The morning haze curled softly across the valley as Zhen Yuan led Lu Chen down a narrow path, flanked by wildflowers and moss-covered stones. The air smelled faintly of pine and wet earth—fresh, alive.
"This land used to be sacred," Zhen Yuan said, his voice light, almost nostalgic. "Before it was forgotten."
They stepped onto a wide stone platform, cracked and worn by time, nestled halfway up the hill. Ancient scriptures etched into the surface pulsed faintly beneath Lu Chen's feet, resonating with a rhythm he couldn't name.
Zhen Yuan stood silently for a moment, letting the wind carry the silence between them.
Below, the village stretched across the land like a memory brought to life. Homes of wood-laminate and composite metal stood with sloping roofs, evoking an older world. Fields of spirit grain swayed in the breeze, their glow catching the sunset. Children darted through the lanes, laughter echoing between homes engineered for charm as much as function.
But what caught Lu Chen's eye were the six towers—tall, pale structures built on the edges of the territory, like solemn guardians. At their peaks, faint lights shimmered within lighthouse-like chambers, flickering not with fire, but with an artificial, almost mechanical glow.
"Outposts," Zhen Yuan said, following his gaze. "They keep watch. And they hold back what lies beyond."
"Beyond what?" Lu Chen asked.
Zhen Yuan turned to him, his expression unreadable. "The dead. The forgotten. Remnants of the war we lost."
A distant howl echoed from one of the towers. Lu Chen stiffened, but Zhen Yuan didn't flinch.
"Don't worry," he said. "They're held—for now."
The path down from the hill curved gently, leading them toward the heart of the village. Lu Chen walked beside Zhen Yuan in silence, the wind cool against his cheeks. Below, rooftops peeked between rows of trees, and stone lanterns lined the narrow roads like watchful eyes.
The village was vast, far larger than he'd expected. Terraced fields spilled down the hillsides, and soft trails of smoke drifted up from chimneys. It felt quiet here, but not dead—just slow, as if time took longer to move.
As they entered the village, people turned. Some stopped what they were doing. A few waved. Others just nodded. Their clothing was simple: linen shirts and trousers, sometimes with coarse robes worn loosely over the shoulders. Many wore pendants—wood, jade, even glass—dangling from cords around their necks. Lu Chen assumed it was tradition.
Zhen Yuan greeted them all with casual ease, sometimes with a few words, sometimes with nothing more than a smile. He laughed with a shopkeeper balancing a bundle of firewood. He paused to pat a boy's head. He accepted a small parcel wrapped in paper from an elderly woman and tucked it into his sleeve without a word.
"He seems well-liked," Lu Chen thought.
They passed under an arched wooden gate into a square where a well sat in the centre. Children played nearby. The buildings here were built of dark wood and stone, with curved roofs and narrow windows. Further off, tall towers rose in the distance, their silhouettes faint through the mist.
No one stared at Lu Chen for long. No one asked questions.
It was peaceful — a little too quiet for his liking, especially after something so big had happened in the village because of him.
"I bet you haven't had a proper meal yet," Zhen Yuan said, smiling as if they were old friends reunited after years apart. His voice was light, almost playful. "Come on, I'll take you to the best noodle house in the village. You'll love it."
As they walked down the gently sloping path into the heart of the village, Lu Chen took in the quiet rhythm of life around him. Children ran barefoot through the fields, their laughter echoing between the hills. The scent of warm broth and fresh herbs floated through the air, carried by a lazy breeze that stirred the villagers' robes.
Stone paths wound through low, tiled houses with wooden beams and trailing vines. Occasionally, a cultivator in slightly more ornate robes passed by, giving Zhen Yuan a respectful nod. Some paused to exchange a few words with him—small talk, casual laughter, a gentle pat on the shoulder. To Lu Chen's surprise, not one of them acted with fear or formality. They adored him.
"You're popular," Lu Chen murmured.
