Cage of the Puppeteer | COTE x Xianxia

After an hour-long walk, slowed by the old man's weakened condition, he led me through the dense, swirling mist. As we emerged from the shadowed woods, a village revealed itself, sprawling across the base of the cliffs like a hidden sanctuary. Its size caught me off guard—a larger settlement than I had anticipated. Rustic wooden houses with thatched roofs dotted the landscape, their silhouettes merging seamlessly with the fog that blanketed the surroundings.
The air was thick with the earthy scent of damp soil and the faint tang of wood smoke. Lanterns, their faint glow shimmering through the mist, hung from posts and doorways, casting soft reflections on the dew-covered ground. Narrow dirt paths crisscrossed the village, linking the homes to a central square where a large, weathered stone well stood, its surface smoothed by time. Around the square, makeshift stalls had been set up, displaying modest goods—bundles of herbs, hand-carved trinkets, and worn tools—all tended by villagers cloaked in garments similar to what people in the medieval period would wear.
The faint hum of life carried through the stillness, Farmers worked small, mist-shrouded fields at the outskirts, while children darted between houses, their laughter subdued but persistent. An old wooden bridge arched over a shallow stream running along the edge of the settlement, the water shimmering faintly under the dim light of the lanterns.
Above it all, the jagged cliffs loomed in the distance, their dark form rising like silent sentinels. The mist swirled around their peaks, making the entire village feel like it existed in a world apart—isolated and serene.
It was home to roughly a hundred people, their lives etched into the rugged landscape.
Our arrival did not go unnoticed. Curious and wary eyes turned toward us as villagers stopped their work, their attention quickly drawn to the old man and his battered state. Their expressions shifted between concern for him and unease toward me, an outsider disrupting their daily rhythm.
One of the villagers, a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, approached cautiously. His face bore a mixture of worry and suspicion as he bent to help the old man. "Grandpa Zi Tu, what happened? Who gave you these injuries?" he asked, his voice tinged with alarm.
Before the old man could respond, I stepped in, my voice calm but firm. "Be careful. It's best to lay him down somewhere safe and treat him immediately."
The man's gaze snapped to me, wary. "Who are you?" he asked sharply.
"Don't worry about that for now," I replied evenly. "Focus on helping him."
Zi Tu, despite his evident pain, managed to speak weakly. "Shen Yi... don't worry about the child. You might be suspicious, but I owe him my life. Some bandits... they were going to rob me, but that child stepped in..."
The man, apparently called Shen Yi, froze for a moment, his expression shifting to one of shock and fury. "Bandits? What are they doing here? Isn't the Shadowthorn Covenant Sect supposed to protect us?"
His voice carried frustration and anger as he turned back to Zi Tu. "Grandpa, why do you keep going to the Nocturnis Vale? We've told you time and again how dangerous it is! You could have died!"
Zi Tu coughed weakly; his breath labored. "Shen Yi, you know why... I have to save my son..."
Shen Yi's anger faltered, replaced by a pained look. "I know," he said softly, his voice trembling with resignation. "But you could have been killed." He didn't finish the thought, the weight of it evident in his tone.
By now, a small group of villagers had gathered, murmuring among themselves. Together, they helped carry Zi Tu to one of the empty makeshift tents at the edge of the square. The inside was dim, lit only by a single flickering lantern, its warm glow casting long shadows across the rough walls.
As the villagers busied themselves around Zi Tu, I observed silently from a distance. Zi Tu's resolve to risk his life for his son resonated with the villagers, evident in their hushed, empathetic gestures. It was clear this was a close-knit community, bound by shared struggles and a tenuous existence.
Zi Tu broke the silence inside the tent, his voice frail but determined. "Shen Yi... I had no choice. My son... he needs that plant, or he won't survive. I found it... but the bandits almost took everything."
Shen Yi kneeled beside him, his jaw tightening. "I understand, Grandpa... but at what cost? You're not as strong as you once were. You don't even know if the plant will even work; last time it didn't!"
Zi Tu closed his eyes, the tension in his body easing slightly. "I know... but what choice do I have?" he whispered.
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. Shen Yi's shoulders slumped, and he nodded silently, unable to argue against the old man's determination. The surrounding villagers exchanged somber glances, the gravity of the situation weighing on everyone present.
One middle-aged villager stepped forward, his attire indicating some measure of medical knowledge. His demeanor carried the confidence of experience, and as he entered the makeshift tent, the other villagers stepped back, leaving just the three of us—Zi Tu, the healer, and me.
The interior of the tent was dimly lit by a single, flickering oil lamp. The air was thick with the mingling scents of damp straw and medicinal herbs. Zi Tu lay sprawled on a straw mat, his face pale and contorted with pain, occasional groans escaping his lips. The healer bent over him, his hands deftly working as he dabbed a damp cloth along the jagged wound running down Zi Tu's side. He muttered under his breath about infections and the scarcity of herbs, his tools spread haphazardly around him: a dull iron knife, a pouch of dried herbs, coarse linen strips, and a small bowl of murky water.
I stood silently by the entrance, my eyes assessing the process with quiet scrutiny. The methods were rudimentary, a stark reminder of medieval medicine. It was no surprise—this village's modest resources and isolated location meant their knowledge would be similarly limited.
But is it just this village that is different, or is this the norm in this world?
As the healer sprinkled powdered herbs onto the wound, my gaze narrowed slightly.
"You're going to seal the sound with the sinew thread immediately after applying those herbs?" I asked, my calm voice cutting through the quiet.
As a side note, my body's age is 13, and I am going through puberty now—though it isn't affecting my mental state, my body is affected. With that, I am going through a voice change. How could I even scare away that one bandit with this high-pitched voice?
The healer flinched slightly at the interruption, his movements pausing mid-sprinkle. He turned, his brows, furrowed, and gave me a sharp look. "Yes. Why? The herbs will stop the bleeding and ward off infection. I've treated wounds like this for years. I know what I'm doing."
I didn't fault him for his reaction. A boy, barely in his teens, questioning the methods of an experienced healer would undoubtedly wound his pride. His knowledge was likely passed down through generations—a mix of tradition and trial-and-error, rather than advanced understanding.
Not bothered by his suspicion and doubt, I stepped forward. I crouched beside the old man. "The wound hasn't been fully cleaned. Dirt and debris are still embedded in the edges. Stitching it now would trap the contaminants inside, leading to a severe infection. That paste you're using will only delay it, not prevent it."
The healer bristled, his expression hardening. "Are you questioning my methods, boy? This isn't some game. I've been tending to injuries long before you were born."
The old man, however, shifted weakly, his voice strained but firm. "Listen to him," he said, his gaze flickering toward me. "He saved my life out there. If he has advice, I want you to heed it."
The healer hesitated, clearly torn between pride and the old man's insistence. His eyes darted between me and Zi Tu before he let out a reluctant sigh. "Fine. If you think you know better, what do you suggest?"
I stepped forward without hesitation, crouching beside Zi Tu and gesturing toward the bowl of water. "First, boil the water. The clothes and tools you're using aren't clean enough. If you stitch him up now, you'll trap dirt and debris inside the wound, leading to a dangerous infection."
The healer frowned deeply but, after a moment of grumbling, moved to place the bowl over a small flame. I didn't wait for him to finish. Taking a clean strip of linen, I began wiping around the edges of the wound with deliberate care, paying attention to areas the healer had missed. Zi Tu winced under my touch but didn't protest, his trust evident.
As the water began to boil, I poured it into a second bowl. Letting it cool slightly, I dipped another strip of cloth into the hot water and resumed cleaning, this time more thoroughly. Bits of dirt and debris came away, staining the cloth dark.
"See this?" I held up the soiled cloth for the healer to see. "If you had stitched the wound as it was, this dirt would have festered inside, causing severe complications."
The healer's jaw tightened, and his pride visibly stung. "And what do you suggest next?" he asked, his tone clipped but begrudging.
I examined the herbs he had prepared, picking through the dried leaves and powders. Some were faintly familiar—similar in appearance and scent to plants on Earth. Selecting a combination that I recognized as effective against inflammation, I crushed the herbs together, adding a small amount of the cooled water to create a paste.
"These will work better for reducing inflammation and promoting healing," I explained, handing the paste to the healer. "Apply this to the wound before stitching. It will also help prevent infection."
The healer watched skeptically but did as I instructed, spreading the paste over the wound. Zi Tu's pained grimace eased slightly, a weak smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You've done this before, haven't you, lad?" he asked, his voice tinged with gratitude.
I didn't answer immediately, focusing instead on threading a needle from the healer's supplies. "Who knows?" I said finally, my tone neutral.
I handed the needle to the healer, meeting his gaze evenly. "You can stitch now, but leave room for the wound to breathe. Don't pull the thread too tight."
The healer paused, scrutinizing me for a long moment before nodding silently. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, though I could tell he was now following my instructions with care. As he worked, Zi Tu turned his gaze toward me, his eyes shining with something akin to admiration.
