The sun cast a scarlet glow upon the horizon, bathing the forest in its dissipating warm glow.
At this point, the village square was sparse of villagers. The merchants, knowing that almost everyone had sold off what they could and bought what they could afford, slowly packed up their wares and food.
The next village was a bit farther to the south, but closer to a big city. They needed to hurry, or else they would lose out on profits once they reached the town.
Meanwhile, Liu Quan stared at Wei Han's departing figure. Wei Han walked, his back as straight and strong as ever, holding a thin book, its covers washed away by time.
"Brother Han…" he muttered, "Why did you have to be so stubborn?"
His long sigh was caught by a nearby caravan guard, confused about Liu Quan's words.
"Brother Quan, it seems your haul wasn't that great?"
Liu Quan shook his head, "It's not about that. It's about Brother Han."
"Him?" The guard looked over Wei Han and was startled, "A martial arts book? He bought one?"
Liu Quan nodded, "For his son, it seems." furrowing his eyes deeper.
...
Yan Lan gasped upon seeing Wei Han return not only with a sackful of items but also with a book in hand.
"Husband, this path... will it not break Shun'er even more?"
Wei Han's calloused hands traced the faded cover. In his youth, he too had once dreamt of stepping into the Jianghu, only to be chained by the village he was born into. Now, with his son, he would not bow to fate a second time.
"Better to have broken bones than a broken spirit."
At that moment, Wei Shun stepped out from his room and noticed his parents talking about something. When his eyes fell on Wei Han's hands, something deep within Wei Shun's heart stirred.
"Father, this is..."
"A martial arts manual, Shun'er," Wei Han stared at his son's eyes, "Your path as a cultivator is cut off, but this is still a road for you to walk."
Wei Shun's gaze lingered on the worn cover. His chest tightened, confused about what to do.
Compared to flying swords and immortal arts like what he had read during his past life, this thin, faded book felt pitiful, as if fate itself had cheated him of his second life.. Yet, behind his father's rough words and a seemingly stubborn will, he felt something else — a fatherly love that refuses to die.
"Father..." he whispered, lips dry, "Even if I train, what do I amount to against a cultivator as a martial artist? Against the heavens itself?"
Wei Han's face darkened, but his grip on the manual only grew firmer.
"Then let it be against hunger. Against wolves. Against injustice. Against the cruelty of mortal men!" his voice steadily grew louder with each phrase, "If the heavens deny you, then fight for whatever is within your grasp!"
Silence fell. Yan Lan lowered her head, tears brimming in her eyes. She didn't want her husband and her son to have a conflict over such matters, hoping that they would come and agree on the matter.
Wei Shun took the manual with trembling hands. His voice cracked, reluctant yet grateful.
"Thank you... father. I... I will try."
That night, under the pale moonlight, the boy sat alone in the courtyard. His hands fumbled as he opened the manual, tracing its faded ink strokes. The words imprinted were strange, the stances crude and brutal, but still, he rose to his feet.
For the first time since the heavens' rejection, Wei Shun clenched his fists not to curse his fate, but to begin resisting it.
He stood barefoot in the courtyard, the old manual spread on the stone beside him. The old ink showed a figure standing with knees bent, and arms out like he was holding an invisible boulder.
Looks simple enough.
Wei Shun copied the stance.
Not long after, his breath became erratic. His back bent forward, his arms wavering as they hung in the air. Despite the chilly night, sweat rolled down his cheek before a minute had passed.
This is martial arts?! Just standing like a fool?
His eyes focused back on the manual, knowing that the drawings entailed more. Movements like low punches, and slow steps forward and back.
Wei Shun mimicked them, his fists cutting through the air. However, instead of looking like a valiant warrior, he resembled a child flailing its arms around.
By the time he was done with the first set, Wei Shun collapsed to the dirt, grunting in pain.
From the doorway, Yan Lan looked at her son worriedly, wanting to rush over to help him. Wei Han grasped her firmly, knowing that this pain was unavoidable.