Zhen Yuan chuckled softly. "They trust me. That's all that matters here."
They soon arrived at a small house tucked between two cherry trees. A wooden sign swayed gently above the door, painted with faded gold strokes: Mountain Spring Noodles.
Inside, the noodle house buzzed with warmth and chatter. The scent of bone broth, herbs, and sizzling oil hung thick in the air. Wooden beams crossed overhead, and simple lanterns swayed slightly from the eaves.
As they stepped in, a woman behind the counter looked up from her chopping board—and her expression shifted the moment she saw Zhen Yuan.
"Well well, look who the cat dragged in," she said, resting a hand on her hip. "Did the great Zhen Yuan finally remember where to get a proper meal?"
Zhen Yuan chuckled. "I'd never forget. Just been... out wandering."
She wiped her hands on her apron and walked over, eyes gleaming. "Wandering, huh? That what you're calling it now?"
"I brought a guest today," Zhen Yuan said, gesturing to Lu Chen. "Figured he deserved a taste of the best noodles in the realm."
The woman's gaze flicked briefly to Lu Chen, then back to Zhen Yuan, her smile lingering a moment too long. "Hmph. Flattery again? If you weren't you, I'd charge double."
"I'd pay it," he said with a grin.
She laughed softly, and as she turned back toward the kitchen, she added, "I'll make it just the way you like. Extra coriander, no onions. I remember exactly what you like."
There was a slight sway in her step as she walked off, a teasing glance over her shoulder.
Lu Chen leaned in slightly. "She seems... fond of you."
Zhen Yuan gave a small shrug, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Old friend. Maybe from another lifetime."
They settled into a corner table by the window. Sunlight filtered through the paper screens, casting soft, golden shapes across the worn wooden surface. The noodle house bustled around them, but at their table, it felt calm—almost suspended in time.
As bowls of steaming broth were set before them, Lu Chen's curiosity finally slipped past his caution.
"You really seem close to her," he said, lifting his chopsticks.
Zhen Yuan smiled faintly, stirring his soup. "Ah, the lady boss? She's grown so much. Last time I was here, she was barely six."
Lu Chen blinked. "Twenty years ago?"
Zhen Yuan nodded.
"But... you don't look like you've aged a day since then," Lu Chen muttered. "You don't even look thirty."
Zhen Yuan chuckled, taking a slow sip from his bowl. "Cultivation tends to stretch time a little differently."
Lu Chen stared at him, unsure whether to be amazed or concerned. "So... how long have you actually lived?"
Zhen Yuan tilted his head slightly, as though tasting a thought rather than the broth. "Long enough to know that the years don't always matter. What matters is how you spend them."
"That's not an answer," Lu Chen said quietly.
"No," Zhen Yuan said, smiling at him from across the table. "It's not."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was heavy. Weighted with things not yet said.
Outside, a breeze rustled the wind chimes.
Zhen Yuan picked up his chopsticks and stirred the noodles gently, his eyes closing for a brief moment as if savoring the anticipation. Then, without hesitation, he took a bite. The flavor seemed to transport him for a moment, a rare softness in his usual demeanor. He chewed slowly, almost thoughtfully, as the warmth of the meal spread through him.
"This is... surprisingly good," Zhen Yuan said, lifting his gaze to the ladyboss, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I haven't had something like this in years. You don't realize how much you miss the simple pleasures until they're gone." He glanced back at Lu Chen, his eyes glinting with a strange, knowing light.
Lu Chen, still taken aback by Zhen Yuan's enjoyment of something so mundane, couldn't help but ask, "What do you usually eat then?"
Zhen Yuan smiled wistfully, his eyes softening for a moment. "Air, snow, water—things that don't have taste," he replied, his voice carrying a tone of quiet sadness.
Lu Chen raised an eyebrow, unable to hide his disbelief. "Really?"
"Of course," Zhen Yuan chuckled, a brief glint of amusement returning to his eyes. "Little boy, cultivators don't really need to eat to sustain themselves."