"You've got the hands of a healer, boy," he murmured, his voice weak but filled with gratitude. "But there's more to you than that, isn't there?"
My expression remained unreadable as I stepped back. "It's just necessity," I replied evenly, my gaze drifting toward the tent's entrance. "Nothing more"
Despite not looking at them, I could feel their gaze on me.
The hands of a healer, huh? I don't think so.
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ
I stepped out of the tent, letting the cold air bite at my skin, and glanced up at the dark, mist-shrouded sky. The stillness of the village hung heavily around me, broken only by the distant murmur of villagers tending to their evening tasks.
I exhaled slowly, the faint mist of my breath dispersing in the chilled air.
Why did I step in? The question lingered in my mind. I could have just stood by, remaining an observer, yet I felt a strange compulsion to help the old man, Zi Tu. It wasn't logical. There was no immediate benefit to me—no debt or obligation. And yet, I acted.
Seeing me leave the tent, Shen Yi approached with a worried expression. "Did everything go well?" he asked, his tone earnest.
"Yes," I replied, my voice calm. "The old man just needs rest now."
Shen Yi visibly relaxed, his shoulder easing as a small sigh escaped his lips. "Thank the heavens," he murmured. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "Ever since his son was cursed by one of the Shadowthorn Covenant Sect's disciplines, he's been going into the Nocturnis Vale every day, searching for that plant to cure him. He even found it once before, but the handling of the plant was false."
His words caught my attention immediately. "Cursed, you say? So it's not an illness?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
Shen Yi hesitated, glancing nervously around the clearing, as though the shadows themselves might overhear us. "No... it's not," he admitted quietly. "But we shouldn't talk about it. The village doesn't want to provoke the wrath of the Immortals again."
Immortals. The term was spoken with reverence and fear. He had used the character xian (仙), a word that implied spiritually transcendent or super-powered beings. Unlike its Japanese counterpart (Fumetsu no-不滅の), which emphasizes indestructibility or undying, the connotation here seemed more aligned with profound power and otherworldly status.
One simple word had revealed more than I'd expected. It confirmed that this world operated under rules vastly different from Earth's, yet it also hinted at a structure—one where humans could ascend to wield supernatural power.
So, the Immortals exist here... I thought, my mind turning over the possibilities. This revelation aligned with what I'd already suspected. My forced arrival into this world had been anything but ordinary, and now it seemed humans here could wield abilities far beyond what I once believed possible.
Qi Condensation. The term the bandit had mentioned earlier resurfaced in my thoughts. Was it part of becoming one of these Immortals?
And more importantly, how far could their powers extend? I needed answers.
I glanced back at Shen Yi, who still appeared uncomfortable discussing the topic. Deciding not to press further, I let the matter drop for now. There was no benefit to prying, especially if it would only unsettle the villagers and paint me in a negative light.
Instead, I shifted the conversation. "Do you have any written records or information?" I asked. "A map of the surrounding area, or anything that could help me understand more about this place?"
Shen Yi seemed relieved at the change of subject. "We don't have much," he admitted. "The village relies mostly on oral traditions. But..." He paused, thinking for a moment. "There's an elder, Grandmother Qiao. She's lived longer than anyone here and keeps some old scrolls in her home. They're... sparse, but they might be useful."
I nodded, filling the name away. "Thank you. I'd like to speak with her."
Shen Yi hesitated, as though weighing something in his mind. "You saved Grandpa Zi Tu's life," he finally said, his tone softening. "If you need help, the least we can do is offer it. I'll take you to her."
As he led the way through the quiet village, I allowed myself a small moment of reflection. A cursed child, a sect capable of invoking such fear, and humans with abilities akin to legends... This world is far more complex than I initially thought.
However, after I saw this Planet from space, and my body was reconstructed before my very own eyes, nothing should surprise me anymore.
But complexity was good. Complexity meant opportunities—for knowledge and growth, growth I could hope to undertake in this world.
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ
Shen Yi led me through the winding paths of the village, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and faint wood smoke. The villagers moved about quietly, their eyes darting toward us with a mix of curiosity and unease.
We stopped before a small, weathered hut that seemed even older than the rest of the village. The wooden planks of its walls were warped and cracked, and its thatched roof sagged slightly in the middle. A faint trail of incense smoke wafted out from the open doorway, mingling with the mist that clung to the air.
"Grandmother Qiao lives here," Shen Yi said, his voice hushed. "She's the oldest person in the village, and some say she's even older than the village itself."
I raised an eyebrow but chose to remain silent. It was likely an exaggeration, though the reverence in Shen Yi's tone hinted that she was indeed a figure of importance. Given everything I'd encountered so far—mentions of Immortals and other otherworldly phenomena—it wasn't entirely unexpected. In fact, in a world like this, such figures were almost inevitable.
He stepped forward and called softly, "Grandmother Qiao, it's Shen Yi. We have a visitor who wishes to speak with you."
A few moments of silence passed before a voice, thin but steady, replied from within. "Come in."
Shen Yi gestured for me to follow, and we entered the dimly lit hut. The interior was sparse but orderly. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with jars of dried herbs, small bundles of roots, and a few scrolls that had yellowed with age. A faint golden light flickered from a single oil lamp placed on a low table in the center of the room.
Sitting cross-legged on a woven mat was an elderly woman with a face deeply etched by time. Her eyes, though clouded with age, seemed to see more than they should. She wore a simple dark robe, and her hands rested lightly on her lap, gnarled and thin like the roots of an ancient tree.
Her gaze shifted to me, piercing despite its haze. "You are the one who saved Zi Tu," she said, her voice calm but laced with an almost imperceptible curiosity. It wasn't a question but a statement.
I inclined my head slightly. "I am."
She gestured for me to sit across from her. Shen Yi hesitated at the entrance before excusing himself. "I'll leave you to speak," he said, stepping out outside.
I lowered myself onto the mat, meeting the old woman's gaze without flinching.
The elder woman studied me for a long moment before speaking. "You are not from here."
I tilted my head slightly but didn't deny it. "What gave it away?"
Her lips curved into a faint smile, revealing teeth that were surprisingly intact. "Your demeanor. Your bearing. And... something about you. It is as if the air around you is still learning how to move."

She leaned forward slightly. "What do you seek, stranger?"

"Knowledge," I replied without hesitation. "I need to understand this world—the rules it operates by, the powers it holds. Maps, information about the surrounding lands, anything you can provide."
Her expression didn't change, but I caught a flicker of something in her eyes. "Knowledge is a precious thing, especially here in the shadow of the Nocturnis Vale. And it is not freely given."
I had expected as much. "I'm willing to trade."
She raised an eyebrow. "And what do you to offer, boy?"
I considered her question carefully. I had no resources or valuables from this world, but knowledge from another might be worth something. "I may have insights or methods that could prove useful," I said. "In return, I ask only for a better understanding of where I am and what I may face."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, the weight of her scrutiny pressing against me. "You speak as one who knows the value of words," she said after a pause. "Very well. I will share what I can. But you must also share something in return—knowledge for knowledge."
I nodded, and she reached behind her, pulling out a scroll from a small stack. It was worn but intact, its edges frayed with age. "This is a map of the immediate area," she said, unrolling it carefully. "It is not precise, but it will give you an idea of what lies beyond this village."
I leaned forward, studying the faded markings. The village was marked near the center, surrounded by the misty expanse of the Nocturnis Vale. To the south, there were symbols denoting dense forests, while to the north, the cliffs rose sharply, cutting off the valley. Further east, there were scattered notations of settlements and landmarks, some with ominous symbols that suggested danger.
As I absorbed the details, she continued speaking. "This valley is a place of shadows, both literal and metaphorical. The Nocturnis Vale is not just a land of mist and cliffs; it is a place where the barriers between the tangible and the intangible grow thin. The Shadowthorn Covenant Sect claims dominion here, but even they do not venture far beyond their boundaries."
She tapped the map with a bony finger. "Be wary of the east. That is where the Shadowthorn Covenant Sect holds its stronghold. And if you value your life, do not venture deeper into the Nocturnis Vale without preparation. There are things there that do not belong to the realm of the living."
I looked up from the map. "What of the Immortals?"
Her expression darkened slightly. "Immortals... That is what we call them. Those who have transcended the limits of ordinary existence. The Shadowthorn Covenant Sect's disciples aspire to such power, but they are far from it. If you encounter one, tread carefully. They do not see the world as we do."
Her words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. I sat back, processing the information. "Thank you," I said finally. "You've given me more than I expected."
She studied me for a moment longer before nodding. "And now, your part of the trade."
I reached into the depths of my memory, pulling a fragment of knowledge that might be valuable in this world. "About the herbs used to treat wounds," I said. "If prepared differently—boiled first, then ground into a paste—they can be more effective in drawing out impurities and speeding recovery."
Her gaze sharpened, and I saw a flicker of intrigue. "Interesting... Show me."
I demonstrated the method as clearly as I could, explaining each step with precision. She watched intently, her hands moving to mimic the process even as I described it.
When I finished, she leaned back, her expression thoughtful. "You are not what you seem," she said quietly. "A wanderer, yes, but one who carries secrets."
