily Mao would sneak over and hold him, letting him finally sleep in peace.
To help him overcome his fear, Terry Mao began taking him out hunting at night. Slowly, Mason Mao conquered his terror of the darkness.
In Mason Mao’s eyes, there was only his brother and sister. His father’s place faded away long ago. He followed his father’s orders mechanically, doing only what was required of a tribal leader’s child.
Thinking about it, Mason Mao couldn’t help but show a helpless, slightly sorrowful smile.
"Was I always living under my father’s shadow of fear?"
Mason Mao shook his head with resignation. These memories had brought back so much—things he’d long forgotten. Ever since leaving for Jidu, they slowly faded away.
In his mind, he could only recall riding across the grasslands, enjoying the endless fields. Those were happy, free times—no restrictions, no orders to obey, just the struggle to survive. On the grasslands, he was accepted, recognized, even admired by the tribe.
He had never experienced anything like it before. In the past, no matter what he did, if he failed, he’d be scolded; if he did well, his father never praised him, only said he was still too inexperienced and needed to work harder.
"After all this time, why have you come back? You, who call yourself my father."
Mason Mao gazed sorrowfully at the shadow ahead, where Laurence Mao’s form gradually appeared. His eyes were cold, fixed on Mason.
"That’s the look, isn’t it?"
No matter how many times Mason Mao saw his father’s eyes, he always felt sorrow. It was nothing like the warmth from his brother and sister. His father’s gaze was always cold.
Maybe there was a reason for it. Even as a child, Mason overheard whispers—his mother had died because of him. She spent all her strength giving birth to Mason, and died soon after he was born.
Mason Mao once asked Terry Mao about it, but Terry only dodged the question, mumbling and refusing to answer. When Mason grew older, he thought about it again.