Wei Shun panted, staring at his trembling hands. His lips twisted into a bitter smile.
Ling'er has probably arrived right now, maybe learning sword flight... and I can't even stand without falling.
He pushed himself back up and clenched his fists, raising them again and repeating the stance.
...
The stone-paved road wound up to the entrance of a mountain hidden within the sea of clouds. Ming He, together with the four children he had brought from Caojing Village, continued to climb until they stopped in front of a mountain gate.
Carved dragons slithered through the pillars, appearing lifelike. Its eyes were ferocious like a tiger, its body emanating a domineering aura as if it would swallow the heavens.
Beyond the gates stretched a courtyard larger than the children's village square, filled with robed disciples moving in neat rows.
Chen Liang's breath caught. Zhang Yuexin clutched her sleeves. Even Ma Cheng, who had smirked throughout the entire journey, stood frozen in a heartbeat.
Wei Ling tilted her head back, gulping silently in awe of the scene in front of her. So this is the immortal path, the life of a cultivator!
Ming He's voice broke through their awe, "Compose yourselves. This is Qingquan Hall, a regional hall under Tian Ming Ling. It is one of the Four Great Sects of Dongzhou Prefecture. Normally, you would be tested and placed here or among the others — Tiejian Sect, Qingshui Sect, or Qinglian Sect. Besides these four sects is the Azure Phoenix Empire, controlling the vast majority of Dongzhou Prefecture."
His eyes landed upon Wei Ling and Ma Cheng, his tone becoming low and serious.
"But you two... Wei Ling and Ma Cheng will be staying here temporarily. Your talents are too great to be confined here. Greater arrangements will be made. Even the Xuanyuan Sect in Zhongzhou would welcome disciples of your grade."
Then, he looked at Zhang Yuexin and Chen Liang, whose eager expressions showed their longing for what was next.
"Zhang Yuexin and Chen Liang, you will stay here in Qingquan Hall. Someone will arrange your accommodations and registration. Remember, talent may have brought you here, but discipline is what will make you stay."
Ming He turned around and waved his hand, his figure blurring as he ventured deeper into the mountains.
At the same time, an older youth in blue-trimmed robes walked over. He looked about seventeen or eighteen, his hair tied in a knot, his expression calm. Unlike the other disciples, hurrying over to complete tasks, he carried no weapons and had an easy air, though his eyes were sharp.
"I'm Senior Brother Zhao Feng. Daoist Ming He told me to look after you for now," he said, giving them a short nod.
The four children were shocked, wondering when the old cultivator had talked to Zhao Feng about such matters.
On the way here, Daoist Ming He barely talked and focused on the road, ignoring much of their questions and talks alike.
Chen Liang straightened nervously. Zhang Yuexin quickly lowered her gaze. Ma Cheng kept his chin up, though his fists were wavering in excitement. Wei Ling bit her lip and forced herself to bow like the others had.
Zhao Feng's dark eyes scanned them briefly, lingering on Ma Cheng and Wei Ling, but he didn't say anything to them.
"Come and follow me. I will bring you to the registration hall. They'll assign you quarters and basic robes. Don't wander too far outside the inner court unless you want to be punished for trespassing."
The words sounded casual, yet the warning was clear.
As they followed him, Yuexin whispered to Chen Liang, "It feels so different. The air itself is heavier here..."
Chen Liang only nodded, his hand tightening at his side.
At the courtyard gate, Zhao Feng glanced back once more. Yuexin's heart started beating upon meeting Zhao Feng's eyes, but luckily, the senior brother walked forward and ignored her whispers.
She let out a soft breath. That was close! Damn it, Yuexin, your blabbering mouth is going to cost you!
As the group walked through various courtyards, they realized that many disciples had secluded themselves or were practicing skills and techniques in the training areas.
Zhao Feng guided them around the Qingquan Hall, his eyes straight ahead.