I didn't respond, letting the silence speak for itself. Secrets were something I intended to keep—for now.
...
As I was about to leave, the old woman raised a hand, her voice halting my steps.
"One last thing," she said, her tone measured. "If you truly wish to learn about this world, I would suggest staying in this village for the next two months."
I turned back, curious. "Why two months?"
Her clouded eyes seemed to pierce through me, an intensity lingering behind them. "In two months, a recruiter from the Nightshade Monastery will pass through this area. They are the overlords of this entire region, the power that looms over all who live here. In comparison to them, the Shadowthorn Covenant Sect is as significant as a fly in comparison to a raging fire. "
I crossed my arms, leaning slightly against the doorway. "And why are you telling me this?"
A faint smile played on her lips as if she found my question amusing. "Because the Nightshade Monastery is unlike other sects. Unlike the Shadowthorn Covenant Sect, where you must approach and beg for admission, the Nightshade Monastery actively recruits. They traverse the villages, cities, and remote settlements of this land, seeking potential students."
I frowned slightly. "Recruiting? What are their criteria?"
Her smile faded, replaced by a solemn expression. "They are selective, exceedingly so. Their recruiters look for individuals with potential—those who may spark their interest. Talent, intelligence, strength, or even a unique quality of the soul... Only a few are ever chosen."
"And this is not all," she continued. "Even after being picked, they hold rigorous tests designed to measure different qualities."
The weight of her words settled in the air between us. I considered what she was implying. If this monastery was as influential as she claimed, gaining their favor could be a gateway to the knowledge and power I sought. But it also meant subjecting myself to their scrutiny—something I was reluctant to do unless necessary.
"And what happens to those who are recruited?" I asked, my tone even.
"They are given a rare opportunity," she replied. "To study under the guidance of masters, to grow stronger, and to rise above the mundane struggles of this world. But it is no easy path. The Nightshade Monastery's training is as harsh as it is rewarding. Many do not survive it."
The word 'opportunity' lingered in my mind. This world was vast and filled with unknowns, and while I had no intention of blindly aligning myself with any group, infiltrating such an institution could provide invaluable insights into the rules and powers that governed this realm.
"Two months," I said finally. "And if they don't find me worthy?"
The old woman chuckled softly, a dry sound like leaves rustling in the wind. "Then they will leave, and you will be free to go about your life. But if they do..." Her eyes glinted with something unreadable. "Your journey may take you to places beyond anything you can imagine."
I held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. "I'll consider it."
She gave no reply, merely inclining her head as I turned and stepped out into the misty air. The weight of her advice hung heavily on my mind as I walked back toward the center of the village.
Two months. Whether I stayed or left, the Nightshade Monastery would come, bringing with it an opportunity—or perhaps a challenge. Either way, it was a thread worth following. For now, I would remain in the village, observing, preparing, and learning what I could.
The older woman reminded me of someone—the old clairvoyant, Ibuki and I visited in the Keyaki Mall during the summer break of our first year at Advanced Nurturing High School. It was a fleeting memory, but vivid. That woman had spoken with a similar air of mystery, weaving her predictions with half-truths and riddles.
The clairvoyant at Keyaki Mall had been a performer, an entertainer preying on the gullible. But the elder here—her wisdom felt rooted in something real, something tied to this world's intricate balance of power and survival.
The two women, separated by worlds, shared a thread of similarity that I couldn't ignore. Both had seen something in me, something they chose not to reveal outright. And while their methods differed, the effect was the same: they left me questioning my next steps.
Shaking my head, I pushed the thought aside. This world was far from the structured halls of ANHS. Here, survival demanded pragmatism, not idle speculation.
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ
Arriving at the center of the village, I noticed a subtle change in the atmosphere. The villagers moved with less urgency than earlier, their cautious glances now mixed with faint curiosity as they stole glimpses of me. Near the makeshift tent where Zi Tu had been treated, the old man stood upright, leaning slightly on a wooden staff for support. Despite his frail frame, he carried an air of determination.
Zi Tu greeted me with a warm smile. "It seems I owe you more than just my life, boy. The healer says I'll recover, but it's thanks to you that I'm even standing here."
I inclined my head slightly, acknowledging his words without unnecessary fanfare. "You should still rest, Zi Tu. Standing like this might slow your recovery."
He chuckled lightly, a hoarse sound that carried both gratitude and stubbornness. "Don't fuss, child. I've endured worse in my years. Now, come with me. I'll take you to my home. You've done enough for me; the least I can do is offer you shelter."
His resolve in that matter seemed unshakable. With a nod, I followed him through the village.
...
As we walked, the old man spoke, his voice carrying the cadence of someone who had lived through more hardships than he cared to recount. "You've stirred up quite the talk here. A stranger appearing from the mist, saving an old fool like me. It's not every day we see someone like you."
"Someone like me?" I asked, curious about his perception.
He glanced back, his eyes glinting with quiet amusement. "Young but composed, resourceful but quiet. You don't belong to a place like this, boy. You're... different."
I didn't respond, my expression remaining neutral as I again observed my surroundings.
Finally, we arrived at Zi Tu's home. It was a modest structure, slightly larger than the others but still simple. The walls were weathered, showing signs of age, but the house radiated a sense of stability—a reflection of its owner.
Zi Tu gestured for me to enter, and I stepped inside. The interior was sparsely furnished yet functional.
He turned on a small hearth; it crackled faintly, its warmth seeping into the otherwise cold air.
"You'll stay here," Zi Tu said, motioning to a small corner of the room where a simple sleeping mat lay rolled up. "It's not much, but it's better than the open air."
I nodded in thanks. "This is more than enough."
...
Shortly after settling in, a young woman from the village arrived carrying a bundle of folded clothes. She hesitated at the doorway, her gaze flickering nervously between Zi Tu and me before she spoke. "Grandpa Zi Tu, these are for the... guest."
Zi Tu waved her in. "Don't stand there like a frightened deer. Come in, child."
She stepped forward, her movements careful, and handed the bundle to me. "These belonged to my younger brother. He... left for the city a year ago. They should fit you."
I accepted the clothes with a polite nod. "Thank you."
The bundle contained a simple tunic and trousers, made of rough but sturdy fabric, along with a pair of worn boots. The garments, though plain, were a vast improvement over the makeshift coverings I had fashioned earlier.
"Try them on," Zi Tu urged, his tone light but insistent. "Can't have you walking around looking like a cave dweller forever."
I stepped aside to change, the woman leaving discreetly as I did. The fabric felt coarse against my skin but warm, a welcome change from the cold air. When I emerged, Zi Tu appraised me with a satisfied nod.
"Much better. Now you look like you belong—at least a little," he said, a teasing glint in his eyes.
I adjusted the sleeves of the tunic, glancing at him. "Thank you. But I doubt changing clothes will make me any less of an outsider here."
Zi Tu's smile faded slightly, replaced by a more somber expression. "Perhaps not. But sometimes, appearances matter more than you think, especially when dealing with the likes of the Shadowthron Covenant Sect. They won't take kindly to strangers stirring up their territory."
His words carried a weight, and I tucked the warning away in my mind. "I'll keep that in mind."
...
The rest of the evening passed quietly. Zi Tu showed me around his home, pointing out the tools he used in his trade as a forager. He spoke of his late wife, his ill son, and the struggles of living under the Shadowthron Covenant Sect's oppressive rule. His voice carried a mixture of price and weariness, a man who had endured much but still found reasons to keep going.
As night fell, I found myself sitting by the hearth, the flickering flames casting shadows across the room. Zi Tu sat across from me, his gaze distant but thoughtful.
"You've been a blessing to this village, child," he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. "I don't know what brought you here, but I feel... fortunate that it did."
I met his gaze, my expression unreadable. "I'm just doing what's necessary to survive."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Maybe so. But sometimes, survival brings people together for reasons we don't yet understand."
His words lingered, hanging in the still air. Zi Tu's gaze faltered briefly, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. Yet, there was a determination in his eyes, as though the weight of what he was about to ask was both burdensome and inescapable.
"Bái Xūé," he finally said, his voice quieter now, almost tentative.
I glanced up from the flickering flames of the hearth, meeting his eyes. "Yes?"
Zi Tu hesitated again, his gnarled hands tightening around the staff that rested across his lap. He took a slow breath, his chest rising and falling with effort. Then, as though steeling himself for the request, he pressed on.
"I know..." He paused, the lines on his face deepening. "I know you've already done so much for me—more than I could ever repay—but..." His voice cracked slightly, the emotion beneath it threatening to spill over. "Could you... Could you treat my son? I saw how adept you were in treating me. The way you worked... It wasn't just luck, was it? You knew exactly what to do."
The vulnerability in his tone struck an unusual chord within me. It wasn't something I often encountered—or allowed myself to feel. My first instinct was to refuse. Not out of cruelty or indifference, but because this world was still so alien to me. I had no guarantee that my knowledge, rooted in another reality, would work here.
