A wave of scorched air rolled over Ashen Village, bending grass and wilting leaves that had only just returned overnight. The recovering trees trembled, their newly grown branches rattling as if sensing an approaching predator.
Then came the noise.
Boots.
Laughter.
And the crackle of flame-fed Qi tearing through the air.
"Bandits!" someone screamed.
Ashen Village erupted into chaos. Doors slammed shut. Mothers dragged children inside. The few cultivators among the villagers rushed forward with rusted blades and unstable Qi, fear bleeding through their postures.
At the edge of the village, a line of figures emerged from the haze.
Fire Element Bandits.
Their leader walked at the front, bare-armed despite the heat, flames coiling lazily around his shoulders like living serpents. His cultivation hovered at the late Golden Core Realm, unstable, forced, and scarred by too many desperate breakthroughs. Behind him followed a dozen others, weapons ignited, eyes bright with hunger.
"Looks like the village got greener," the bandit leader sneered. "Means someone's been hoarding vitality."
He raised his hand.
"Burn it."
Fire surged forward.
A wall of flame roared toward the outer houses, heat so intense it warped the air itself. Villagers screamed as crude defensive talismans shattered on contact.
Qing Yao stood in front of the shabby house, fists clenched, earth-aspect Qi trembling around her legs as she forced herself not to retreat. Qing Chen stood behind her, pale, breath uneven, eyes fixed on the firestorm rushing closer.
Then…
Suddenly, the flames dimmed.
Not extinguished or blocked.
They just slowed.
Dao Wei stepped forward.
He did not release his Qi. Each step carried stillness with it, spreading outward like ripples across water. The firestorm shuddered, its roar breaking into uneven flickers as if confused by something it could not consume.
The bandits halted.
"What the hell…!" one of them muttered.
Dao Wei stopped between the bandits and the village. Ash swirled around his feet, but did not touch him. His robe fluttered gently, untouched by heat.
"Who?" The bandit leader narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
Dao Wei looked at him.
He saw the scars beneath the arrogance.
The forced breakthroughs.
"You don't deserve to know my name," Dao Wei said calmly.
The bandit leader laughed, flames flaring higher around his arms. "Arrogant! Want to die?"
He thrust his palm forward.
A blazing spear of fire condensed instantly, dense with violent Fire Qi, and shot straight toward Dao Wei's chest.
Dao Wei inhaled.
The world seemed to pause.
The spear of fire slowed midair, its structure destabilizing as it got closer. The Fire Qi trembled, losing cohesion, until the attack unraveled into harmless sparks that faded before touching him.
Shock rippled through the bandits.
"W-What kind of technique…"
"There was no technique," Dao Wei said softly.
He took another step forward.
The flames around the bandits flickered violently. Fire Qi surged out of control, reacting to exposure. Dao Wei's aura peeled back suppression, forcing unstable elements to confront their own imbalance.
The bandit leader staggered. His breathing grew erratic. Images slammed into his mind, villages burned, screams ignored, a younger version of himself kneeling beside a corpse he could not save.
"No—!"
His weapon clattered to the ground.
The flames around him collapsed inward. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head as his cultivation spiraled dangerously close to collapse.
"I didn't want this," he rasped. "I just… I just didn't want to be weak."
Taken aback by the sudden change of events, Dao Wei stopped before the bandit leader.
"Strength taken by force never fills what is empty," Dao Wei said. "It only makes the hollow louder."
The bandit leader's shoulders shook. Tears carved paths through ash on his face as the Fire Qi around him dissipated completely.
Behind him, the other bandits froze. One by one, their flames dimmed. Weapons fell, fear replaced cruelty.
Silence spread across the battlefield.
Then a cry rang out from behind Dao Wei.
Qing Chen had fallen to his knees beside a wounded villager, instinctively pressing his hands against a deep burn. Panic shook his small frame.
"I—I don't know how…" Qing Chen whispered.
"Breathe," Dao Wei said without turning.
Qing Chen inhaled sharply.
Green light bloomed from his chest.
Wood-aspected Qi surged outward, gentle and vibrant, knitting torn flesh and calming scorched meridians. The villager gasped, pain melting away as life returned where fire had consumed it.
The watching villagers stared in disbelief.
Dao Wei finally turned back toward the bandits.
"Leave," he said.
The bandit leader bowed deeply, shakily, before scrambling to his feet and retreating with the others, their shadows swallowed by the haze.