He took another bite of his noodles, the casualness of it contrasting with the weight of his words. The laugh was light, but there was a depth to it—a quiet melancholy in the way he spoke of sustenance, as if it was a luxury far beyond his reach.
Zhen Yuan set his chopsticks down gently, letting the warmth of the noodle broth fade on his tongue before he spoke. His voice, once light and teasing, now carried a gravity that silenced even the faint clatter of the noodle house.
"Now," he said, eyes drifting toward the horizon where dark smoke curled above the treeline. "Let's talk about what really matters. You see that gate?"
Lu Chen followed his gaze. The boundary stood far off, veiled in shadow and strange flickering light, as if the land itself recoiled from what lay beyond it.
"After the statue was broken, the seal began to fail," Zhen Yuan continued. "But that statue… it wasn't just a seal."
He leaned back slightly, a strange weariness pulling at the corners of his mouth. "It was a pact."
Lu Chen blinked. "A pact?"
Zhen Yuan nodded. "A divine agreement — between this land and a forgotten god. A deal struck in the aftermath of a war most people don't even remember. In exchange for peace, for protection, the statue stood as both symbol and anchor. It didn't just suppress the shadows—it fed them, slowly, deliberately, like bleeding poison out of a wound."
Lu Chen felt a chill creep up his spine. "And now that it's broken…"
Zhen Yuan's voice dipped into a whisper. "The pact is void. The god is silent. And the shadows… are waking."
He turned, looking Lu Chen in the eye — not with fear, but the calm of someone who had already come to terms with something monstrous.
"The last time they breached the gate, we nearly lost everything. Entire squads — cultivators at Qi Condensation and Foundation Stage — fell like wheat to the scythe. The beasts they brought with them were twisted, furious things. Not natural. Not alive. Our weapons barely scratched them."
A silence fell. Zhen Yuan's hand absently traced the rim of his bowl.
"That statue didn't just hold them back. It kept them appeased. Now they remember. Now they hunger."
He nodded toward Lu Chen. "That's why I brought you here. I saw the wound in your core. It's broken… but not lost. It's unlike the artificial ones we use for mortals, but I believe I can restore it."
Lu Chen narrowed his eyes. "What do you want in return?"
Zhen Yuan smiled faintly. "You already know. Join the clan. Fight with us. I won't lie — there's risk. But I can give you purpose. Power. A way forward."
A gust of wind swept through the village, rattling the lanterns outside. Somewhere far off, a howl echoed across the ridgeline — too low, too inhuman.
Lu Chen didn't speak for a long time.
The scent of broth still lingered in the air, but neither of them moved. Outside, the wind carried a strange stillness — as if the land itself was holding its breath.
Zhen Yuan's voice broke the silence, calm yet firm. Or rather, it wasn't quite a request anymore.
"Let's head to the gate tonight."
Lu Chen looked up slowly. Zhen Yuan's gaze was already fixed on the rising smoke in the distance, his expression unreadable.
"We'll need to defend the village," he said. "Tonight, they'll come. They always do, when the shadows stir. And this time, there may be no wall left to fall back to."
His words weren't loud, but there was steel beneath them. It was a command wrapped in quiet certainty. Zhen Yuan, for all his warmth and smiles, had the voice of someone used to being obeyed.
Lu Chen's jaw tightened slightly. Part of him still didn't trust this man — this too-kind, too-powerful man who smiled like a friend but hid a storm behind his eyes. But another part… understood.
Something had to be done.
"…Alright," Lu Chen said at last, his voice low. "Tonight, then."
Zhen Yuan gave a single nod, then stood. The ladyboss, who had been watching from behind the counter with barely disguised interest, nearly stepped forward to say something — but caught herself and bowed her head instead.
As they left the noodle house, the wind grew colder, and far off in the hills, a distant bell tolled once — low and slow.
A signal.
A warning.
Something was already on the move.