Yet, there was something in Zi Tu's expression that gave me pause. His eyes, clouded with exhaustion yet burning with hope, reminded me faintly of faces from my past. Faces of people who, despite my detached demeanor, had looked to me for help. That memory lingered, unbidden but persistent.
"What's wrong with him?" I asked after a moment, my tone calm. I knew that his son didn't just suffer from an illness but seemed to be 'cursed'.
Zi Tu's shoulders sagged slightly, as though relieved that I hadn't outright dismissed him. "He's ill. It started several months ago after an incident with one of the Shadowthorn Covenant Sect's disciples. They call it a curse, but the healer here thinks it's something worse. He says it's spreading through his body like poison."
My gaze narrowed slightly. From what I'd observed so far, this world's concept of illness seemed to intertwine with its mystical elements. If this 'curse' was real, it could be something completely beyond my understanding—or it could be an ailment misunderstood by their limited knowledge.
"Where is he now?" I asked, leaning back slightly against the wall.
Zi Tu gestured toward one of the doors—the one room he didn't show me when showcasing his house. "He's inside, resting—or trying to. His condition has worsened over the last few days."
Before I answered him, he motioned toward a weathered leather pouch resting against the wall. I retrieved it and opened it carefully. Inside was a bundle of dark leaves, their edges jagged and glistening faintly with a silver sheen. A faint, almost otherworldly scent wafted from the plant, reminiscent of damp earth and ozone.
"This is the plant; the reason you went to the Nocturnis Vale?" I asked, examining the plant closely. Before, I had only taken a short glance.
Zi Tu nodded weakly. "The healer called it Moonshade Veinleaf. It's rare... growing only in the Nocturnis Vale. He told me it has properties that can counter the curse. But he... doesn't know how to prepare it. He tried using it in the past, and the results weren't... successful."
The healer had seemed capable, even skilled in his way, but his understanding of medicine—or curses, for that matter—was limited by the world he knew. This wasn't necessarily his fault; after all, he lacked the knowledge or resources to explore possibilities beyond what tradition dictated.
"And you want me to prepare it?" I asked Zi Tu.
He met my gaze, his expression a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "You saved me when others couldn't. You noticed what the healer missed in my treatment. I trust you."
His admission carried a weight. This was no small task he was entrusting me with, and the implications of failure loomed large. Yet, his unwavering gaze, filled with desperation and quiet resolve, reminded me of the countless faces I had seen in the past—those who looked at me not because they wanted to, but because they had no other option.
"Very well," I said, taking the satchel with the plant. "I'll see what I can do, but before that, let me see your son to assess his condition."
...
Zi Tu nodded, his relief almost palpable. Slowly, he stood and motioned toward the closed door with a shaky hand. "He's in there," he said, his voice heavy with weariness.
I moved toward the door, the satchel with the Moonshade Veinleaf secured under my arm. The wooden frame creaked faintly as I pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit room. A single lantern hung from a low beam, casting flickering light over the sparse interior.
The man lay on a simple straw mat, his form gaunt and visibly weakened. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, and dark veins snaked across his pale skin, originating from his neck and spreading down to his arms. His face was lined with discomfort, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. The curse—or whatever ailment afflicted him—was visibly taking its toll.
Kneeling beside him, I observed the pattern of the dark veins. They pulsed faintly, almost as if alive, radiating an ominous energy that filled the room with a suffocating weight. The man stirred slightly, his gaze flickering toward me, though his expression remained unfocused.
"Shen..." he murmured weakly, his voice barely audible. "Father...?"
"It's me, my son," Zi Tu said from the doorway, his voice trembling with emotion. "This young man is here to help you."
I placed a hand lightly on the man's wrist, feeling his pulse. It was erratic, weak, and irregular—a clear sign of his deteriorating condition. As I examined him further, I noticed subtle differences in the patterns of the veins, their spread seemingly more pronounced on one side of his body. This wasn't a typical illness.
Turning back to Zi Tu, I spoke calmly. "The progression of this... curse is advanced. If the Moonshade Veinleaf can counter it, we need to act quickly. Every hour we delay, his chances diminish."
Zi Tu's face tightened with worry. "Can it be prepared here? Do you need anything?"
I opened the satchel again, took out the plant, and laid it on a small table nearby. The silvery sheen of its veins glimmered faintly in the dim light, and I examined its structure more closely. Its texture was delicate, and its faint scent hinted at volatile properties that could easily be neutralized if handled improperly.
"What did the healer try?" I asked.
Zi Tu nodded. "He boiled it into a tonic, but it only made things worse. He believed it wasn't potent enough."
"That's because boiling it destroys its active components," I explained.
"This plant isn't meant to be treated like a common herb. Its potency lies in the veins—those need to be preserved."
Zi Tu's expression shifted from confusion to hope. "Then how will you prepare it?"
"Carefully," I replied. "The process requires precision. It's not a guarantee, but it's better than the method they used before."
...
I set to work immediately. Gathering what limited tools Zi Tu had in his home, I improvised a setup to extract the plant's essence. Using a flat stone as a grinding surface and a smaller stone to press the leaves, I crushed them gently, ensuring the silvery veins remained intact. A faint, luminescent liquid seeped from the leaves, pooling on the surface like drops of liquid moonlight.
Zi Tu watched intently, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as though in prayer. "Will it be enough?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"It'll have to be," I replied without looking up. "Once the extract is ready, we'll need to administer it in stages. His body won't handle a sudden infusion of such concentrated properties."
As I worked, I continued to examine the man's condition. The dark veins seemed to pulse more strongly as the minutes passed, and I couldn't shake the feeling that this curse had an unnatural origin. The fact that it originated from a disciple of the Shadowthorn Covenant Sect hinted at a deeper layer of complexity.
Once the extract was complete, I mixed it carefully with cool water to create a diluted suspension. "This is the first dose," I explained. "It should stabilize him and slow the progression. If it works, we can increase the concentration gradually."
Zi Tu knelt beside his son, his hands trembling as he stroked the man's arm. "Will it hurt him?"
"No," I assured him. "But it's not going to be instant. You'll need patience."
...
Together, we carefully administered the suspension, tilting the man's head slightly and allowing the liquid to trickle down his throat. He coughed faintly, his body twitching as the liquid settled within him. For a moment, I thought there might be an adverse reaction, but his breathing began to steady. The dark veins pulsing across his body seemed to dim slightly, their ominous energy receding.
Zi Tu's face lit with cautious hope. "It's working..."
"For now," I said, standing and setting the tools aside. "But this is just the first step. If we're going to counter this fully, we'll need to monitor his condition closely. The curse—or whatever this is—won't go down without a fight."
Zi Tu nodded, his expression resolute. "I'll do whatever it takes. Just tell me what you need."
"I'll need time," I replied. "And if you have any information about what happened when he encountered that disciple, I'll need to know every detail."
Zi Tu hesitated for a moment before speaking. "It was... an argument. My son stood up for a friend who couldn't pay the tribute the sect demanded. The disciple called it defiance and used some kind of technique to punish him. Afterward, these... veins started to appear."
I processed his words silently, piecing together the implications. The Shadowthorn Covenant Sect wasn't just collecting tribute—they were enforcing their authority with powers that could devastate lives. If their techniques extended into curses like this, their reach was far more insidious than I initially thought.
"Rest now," I said, gesturing toward the man. "We'll continue in the morning."
Zi Tu nodded, his gratitude evident in his tired eyes. As I stepped away, the weight of the situation settled over me. The man's condition was a symptom of something much larger—a system of oppression that loomed over this village like a storm cloud.
...
I moved to the mattress in the corner of the room, its simple frame offering little comfort but serving its purpose. As I lay down, the weight of the day settled over me. After more than a week of surviving on my own—navigating through harsh terrain, hunting for food, and crafting crude shelters—I had finally reconnected with humanity, however unfamiliar this new world was.
Today marked a turning point. I had saved Zi Tu, brought him back to his village, and treated his injuries. I'd spoken with an elder, the old woman the villagers called 'Grandma Qiao', and gleamed vital information about this world. Through her, I learned about the recruiter from the Nightshade Monastery, an opportunity arriving in two months that could significantly shape my future here.
For now, I had a roof over my head and a purpose: treating Zi Tu's son, a man afflicted by what seemed to be a curse—a strange technique inflicted upon him by a discipline of the Shadowthorn Covenant Sect. It was a condition unlike anything I'd encountered before, but I saw it as an opportunity to deepen my understanding of this world and its peculiar blend of medicine and mysticism.
Two months. That's how much time I had to prepare.
The reality of this world was clear to me now—strength ruled. Without the ability to protect myself, I would remain at the mercy of others. If I hadn't been able to fend off those bandits, I would have been captured and sold to the Shadowthorn Covenant Sect. I didn't need to imagine what kind of fate awaited me there. It was enough to know that I would do whatever it took to ensure I never faced such a scenario.
I decided to dedicate the coming weeks to training my body, just as I had in the White Room. Strength wasn't optional here, like in ANHS; it was a necessity. My survival instincts would be honed further, and every hour spent preparing would increase my chances of controlling my own fate.
