The world was a place of desire—for wealth, for fame, for power—a hunger that gnawed at the souls of men. On what should have been a cheerful Lunar New Year's Eve, under a sky absent of its moon, a new soul began his journey in a small house shrouded in darkness. Jiān Zhì entered the world minutes before the new year, the first and only gift in his mother Lín Wèi’s difficult life.

  His birth chart was dominated by solid Metal and raging Fire, tempered only slightly by his Wood Rooster year. He lacked the Water essential for balance and flexibility, a lack that foreshadowed a rigid and conflicted path. The animals of his soul—the cunning Viper and the vigilant Rabbit —already warred within him. To be born on the night of the new year, yet without its moon… was it a curse, or a destiny yet unwritten?

  The years passed. The little boy grew under the protective, gentle nurture of his mother, her softness a balm to his rigid nature. When he was five, during the vibrant chaos of the New Year festival, he lost his mother’s hand in the crowd. He found himself before a small shop, its sign marked with the characters of a Bazi reader. Drawn by a curiosity he could not name, he stepped inside.

  An old man with a long white beard and an unreadable aura looked up. “Welcome, General,” he said, his voice like dry leaves. “Have a seat.”

  Jiān Zhì stood frozen, confused by the title. The curtain rustled, and his mother burst in, grabbing him and pulling him into a desperate embrace. “Where did you go?” she whispered, her voice thick with a fear greater than mere loss. “You must always hold my hand.”

  The old man’s eyes held hers. “Your freedom from this hell will be in his hands. Hold him tight.” He offered a small, knowing smirk.

  Lín Wèi, flustered, hurried her son away. As they walked, little Zhì looked up. “Mā, what does ‘general’ mean?”

  She paused, wondering where he had heard such a word. “A general is someone very strong,” she said. “A leader who uses his strength to protect those who are weak.” She offered him a warm smile, her heart aching.

  “Then I will become your general,” he declared with innocent certainty. “I will protect you.”

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  Lín Wèi smiled, a moment of relief flowering in her chest at her son’s pure-hearted vow.

  By the time he turned eight, that innocence began to crack. The scent of cheap alcohol began to permanently stain the air of their home, followed by the sound of illogical rage and the sickening thuds of flesh hitting flesh. His mother’s husband—a man undeserving of the title ‘father’—unleashed his bitterness upon her.

  One night, Jiān Zhì threw his small body in front of hers, taking the blows meant for her. Afterward, as his father lay in a drunken stupor, Lín Wèi tended to her son’s bruises with trembling hands. “I am blessed to have you,” she cried, “but never do that again. Do not get hurt for me.”

  “But if I am not with you,” he asked, his young voice trembling, “how could I ever forgive myself?”

  The air in their home grew heavier, a suffocating blanket of sorrow they endured for four more long years.

  Then came the night that ended it all. Another Lunar New Year's Eve, another moonless night. The village erupted in fireworks and joyful noise, but their house was silent but for the sounds of violence. Twelve-year-old Jiān Zhì returned home with his mother’s favorite sweets, hoping for a moment of peace. Instead, he found her being beaten.

  He surged forward, taking the final, brutal blows. He shoved his drunken father back, and the man collapsed into an immediate, heavy sleep.

  Lín Wèi collapsed into her son’s arms. Her head bled, but she hid her pain. “My general…” she whispered, her voice fading. “I am sorry I brought you into this world at the wrong time. You were never meant for this hell. Free yourself. Live a great life. "Never… be like him..”

  With her last strength, she held his cheek, offering him one final, warm smile. He saw a universe of love and sorrow in her eyes before the light within them faded.

  “Mā?” His voice was a fragile thing. “Mā? Why won’t you answer? I’m here. Look, I brought your sweets. We were going to watch the fireworks…”

  His voice broke. Sorrow curdled into a cold, hard anger. His mind, usually so sharp, went blank. How was he supposed to feel? The last of his Water—his compassion, his tears—evaporated in that moment. The cunning Viper within him woke, coiled and ready to strike.

  A plan, cold and precise, formed in his mind. He would become so strong no one would ever need to be unsaved again.

  He packed meager supplies for a life in the mountains. Then, he turned to the house. Inside lay two bodies: his mother, and the man who had killed her, now sleeping off his sins.

  With a heart of solid metal, he locked the door from the outside.

  In his hand, he held a burning torch. Its light flickered across his face, now a mask of impassive justice. This was his sentence. This was his pyre.

  He thrust the flame into the dry wood of the wall. It caught quickly, hungry and eager.

  He did not watch the fire consume his past. He simply turned his back on the blazing hell and walked into the welcoming darkness of the mountain.

  One soul had left its hell. Another had just entered one of his own making.