Dao Wei walked back toward Qing Yao and Qing Chen. Qing Yao stared at her brother, then at Dao Wei, her hands trembling.
"What… are you?" she asked quietly.
Dao Wei looked at the recovering trees, the villagers slowly emerging from hiding, the land breathing again.
"A witness," Dao Wei replied.
The village did not sleep that night.
Lanterns were lit across Ashen Village, real ones, not the dim spirit lamps barely clinging to function. People gathered in small groups, voices low but urgent, replaying the events of the raid again and again as if repetition might make it real.
No blood had been spilled.
No houses burned.
And yet, everything had changed.
Dao Wei sat on the low stone step outside the shabby house, listening. The land beneath him was steady, warm in a way Arrata rarely was. Roots shifted deep underground, subtle and content.
Behind him, Qing Chen sat cross-legged, hands resting awkwardly on his knees. He had not spoken since the raid ended. His breathing was shallow, uneven, but not with fear.
Qing Yao paced back and forth.
She stopped suddenly and turned to Dao Wei. "My brother," she said tightly, "what happened to him?"
Dao Wei did not look up. "He stopped resisting himself."
That was when it happened.
Qing Chen gasped.
A pulse surged from his chest, soft, verdant, unmistakable. Green light spilled through his meridians, no longer faint or hesitant. It flowed naturally, like sap rising through a living tree.
Outside, flowers in the yard bloomed fully, petals unfurling in a silent rush. The recovering trees across the village shuddered as fresh leaves burst forth, branches thickening, bark smoothing as vitality flooded into them.
Qing Chen cried out in shock as a phantom image appeared behind him.
A towering tree of light.
Its trunk was straight and unblemished. Its canopy vast, radiant, and endless. Countless petals drifted from its branches, dissolving into pure life essence before touching the ground.
Villagers fell to their knees instinctively, some in awe, others in terror. Even Qing Yao staggered back, breath stolen from her lungs.
"A… soul manifestation?" she whispered.
Dao Wei finally stood.
"Yes," Dao Wei said calmly. "And a rare one."
The image behind Qing Chen stabilized, then gently faded back into his body. Qing Chen slumped forward, breathing hard, eyes wide with disbelief.
"I—I didn't do anything," Qing Chen said shakily.
Dao Wei crouched before him and placed two fingers lightly against Qing Chen's sternum. "You did the hardest thing," Dao Wei replied.
The pressure in the air eased.
Qing Yao grabbed Qing Chen's shoulders, checking him frantically. "Are you hurt?"
Qing Chen shook his head slowly. "I feel… full."
Dao Wei nodded. "You have awakened a Wood Martial Soul."
Qing Yao's voice dropped to a whisper. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Dao Wei said, "that if he survives long enough, entire regions could heal simply by his presence."
Qing Yao went pale.
That kind of talent did not bring safety. It brought attention.
Later, when the village finally quieted and exhaustion claimed the fearful and the hopeful alike, Dao Wei returned to the house with the siblings. He reached into his robe and withdrew a thin, unremarkable book. The cover was faded, the binding cracked, the title barely legible.
He handed it to Qing Chen without ceremony.
"Take this," Dao Wei said.
Qing Chen accepted it hesitantly. "What is it?"
"A cultivation skill," Dao Wei replied.
Qing Yao's eyes sharpened instantly. "What grade?"
Dao Wei shrugged. "Purple Grade."
The room went silent.
Qing Yao stared at him. "You…what?"
"It's useless to me," Dao Wei added casually. "And annoying to cultivate."
Qing Chen looked down at the book as if it might explode. "I—I can't—this is too much…"
Dao Wei waved a hand. "If you don't like it, use it as a pillow."
Qing Yao looked ready to scream.
Dao Wei continued, utterly unconcerned. "It's called the Petalstorm Mantra. It has three levels."
He held up a finger.
"Human Level: Petalstorm Rage."
Another finger.
"Earth Level: Porcelain Purity."
A third.
"Heaven Level: Peach Radiance."
Qing Chen swallowed.
"Each level has nine stages," Dao Wei added. "Don't rush. Don't compare. If you reach the Completion of the First stage in a year, that will be great."
Qing Yao stared at the book, then at Dao Wei. "Do you have any idea what this is worth?"
"Yes," Dao Wei replied.
He met her gaze evenly.
"That's why I gave it to him."
Qing Chen hugged the book to his chest, hands trembling. "I won't waste it," he said quietly.
Dao Wei shook his head. "Go practice."
Outside, Ashen Village slept under greener trees and softer air.