The task of treating Zi Tu's son also offered a unique opportunity. Through the process, I could explore and experiment with local herbs and remedies, developing my skills in this world's form of medicine. It wasn't just about curing the man—it was a chance to expand my knowledge, to learn and adapt. My survival could one day depend on such skills if I found myself injured or weakened.
With those plans set, I felt a sense of clarity about how I would spend these two months. The recruiter from the Nightshade Monastery might provide an opportunity, but I would ensure I was ready, regardless of whether they deemed me worthy of their attention.
With that, my mind settled, and I closed my eyes. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time since my arrival, it felt like I had a purpose and a clear direction.
As the clarity set in, I became acutely aware of one pressing issue I had overlooked in the haze of theories and plans.
I reek... I haven't taken a bath for almost 2 weeks now...
Tomorrow I will need to take one. Definitely.
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ
The first month in the village passed in a blur, each day blending into the next as I settled into a rhythm. My mornings were spent tending to Zi Tu's son, methodically treating his mysterious curse with the Moonshade Veinleaf and whatever limited resources the village could offer. My afternoons were dedicated to my own training.
Working out here felt different—almost otherworldly. My body adapted and strengthened far faster than it ever did on Earth. I could feel it with every push-up, every kick, and every lunge: a faint energy, like an invisible current, seemed to flow through me, amplifying my efforts.
It was a peculiar sensation, one that intrigued me. Despite the subpar nutrition compared to what I had in the White Room, my body had already surpassed its peak state from back then. At 13, here, I was stronger, faster, and more resilient than I ever was at 14, the age when I left the White Room. My slim, athletic frame remained similar, but my muscles were more defined, larger, and carried a quiet strength that felt almost unnatural.
By evening, I would return to the village, a routine now familiar to the villagers. Over time, I had integrated seamlessly into their lives. Unlike ANHS, where I had deliberately kept my presence faint and unassuming, here I was different. My actions made me impossible to ignore. Word spread about my capabilities—the way I saved Zi Tu, treated his wounds, and how I trained tirelessly. Admiration began to replace the initial wariness.
Among those who had come to trust me was the village healer, who introduced himself as Cai Genxin. Over the course of the month, I shared with him a few techniques—not groundbreaking, but practical methods that noticeably improved his approach to treatment. Slowly but surely, he began to acknowledge my abilities, his initial skepticism giving way to genuine respect.
By the end of the month, his demeanor toward me had softened considerably. He even began treating me with familial warmth, referring to me as though I were his younger brother. It was an odd but not unwelcome shift.
Aside from him, Zi Tu introduced me to the village blacksmith, a burly man named Hu Xia. With his calloused hands, sharp tongue, and gruff exterior, he exuded toughness, but beneath it all was a kind heart. As a gesture of gratitude, Zi Tu presented me with a sword crafted by Hu Xia—a Tang Dao, its blade a testament to the blacksmith's skill and dedication.
The Tang Dao. It is a single-edged sword that originated during China's Tang Dynasty, a period renowned for its military prowess and cultural achievements. Named after its era of origin, the Tang Dao represents a pivotal evolution in Chinese weaponry, merging practicality with martial artistry.
This sword's design proved so effective that it gradually supplanted the previously dominant jian, a double-edged straight sword, as the primary weapon in many military applications. With its sharp single edge, slightly curved blade, and solid construction, the Tang Dao excelled in both slashing and thrusting maneuvers, making it highly versatile on the battlefield.
The design of the Tang Dao became a cornerstone for single-edged swordcraft, influencing the development of similar blades across East Asia, including the katana in Japan and the goryeo hwandudaedo in Korea. Its efficient structure and ease of use allowed soldiers to wield it effectively in close combat and mounted warfare alike, cementing its place as a revolutionary advancement in ancient armaments.
When I held the sword for the first time, it felt right. Its weight, its balance, the way the hilt fit perfectly in my grip—it was as if the weapon had been made for me. Memories of theoretical swordsmanship lessons from the White Room surfaced unbidden. Though my experience with a sword had been limited to a few sparring sessions, the knowledge I had absorbed was meticulous and precise.
Swordsmanship was a discipline that demanded more than just strength. It was about precision, strategy, and understanding the weapon as an extension of one's body. The basics echoed in my mind: footwork, grip, offensive and defensive techniques, timing, distance, strategy, and psychology.
...
With the Tang Dao in hand, I made my way to a familiar spot outside the village—a flat expanse surrounded by skeletal trees, a place I had claimed for my daily training. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground.
I started with the fundamentals, gripping the hilt firmly in my right hand. My stance shifted instinctively, feet spaced to allow balance and fluid movement. I visualized an opponent before me, their strikes and counters forcing me to adapt.
Footwork came first. I practiced pivots, sidesteps, and lunges, maintaining control of my body while adjusting to the Tang Dao's reach. Each movement was precise and deliberate. I had to ensure that every step brought me closer to an advantage while minimizing my exposure to an imaginary counterattack.
Next came offensive techniques. I slashed through the air, testing the blade's response. Horizontal, vertical, and diagonal cuts flowed seamlessly into thrusts and feints. I imagined exploiting an enemy's opening, delivering swift and decisive strikes with minimal wasted motion.
Moving on to defensive techniques, I practiced evasion, blocks, and parries. The Tang Dao's weight allowed for smooth deflections, turning an opponent's momentum against them. Each imagined attack was met with a combination of movements, layering defense with counter-offense.
Timing and distance, though intangible, were deeply ingrained. I closed my eyes, letting instinct guide me. With each swing, I felt the blade's reach, knowing exactly where its edge would land. It was as if the sword had become an extension of my arm, its movements flowing naturally from my intent.
Finally, I focused on the mental aspect of swordsmanship. Strategy, adaptability, and reading an opponent's intent were all critical. Though I trained alone, I simulated scenarios in my mind—facing multiple attackers, responding to feints, countering unpredictable strikes.
For over an hour, I repeated these drills, pushing myself to refine each technique. The Tang Dao moved through the air with increasing precision, the whistle of its blade echoing across the training ground. Sweat dripped down my brow, but fatigue was fleeting. This world's strange energy seemed to restore me as quickly as I expended my strength.
...
Once my sword training was complete, I transitioned into physical conditioning and martial arts. My body moved with a fluidity that surprised even me; each strike was faster and more powerful than the last. The training I had endured in the White Room remained intact, but here, it was elevated. My improved physicality allowed me to execute techniques with a force that surpassed my previous limits.
Punches cracked through the air with precision, kicks landed with devastating power, and grappling maneuvers flowed seamlessly into counters. The terrain beneath my feet bore the marks of my exertion—disturbed earth, scuffed stones, and faint impressions where I had pivoted or struck.
...
As the sun dipped below the horizon, streaks of orange and purple painted the darkening sky, casting long shadows across the valley. I finally halted my training, my muscles aching with the familiar, satisfying burn that signaled progress. Wiping the faint sheen of sweat from my brow, I began my walk back to the village, the Tang Dao strapped securely to my side.
As I neared the outskirts, something felt off. The air was tense, the usual quiet hum of village life replaced by an uneasy silence. The faint glow of lanterns flickered against the encroaching darkness, casting eerie silhouettes of villagers gathered in the square. Their postures were rigid, their heads slightly bowed, as though in submission.
Curiosity and caution surged within me. I moved closer, my steps deliberate and silent, until I could make out a figure standing before the assembled villagers. A young man, draped in flowing crimson robes that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light, stood with his hands clasped behind his back. His expression was one of smug detachment, his sharp features twisted in a faint sneer. The villagers kept their distance, their gazes averted, and their fear was palpable.
His aura was different from anything I had encountered so far—imposing and heavy, as though the air itself bent to his presence. Even from this distance, I could feel it pressing against my senses, a stark reminder that this was no ordinary man.
Instinctively, I slowed my approach, blending into the shadows as I circled the square. My movements were silent, calculated, as I took cover behind one of the houses at the edge of the square. From my concealed vantage point, I observed the scene unfold.
"Is this all your pathetic village can offer?" the man in crimson robes said, his voice calm but laced with disdain. He gestured dismissively toward a small pile of goods—sacks of grain, bundles of herbs, and crude tools—set at his feet. "This barely qualifies as tribute. The Shadowthorn Covenant Sect is not a charity."
Shen Yi, standing near the front of the group, stepped forward hesitantly, his expression a mixture of defiance and fear. "Honored sir, this is all we can spare. The harvest was poor this season, and the mist has made foraging difficult."
The man's eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a smirk. "Excuses," he said, his tone icy. "Do you think the sect cares for your petty struggles? You exist under our protection, and protection demands payment. If this is all you can muster, perhaps we should reconsider our arrangement."
A murmur rippled through the gathered villagers, their fear mounting. Shen Yi clenched his fists, his jaw tightening, but he remained silent. The crimson-robed man took a step forward, his aura intensifying, forcing some of the villagers to instinctively step back.
