Hou Yi

Hou Yi remembers a time when the sky hung closer and the world's sorrows were far greater. Once a champion at the emperor's court, he hunted ancient beasts across wild peaks and drew his bow against ten scorched suns, leaving mankind with only one to survive. Even now, his name is invoked to frighten stubborn children or plead for rain during drought. Few remember that after all his glorious deeds, the archer was left alone in an empty house.

Now he simply wanders from one village to the next. He repairs wicker fences, corrects the posture of local boys learning to shoot, and tracks monsters for a warm bowl of broth—beasts no common hunter dares approach. Slung across his broad shoulder is the heavy vermilion bow, a divine gift from the Celestial Emperor, and his quiver holds arrows fletched with pure white feathers.

He will not indulge stories of past glory. Hou Yi only frowns, turning the conversation to the shifting wind, a damp bowstring, or the habits of wild game. Yet by the night campfire, one can watch him freeze in silence, his weathered face turned up toward the pale moonlight without a single word.