Dao Eternal

The rain had fallen over the city since evening, draping the towering buildings in a veil of mist that softened even the brightest lights into pale reflections upon the wet streets below. From the thirty-second floor of a glass office tower, the bustling metropolis looked distant and unreal, as though the lives moving beneath those shimmering lights belonged to another world entirely.

Most of the offices had already gone dark. One by one, employees had packed their belongings, exchanged weary farewells, and disappeared into the night, eager to return to families waiting for them at home. Only a handful of lights remained, scattered across the vast floor like lonely stars.

Among them sat Ye Chen.

The soft glow of his computer screen illuminated a face that bore neither extraordinary handsomeness nor striking features. He looked like countless others who spent their youth chasing deadlines and responsibilities, carrying quiet exhaustion behind calm eyes. His desk was covered with unfinished reports, empty coffee cups, and handwritten notes that had accumulated over another long day.

He glanced at the clock in the corner of his monitor.

11:48 p.m.

Another day had slipped away without him noticing.

The report he had spent hours preparing was not even his responsibility. A colleague had asked for help before leaving early to attend his daughter's school performance, promising to repay the favor someday.

Ye Chen had simply smiled and accepted.

He had always been that kind of person.

Not because he believed kindness would be rewarded, nor because he hoped others would remember his generosity, but because he understood how difficult life could become when no one was willing to lend a helping hand.

Many people called him naïve.

Others said he would never succeed because he cared too much about everyone except himself.

Perhaps they were right.

His salary was ordinary.

His apartment was small.

His dreams had long ago been buried beneath rent, bills, and endless overtime.

Even so, he had never regretted trying to make another person's burden a little lighter.

He closed the final document, saved his work, and shut down the computer. The office suddenly felt strangely silent without the constant tapping of keys.

Picking up his worn backpack, he walked through the empty corridor toward the elevator, listening only to the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above him. The polished marble lobby reflected the rain-soaked streets outside, where passing headlights stretched into wavering ribbons of gold.

The moment the revolving doors opened, a cold gust of wind greeted him.

Rainwater splashed against the pavement as countless umbrellas drifted through the night like dark flowers blooming beneath the city lights. People hurried past one another with lowered heads, each carrying worries invisible to everyone else.

Ye Chen pulled his jacket tighter around himself and began the familiar walk toward the bus stop.

His apartment was nearly an hour away, but he had grown accustomed to the journey. It gave him time to think, to watch the city breathe, and to wonder whether life would always remain the same.

He never imagined that tonight would be his last.

As he approached a quiet intersection, the steady rhythm of the rain was suddenly broken by a desperate scream.

A little girl stood frozen in the middle of the crossing, her schoolbag lying several meters away after slipping from her shoulder. The traffic light had already changed, and a heavy truck, unable to stop on the rain-slick road, was hurtling toward her.

Everything unfolded in the span of a heartbeat.

The driver slammed on the brakes.

Rubber shrieked against wet asphalt.

Pedestrians cried out in alarm, yet no one had enough time to reach the child.

Ye Chen did not think.

His body moved before fear could catch him.

He sprinted across the road, seized the frightened girl in his arms, and threw both of them toward the edge of the street with every ounce of strength he possessed.

The child rolled safely onto the sidewalk.

Ye Chen did not.

The collision struck with terrifying force.

For an instant, the world dissolved into blinding light and deafening silence. His body was thrown across the pavement before coming to rest beneath the relentless rain.

Warm blood slowly mixed with the water flowing along the roadside.

His vision blurred until the city lights became little more than distant stars.

Through fading eyes, he saw strangers rushing toward the crying girl. She was alive.

A faint smile appeared on his lips.

If one life had been exchanged for another, then perhaps it had not been a meaningless end.

His breathing grew slower.

The cold no longer reached him.

The voices around him drifted farther away until they became impossible to distinguish from the rain itself.

As darkness embraced his consciousness, he expected nothing more than oblivion.

Instead, he found himself standing within an endless void where neither light nor shadow existed. Time had lost all meaning. There was no earth beneath his feet, no sky above his head, only a silence so profound that it seemed older than existence itself.

Far away, a single ripple spread through the darkness.

Then another.

The ripples widened across the endless void, carrying with them an ancient aura that filled Ye Chen with an instinctive sense of awe. Before him, two colossal golden eyes slowly emerged from the darkness. They were unimaginably vast, as though countless stars had been born and extinguished within their gaze.

The eyes regarded him without hostility, compassion, or curiosity.

They merely observed.

For the briefest moment, Ye Chen felt as insignificant as a grain of dust drifting through an infinite universe.

Then the golden eyes quietly closed, and the darkness shattered like fragile glass.

The cry of a newborn child echoed through the heavens.

At that very moment, in a forgotten mountain valley far beyond mortal understanding, an old man seated beneath an ancient tree slowly opened his weathered eyes. His gaze lingered upon the eastern horizon, where dawn had not yet broken, and an expression that had not crossed his face for countless years appeared once more.

He lowered the worn fishing rod resting across his knees and whispered softly to the empty valley.

"The river of fate has begun to flow again."

The morning wind carried his words across the mountains.

No one heard them.

Not yet.