From my hidden position, I analyzed the situation. This man was clearly a cultivator, a so-called Immortal, and from the way he carried himself, he seemed confident in his authority and strength. His robes marked him as a disciple of the Shadowthorn Covenant Sect, which explained the fear he inspired. This wasn't just an individual's arrogance—it was the weight of an entire sect backing his actions.
So this is a Cultivator, huh?
Zi Tu stood near the back of the crowd, his face pale and tense. He had told me about the sect's oppressive rule, but seeing it in action was another matter entirely. His hands trembled as he gripped his staff, his gaze flicking nervously between the disciple and the villagers.
"You there," the disciple said suddenly, pointing toward a young boy standing near his mother. The boy flinched, clutching at his mother's skirt, while she instinctively pulled him closer.
"Perhaps we'll take something more valuable than grain this time," the disciple said, his smirk widening. "A little hard labor in the sect's mines might teach your village the value of proper tribute."
The boy's mother gasped, shaking her head vehemently. "Please, no! He's just a child!"
The disciple tilted his head mockingly. "A child, yes, but one who can grow into a useful tool. Better to serve the sect than waste away in this pitiful village."
The mother's pleading voice cracked with desperation, her arms wrapping protectively around her child. The tension in the square was thick, pressing against everyone like a suffocating fog. The disciple's smirk deepened as he took a deliberate step forward, his crimson robes flowing with an almost theatrical elegance.
I remained in the shadows, my breath steady as I watched the scene unfold. The Tang Dao at my side felt cool against my leg, but my grip didn't move toward it. The situation was volatile, and I understood the balance of power all too well. This wasn't my fight. Not yet.
The disciple crouched slightly, lowering himself to eye level with the boy. His predatory grin revealed a hint of malice. "Don't worry," he said softly, though his voice carried an edge that cut deeper than his words. "The mines will teach you discipline. It's better than growing up in a village that can't even provide for itself."
The boy whimpered, his small frame trembling as he clung to his mother. The villagers watched helplessly, their fear chaining them in place. Shen Yi stepped forward again, his voice unsteady but filled with defiance. "This... this isn't right! You've taken more than enough from us! Leave the boy alone!"
The disciple straightened, his smile fading into a cold, menacing glare. The weight of his aura grew heavier, and Shen Yi stumbled slightly, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he struggled to stand his ground.
"Enough?" The disciple's voice was low, dangerous. "You think you're in a position to decide what's enough? Perhaps I should take you instead. The mines could always use another pair of hands."
Shen Yi froze, his defiance crumbling as the disciple's words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. The surrounding villagers averted their gazes, unwilling to meet the disciple's wrath.
From my hidden vantage point, I analyzed every detail. The disciple's mannerisms, his aura, the villagers' reactions—all of it painted a clear picture of the dynamics at play. He was strong, at least in the context of this village, and he knew it. The sect's influence was absolute here, and any resistance would be crushed swiftly and without mercy.
This was no different from the hierarchies I had observed in the White Room. Power dictated order, and fear enforced compliance. There was no room for sentimentality or misplaced ideals. Acting rashly here would only invite disaster. I had no intention of drawing unnecessary attention to myself or provoking a force I didn't fully understand.
The disciple raised his hand, a faint glow emanating from his palm. The villagers recoiled, some shielding their faces as if expecting a blow. The air around him shimmered, a subtle display of power meant to remind them of their place.
"You should be grateful for the protection the sect provides," he said, his voice calm but laced with a dangerous edge. "Without us, you'd all be at the mercy of the beasts and rogues that lurk beyond your pitiful borders."
His gaze swept across the crowd, his smirk returning as he basked in their fear. "But I'm feeling generous today," he continued, lowering his hand. "The boy stays—for now. Consider this your only warning. Next time, the sect won't be so forgiving."
The tension in the square eased slightly, though the fear remained palpable. The disciple turned sharply on his heel, his robes swirling around him as he began to walk away. The villagers parted silently, their heads bowed as he passed. No one dared to speak, let alone move.
From my position, I observed his every step, noting the way his aura receded gradually, like a storm retreating but leaving destruction in its wake. The villagers' relief was visible, though it was tinged with lingering dread. This wasn't the end of their troubles—only a temporary reprieve.
I stayed hidden until the disciple disappeared into the misty edges of the village, his form swallowed by the shadows. Only then did I step back from my vantage point, my mind racing with the implications of what I had just witnessed.
The disciple had revealed much, even in his arrogance. The Shadowthorn Covenant Sect's control over the region was absolute, their demands enforced with calculated cruelty. But more importantly, I had seen a glimpse of the power that cultivators wielded in this world. It wasn't just physical strength or martial skill—it was something far more profound, something that could shape the very fabric of reality.
So this is what it means to be a cultivator, I thought, my gaze shifting toward the villagers, who were beginning to disperse.
For now, I would remain an observer. There was still too much I didn't know, and provoking the sect would only invite unnecessary risks. But the encounter had planted a seed—a desire to understand this world's power structure and the role cultivation played within it.
As the square emptied, I turned away, my steps light and deliberate as I made my way back to Zi Tu's home. Tonight, I would reflect on what I had seen. And tomorrow, I would continue to gather information, piece by piece, until the path forward became clear.
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ
The morning sun filtered weakly through the mist, casting a pale glow over the village. I sat cross-legged on the floor of Zi Tu's home, surrounded by the remnants of my experiments—herbs, powders, and the faintly glistening Moonshade Veinleaf. For the past week, I had focused all my attention on deciphering the so-called curse that afflicted Zi Tu's son.
This morning, I felt the pieces falling into place.
Carefully, I crushed a portion of the Moonshade Veinleaf, its silvery sap pooling in a small wooden bowl. Mixing it with a few common herbs I had tested earlier, I created a paste that shimmered faintly. The energy it emitted was subtle but undeniable, like the hum of a wire pulled taut.
This was it.
I approached the man's bedside, his frail body lying still against the coarse blankets. His pale face and darkened veins painted a grim picture. I applied the paste to the inflamed area around his arm, watching intently. At first, there was no reaction, but then the dark veins pulsed faintly, their color receding slightly. The man's breathing, shallow and uneven moments ago, began to steady.
A faint spark of satisfaction flickered in my mind. The mixture worked—partially.
The door creaked open, and Zi Tu entered, his tired eyes widening as he saw the improvement. "Bái Xūé, is it...?"
"It's a start," I replied, my tone measured. "The paste is mitigating the symptoms, but it won't eliminate the curse entirely."
Zi Tu's shoulders sagged with a mix of relief and worry. "What more can we do?"
I glanced at the scattered herbs on the table. "The Moonshade Veinleaf is effective, but its properties need to be stabilized for a lasting effect. There's another plant—Frostshade Moss—that could enhance its potency. Fortunately, it's not rare. It grows near damp and shaded areas. There should be some by the stream outside the village."
Relief washed over Zi Tu's face, but it was quickly replaced by concern. "You've already done so much. I can gather the moss."
I shook my head. "No. You're in no condition to search for it. I'll retrieve it." The task was straightforward—no unnecessary risks, no unknown dangers. It was a calculated effort, one that would benefit me by honing my understanding of this world's plants while avoiding unnecessary entanglements.
Zi Tu hesitated, clearly torn, but he eventually nodded. "Be careful, Bái Xūé. And thank you. I don't have words for how much this means."
I didn't respond. Words of gratitude had little weight for me. I was here for practical reasons, and helping Zi Tu and his son align with my goals—for now.
...
The stream lay just outside the village, its clear waters cutting through the dense mist like a silver thread. The sound of flowing water was soothing, almost meditative, as I scanned the shaded banks. It didn't take long to find the moss—its soft, bluish-green patches clung to the damp stones like a natural carpet.
Kneeling, I carefully scraped several portions into a pouch. The faint chill that radiated from the moss hinted at its unique properties. It was a fascinating discovery; this world's flora seemed to possess qualities that went beyond Earth's understanding of botany.
As I finished collecting the moss, I paused, my gaze drifting across the stream. The valley beyond stretched into the unknown, its shadows deep and inviting. Somewhere out there were answers—about this world, its rules, and the so-called Immortals who wielded power like an extension of themselves. For now, though, survival and preparation took precedence.
As I was preparing to return my trip to the village, I felt two presences nearby.
As I crouched by the stream, carefully securing the pouch of Frostshade Moss into my makeshift satchel, the faint rustle of movement reached my ears. Instantly, my senses sharpened. This wasn't the casual scurrying of wildlife or the gentle rustling of the wind through the skeletal trees—it was deliberate.
Two presences.
I straightened slowly, my hand instinctively brushing the hilt of the Tang Dao strapped to my side. My eyes scanned the misty surroundings, honing in on faint distortions in the fog. Two figures emerged, their forms becoming clearer as they approached.
The first was unmistakable—Fang, the burly bandit whose life I had spared during our previous encounter. His expression was a mix of anger and malice, his brutish features twisting into a sneer. But it was the man beside him who commanded my full attention.