"Qingquan Hall is not the largest sect in Dongzhou, but it is one of the four that hold this land together. We answer to Tian Ming Ling, the Order that governs all. Remember that well. Our task is simple. That is to train, fight, and obey."
He gestured toward the other courtyards, where disciples moved in strict lines.
"Each sect has its own way. Qingshui commands the rivers, the lakes, and anything that has to do with water. Qinglian deals in poisons and medicine. Tiejian forges blades and sword cultivators. As for Qingquan..." He paused, his eyes narrowing into slits, "We draw from the springs and guard the veins of this land. Without us, even villages like yours would wither."
The four children listened in silence, their faces pale under the weight of his words.
"Senior Brother Zhao Feng, from whom do we guard the veins and springs?" Ma Cheng was curious about Qingquan Hall's role, wondering if there would be battles here and there.
"Evil cultivators, those who seek and drain spiritual veins and cultivators like us." Zhao Feng's tone became cold, "I will not speak more of this. Your mentors will be the ones who will talk about it."
Ma Cheng silently stepped back, knowing that asking more would be asking for trouble.
As they continued to walk deeper into Qingquan Hall, the surroundings became quiet. Disciples became scarce, and most of their robes switched from the usual white ones to a more refined style trimmed with pale blue.
"White robes mark the outer disciples," Zhao Feng explained as he led them along the stone path. "Those with blue trim are inner disciples. They've already proven themselves through trials and merit."
Further ahead, a pair of cultivators passed by in darker robes, their hems embroidered with faint silver lines that shimmered under the sunlight. Wei Ling's breath caught just from the pressure that came with their steps.
"And those," Zhao Feng said in a lower tone, "are core disciples. Few in number. Their status is higher than most elders outside Qingquan Hall."
The four children glanced at one another, their nerves tightening.
"Don't look too long," Zhao Feng warned, eyes narrowing. "In this place, even a careless stare can bring trouble."
After a while, Zhao Feng stopped before a large pagoda thirteen floors high.
The curved blue-greenish roof streaked across the skyline like a flying Kun Peng. A strong aura of suppression fell upon the four children, as if a demon beast stared at them straight in their eyes.
Seeing the intended effect affecting them, Zhao Feng had a subtle smirk on his face.
"I know that Elder Ming He has already told you this, but let me emphasize it to you once again. Complete tasks, undergo training, and engage in combat — without these three, you will cower, and you will lose everything. Endure, and you may have a chance to rise. And most of all, don't die in the process."
...
While Zhao Feng led the four children away, Ming He did not follow. His figure slipped past the courtyard gates, heading to a pavilion built against a cliffside overgrown with moss.
From his sleeve, he took out a jade slip etched with faintly glowing runes. Cold light flickered in his eyes as he pressed qi into it.
Moments later, ripples of qi stirred in the air, and a distant voice answered, its tone calm but authoritative.
"Lingyuan Ming He. To contact me this time, it seems your task has been completed, or you must have found something worth my time."
Ming He clasped his hands and bowed toward the slip.
"Two seedlings, both showing roots far above a regular genius cultivator from the top sects. I will not speak their names on this channel, but if my judgment is correct, Qingquan Hall cannot contain them."
The voice was silent for a long moment before replying.
"Very well, I understand. I will send a representative to come over to your Qingquan Hall soon."
Ming He's lips curved slightly, though his expression remained indifferent.
"Then shall I prepare the arrangements?"
"Do so," the voice commanded, "Do not speak more of this matter, lest Tian Ming Ling hears of it."
Ming He's eyes furrowed, recalling something dread in his memories.
"Senior… from which power will they be taken?"
"Jiutian Shengguo," the voice bluntly answered, cutting the connection after.
Ming He's hands trembled.
Jiutian Shengguo — the Nine Heavens Sacred Kingdom? Don't tell me... the war is about to start?
He inhaled a mouthful of cold mountain air, tucking the jade slip back into his sleeve. He gazed into the endless clouds below the mountain, a chill gnawing at his heart.