Tall and lean, the stranger radiated a presence that pressed against my senses. He wore dark robes with crimson patterns running along the seams, and his sharp features were set in an expression of faint disdain. There was an unnatural weight in the air around him, similar to what I had felt from the Shadowthorn Covenant Sect's disciple in the village a week ago.
This man was no ordinary individual. Like the disciple, his very presence seemed to command the space around him, bending it to his will. A cultivator.
Fang spat at the ground, his expression dark with fury. "You thought you could humiliate me and get away with it, kid? My uncle's here to settle the score."
His uncle. That explained the oppressive aura. While I didn't know his name, the connection was clear. This was the Qi Condensation cultivator Fang had boasted about before—a man who clearly held power beyond what ordinary villagers could even comprehend.
"Your silence speaks volumes," the cultivator said, his voice smooth but laced with arrogance. "Perhaps you've realized the gravity of your situation."
He took a step forward, his presence intensifying. The air felt heavier, the mist swirling faintly around him as though responding to his will. My grip tightened on the Tang Dao, but I remained outwardly calm.
"Tracking me down over hurt pride," I said flatly, my tone devoid of fear or mockery. "Seems a bit excessive, doesn't it?"
Fang growled, his fists clenching. "Don't you dare talk back, Brat! My uncle's going to make you regret the day you crossed me!"
The cultivator raised a hand, silencing Fang with a single gesture. "Enough," he said, his tone carrying quiet authority. He fixed his gaze on me, his eyes sharp and calculating. "You're bold; I'll grant you that. But arrogance is a poor shield against strength."
He stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back. His movements were measured, and deliberate, as though he already considered the matter resolved. I remained still, my mind racing as I analyzed the situation.
This man's aura was leagues above Fang's brutish aggression. It wasn't just strength—it was control. The way the air seemed to ripple around him, the faint hum of energy in his presence, all pointed to the cultivation level Fang had mentioned before. Qi Condensation.
This will be a difficult fight.
"I'll give you one chance," the cultivator continued, his voice calm but firm. "Surrender now, and I might make your death painless."
I tilted my head slightly, as though considering his words. "Tempting," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "But I think I'll pass."
Fang snarled, stepping forward with his axe raised. "Uncle, let me—"
"Silence," the cultivator said coldly, his voice cutting through the air. Fang froze in place, his fury giving way to reluctant obedience.
The cultivator's gaze returned to me, his smirk widening. "So be it."
Without warning, he thrust his palm forward, a wave of force rippling through the air. The mist parted as the attack raced toward me, scattering loose leaves and dust in its wake. I sidestepped swiftly, the force grazing past me and striking a nearby tree. The impact splintered the trunk with a deafening crack, sending pieces of wood flying.
I didn't react outwardly, but my mind was sharp and calculating. His control over this energy was clear, but his attack lacked finesse—it was a show of power, meant to intimidate.
"You're quick," he said, his smirk returning. "But speed alone won't save you."
He closed the distance in an instant, his movements fluid and precise. His fist glowed faintly with energy as it shot toward me. I twisted my body, narrowly avoiding the strike, and countered with a quick slash of the Tang Dao aimed at his midsection.
The blade met resistance, his Qi forming an invisible barrier that deflected the attack. The force of the impact sent a jolt up my arm, but I used the momentum to pivot away, creating distance once more.
The cultivator's smirk widened as his Qi surged around him, a palpable wave of energy distorting the air. He raised his glowing palm, his voice booming with anger.
"Force Palm!" he roared, thrusting his hand forward. The energy coalesced into a concentrated wave that hurled toward me, tearing through the mist like a tidal force.
I sidestepped again, the attack grazing my shoulder and hitting a giant boulder behind me, destroying it in the process. My movements were fluid, but I didn't underestimate the raw force of the attack. If that had hit me directly, it would've shattered bones.
"You're faster than I expected," the cultivator snarled, his Qi flaring brighter. "Let's see how long you can keep running."
Without giving me time to respond, he charged forward, his speed nearly doubling. The glowing palm of his right hand shimmered with energy as he lunged.
"Piercing Fang Thrust!" he shouted, the energy at his fingertips elongating into a sharp, spear-like projection.
The thrust was fast—too fast to evade completely. I twisted my body, narrowly avoiding a fatal hit, but the energy tore through the fabric of my tunic and left a shallow cut across my ribs. The searing pain was immediate, but it didn't matter to me.

My Tang Dao lashed out in a sharp arc aimed at his midsection.

He deflected the blade with a Qi barrier, the impact sending a jolt up my arm. I used the momentum to pivot away, creating distance once more. Blood trickled down my side, but I ignored it, my mind entirely focused on analyzing his movements.
"You've got some skill with that blade," the cultivator admitted, his tone laced with grudging respect. "But skill alone won't save you. A mortal can't contend with the power of Qi."
I remained silent, my expression unreadable as I adjusted my grip on the Tang Dao. His arrogance worked to my advantage; he saw me as an ant trying to bite a giant. That confidence would make him predictable.
The cultivator attacked again, closing the distance in a flash. His palm glowed as he unleashed another Force Palm, this one with even greater intensity. I braced myself, diving to the side to evade it. The ground where I had stood erupted, dirt and debris flying into the air.
"Stop running, boy!" he barked, his frustration evident. "Face me properly if you dare!"
I didn't rise to his taunts. Instead, I began maneuvering him subtly, step by step, toward the figure of Fang, who was still spectating the fight from afar. The cultivator was skilled, but his reliance on brute force and overwhelming presence left gaps in his awareness.
He lunged at me again, his attacks coming faster now, his anger fueling his movements. Each thrust and palm strike was more aggressive than the last.
"Piercing Fang Thrust!" he shouted once more, the Qi spear slicing through the air.
This time, I countered directly. My Tang Dao met the Qi spear head-on, deflecting it with a precise angle that sent the energy spiraling into the ground. The cultivator staggered slightly, his eyes narrowing as he reassessed me.
"How are you keeping up?" he demanded, his tone a mix of irritation and curiosity. "No mortal should be able to withstand this!"
I didn't reply, my breathing steady despite the strain. He was powerful, yes, but not invincible. His attacks were predictable now, each one more reckless as his frustration mounted. I capitalized on his overconfidence, landing a series of strikes that chipped away at his defenses. Shallow cuts marred his arms and torso, though his Qi barrier absorbed the worst of the damage.
Then he landed a hit.
A powerful hit—though not a Force Palm—connected squarely with my chest, the impact like a sledgehammer driving into my ribs. Pain exploded through my body as I was hurled backward, crashing into a tree with enough force to shake its branches. Blood filled my mouth, and I coughed violently, the metallic taste sharp on my tongue.
The cultivator sneered, confidence returning as he stalked toward me. "You should've surrendered," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "This is the price of defiance."
But he didn't seem to realize my true intent as I pushed myself to my feet. Pain radiated through my body, but it was just pain. I kept breathing steadily. This fight was going as planned, and he didn't seem to understand this.
Every step, every dodge, and every counter had brought us closer to Fang. The trembling bandit was now directly behind me, his wide eyes darting between me and his uncle, who was now further away from me as his attack blasted me away.
In a blur of motion, I closed the distance between myself and Fang. My hand shot out, grabbing the bandit by the throat and lifting him off the ground with ease.
Fang's eyes bulged with terror, his hands clawing weakly at my grip. "W-wait! Don't—"
The cultivator froze mid-attack, his eyes narrowing as he processed the scene. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice cold.
I turned my gaze to him, my expression as calm and detached as ever. "Leverage," I said simply, tightening my grip on Fang's throat. The bandit let out a strangled gasp, his struggles growing weaker with every passing moment.
"Release him!" the cultivator barked, his Qi flaring dangerously. "Do you think this will save you?"
"No," I replied evenly, my voice devoid of any emotion. "But it'll slow you down."
Before he could react, I released Fang—but not to spare him. I slammed him to the ground with brutal force, his body landing with a sickening thud. His panicked cries filled the clearing, his voice cracking with desperation.
"Uncle! Help me!" Fang wailed, tears streaming down his face as he clawed at the dirt. His entire body trembled, his earlier bravado replaced by unadulterated terror.
The cultivator hesitated, his Qi flickering uncertainly. "Fang—"
I didn't wait. In one fluid motion, I raised the Tang Dao high and brought it down with calculated precision, the blade piercing Fang's throat. The sharp steel drove cleanly through, severing his windpipe and arteries in a single, decisive strike.
Fang's eyes widened in sheer horror, his hands instinctively clawing at the blade lodged in his neck. Blood spurted in rhythmic bursts, coating my hands and the hilt of the sword. He tried to scream, but only a wet, gurgling sound escaped as crimson bubbles formed at his lips. His body convulsed violently, his fingers grasping weakly at the air before falling limp.
The clearing went silent, save for the faint, grotesque gurgles that emanated from Fang's throat as life drained from his body. His raised arm twitched once before collapsing to his side, the light in his eyes dimming until they stared lifelessly at the darkening sky. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the dirt a deep, foreboding red.
The cultivator stood frozen, his face a mix of shock, disbelief, and fury. The bloodied Tang Dao gleamed in the faint light as I pulled it free, the wet squelch of the blade exiting the flesh echoing in the stillness. Droplets of blood spattered onto the ground, adding to the already growing pool.
"You—" the cultivator began, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. His Qi surged around him like a raging storm, distorting the air as he stepped forward.
I turned to face him fully, my gaze cold. The blood on my hands and blade didn't bother me. Fang's lifeless body lay crumpled at my feet.
"You'll pay for this!" the cultivator roared, his voice shaking with fury.
I didn't respond; my feelings didn't change one bit when I killed the burly bandit. I put my left hand on my chest, trying to feel my heartbeat. It hasn't changed one bit. It was the same as ever.
His uncle, now in an emotional condition, can't control his anger. Anger, when controlled, can be a weapon, but here he let anger control him.
This fight was over.
The cultivator lashed out with a fierce palm strike, his Qi condensing into visible waves of force. "Force Palm!" he shouted, the attack aimed directly at my torso.
I sidestepped smoothly, allowing the attack to pass harmlessly by, its energy dissipating into the empty air. The force shattered a tree behind me, the splintered wood scattering like shrapnel, but I didn't flinch.
"Stand still!" he snarled, his voice laced with desperation as he spun into a follow-up strike. His footwork was precise, but his movements were growing sloppy, driven by raw emotion rather than calculated intent.
He thrust his palm again. "Force Palm!"
Again, I evaded, my body moving with practiced efficiency. My focus never wavered, my every action deliberate. His attacks came one after another, each infused with a significant amount of Qi. Yet, none of them landed.
His frustration mounted, and I could see it in his eyes. Anger was a weapon, but only when wielded with control. Here, it was a poison, clouding his judgment and driving him further into reckless expenditure of his strength.
He roared, drawing back. With condensed Qi at his fingertips, he lunged forward. "Piercing Fang Thrust!" he cried, his voice echoing through the clearing.
The attack was fast—faster than the others—but predictable. I brought up my Tang Dao, deflecting his spear-like projection. The force of the impact vibrated through my arm, but I maintained my composure, shifting my weight to counter his momentum. 
"You can't keep dodging forever!" he hissed, his tone dripping with frustration. "Fight me!"
I didn't respond. There was no need. My plan was simple: let him exhaust himself. Cultivators, no matter how powerful, couldn't maintain their Qi indefinitely. He might have an edge in raw strength and technique, but his emotional state made him predictable—a fatal flaw.
The cultivator attacked relentlessly, each move more desperate than the last. He unleashed another Force Palm, the energy rippling toward me with destructive intent. I ducked low, the blast grazing past me and tearing through the ground. He followed up with a Piercing Fang Thrust, but I sidestepped, his attack missing me.
"You're toying with me!" he shouted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The strain was evident in the way his movements slowed, his once-fluid attacks becoming sluggish and uneven. Sweat dripped from his brow, and the glow of his Qi dimmed with each passing second.
I pressed my advantage, feinting toward him to keep him on the defensive. He swung his fists wildly, as I stepped just out of range—there was no point in deflecting those if I could just exhaust him. Every missed attack only drained him further, both physically and mentally.
"How... how are you still standing?" he panted, his chest heaving. His aura wavered, the once-overwhelming presence now a mere shadow of its former intensity.
I met his gaze, my own expression calm and cold, waiting for him to attack again.
At my lack of response, the cultivator's face twisted in rage.
He lunged again, his movements erratic, his attacks lacking the precision they once had. I evaded effortlessly, my own energy conserved, my body moving as if in a dance. Each step I took brought us closer to where I wanted him—closer to his nephew's bloodied body.
Finally, he overextended, his strike leaving him open. I seized the opportunity, closing the distance and grabbing his arm, twisting it with calculated force. He cried out in pain, staggering backward.
Before he could recover, I delivered a sharp kick to his chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.
The cultivator lay sprawled on the ground, his chest heaving and his robes stained with dirt and sweat. His hand trembled as he raised it, the faint glow of Qi beginning to coalesce around his fist. "Force Palm!" he growled, desperation lacing his voice.
But the light flickered and died. His Qi dissipated like smoke on the wind, leaving only his clenched fist trembling in futility. His eyes widened in horror as he looked at his hand, realization dawning on him.
"You... you drained me," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
I stepped forward, my Tang Dao held loosely at my side. My gaze remained fixed on him, unreadable and cold. His breathing grew ragged as I drew closer, his expression shifting from anger to panic.
"Stay back!" he barked, his voice cracking. "I'm warning you! You don't know who I am! My sect will hunt you down! You'll regret this!"
I said nothing, my steps were measured and deliberate. The cultivator scrambled backward, his hands searching the ground for something—anything—to defend himself. He found a broken branch and held it out shakily as if the pitiful weapon could stop me.
"Think about what you're doing!" he continued, his tone now a mixture of anger and fear. "Killing me will bring the full wrath of my Sect down upon you! You can't outrun them! You'll die a thousand deaths for this!"
I paused for a moment, studying him. His words were hollow, desperate attempts to regain control of a situation that had slipped entirely from his grasp.
"Please," he said, his voice softening as his bravado crumbled. "You don't have to do this. Let me go. I swear I won't come after you. I'll even tell the sect you're not worth their time. Just... just let me live."
Still, I didn't respond. His pleas were as meaningless as his threats. My decision had already been made.
The cultivator's breathing quickened, his eyes darting around as if searching for a way out. "I... I can give you resources! Information! Whatever you want! Just spare me!"
I said nothing, my expression cold and unchanging. Without a word, I raised the Tang Dao. The blade gleamed faintly in the dim light, its edge catching the last remnants of the setting sun. The cultivator's eyes widened in terror.
His trembling hand reached out weakly, a futile gesture. His panicked eyes locked onto mine, searching for some shred of mercy or hesitation. Instead, he found nothing. No anger. No satisfaction. No regret. Only a hollow void, an abyss that reflected back his fear.
His lips quivered, and a faint whisper escaped them, barely audible. "Monster..."
I didn't respond.
"No! Wait—" His plea was cut short as I brought the blade down in a single, precise motion. The sharp edge sliced cleanly through his throat, the force of the strike silencing him instantly.
A gurgling sound escaped his lips as blood poured from the wound, staining the earth beneath him. His body twitched briefly before going still, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky. A pool of crimson spread outward, its color stark against the muted tones of the forest floor.
I stood over his body for a moment, the Tang Dao still in my hand. My expression remained impassive as I reached for a nearby leaf, using it to wipe the blade clean with a single, efficient motion. The blood smeared away easily, leaving the steel gleaming once more.
With the immediate threat eliminated, I surveyed the scene. Two bodies, both reeking of failure and desperation, lay before me. Leaving them here would only attract unwanted attention. I couldn't afford that.
I retrieved a small shovel from my satchel—a tool I carried for practical reasons—and began digging. The work was slow and methodical, but I didn't rush. Every movement was deliberate, every step part of a calculated process. The soft earth yielded easily, forming a shallow grave beneath the canopy of skeletal trees.
Once the graves were ready, I dragged the bodies into the pits, their weight cumbersome but manageable. I laid them side by side, their faces obscured by shadows, and began covering them with dirt. The sound of soil falling onto flesh was oddly muted, swallowed by the oppressive stillness of the woods.
When the task was complete, I stood back, surveying the unmarked graves. The ground was uneven, but it would suffice. No one would find them here—not unless they knew exactly where to look.
I turned my attention to myself, noting the bloodstains on my clothes and the faint metallic scent clinging to my skin. A stream ran nearby, its waters clear and cold. I knelt by the edge, using the frigid water to wash away the evidence of the fight. The blood swirled and dissolved, carried away by the gentle current.
Once I was clean, I stood and adjusted my satchel, the Frostshade Moss safely secured within. The Tang Dao rested at my side, its weight a familiar comfort.
Without sparing another glance at the graves, I turned and began making my way back toward the village. The forest swallowed the site behind me, its silence undisturbed.
***
A/N: 14.5k words. A new record for me and one that will probably stand for a long time.
My respect for people who write more than this for a regular chapter, takes a damn long time. Well, nevertheless, this short 'arc' within a large arc is approaching its end.

The next chapter will probably finish it, though I don't know when that one will come out.

In today's episode, we had: MedicKouji, 'KindKouji' and MurderKouji. Turn on next time to find other hidden variations!
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So, a reader made me aware that Bái Xū means shabby, broken down—lmao.

And while that to a certain degree fits Ayanokoji's character, I have decided—thanks to that reader—to change his name to Bái Xūé [白学]

About Ayanokoji's alias Bái Xūé [白学]; Bái(白) means "white, pure", while Xūé (学) means "study, learning, school". The same spelling but with a different character (雪) means "snow". With that: Bái (white) stands for the White Room, while Xūé (study, learning, school) means that he is always learning.
For now, I wish you happy holidays, and I wish you a happy and healthy start into the New Year.
Until then, till the next time!