Night descended quietly over Green Cloud Sect. Lanterns were lit in courtyards, forming golden halos in the fog. Most of the disciples had already returned to the dormitories, meditating or sleeping for the next day's training.
On the lowest peak, in a small wooden hut behind the herb garden, Li Tian sat cross-legged at an old, worn table. The only illumination was a candle beside him, the flame curving in the light mountain breeze.
In front of him was the rock he had found earlier at the spring.
He had done his work, eaten his plain food, and cleaned the dirt from his hands. But he could not sleep — his thoughts were pulled back repeatedly to that dim light beneath the water, to the strange weight of the stone and the lost symbols carved onto it.
And now, in candlelight, the carvings were prominent. Faint lines traced the surface like water where they merged at hidden points. Some formed circles, some curled up, every curve deliberate but worn away by years.
Li Tian leaned in closer, not wishing to project a shadow onto the stone.
"These symbols… they resemble nothing at all like talisman script," he breathed into the silence. "And there is no fluctuation of Qi either."
He ran his fingers through the channels, feeling the texture. The stone was chilled against his skin, but comforting — almost alive.
It didn't hum with power, nor did it tense at his touch as some sacred objects tended to do. Instead, it seemed to quietly absorb the presence around it, as though existing in a harmony with the stillness of the night.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Li Tian pulled out a small brush and began to brush away the grit on its edge. While he brushed, there were faint patterns seen on the underside — symbols finer than those on top. They were in bands of circles, each successively smaller and more dense than the previous, blending into a single central rune.
The rune itself was unconventional. It was not a sect writing or formation language he had been taught. Instead, it looked something to be discovered in nature — a seed, a spiral formed not by intention but by habit.
Li Tian trailed his fingertip over it again. The candle flame flickered once, and then stilled.
He shifted an eyebrow, curious if it had been his imagination.
At last, he placed the stone upright and sat back. The still hut resonated with the soft crackle of the candle and the faraway song of mountain insects.
"It doesn't react to Qi… maybe it reacts to touch?"
He laid his palm flat on the top of the stone and closed his eyes.
No energy surge. No visions, sudden or divine. But after a few breaths, he felt the faint current, lighter than the ripple of still water — a flutter at the edge of awareness.
It wasn't Qi. Not the sort he knew.
It was softer, deeper — a presence that brushed against his spirit and not his meridians. For an instant, his mind seemed to slow, his heart rate steadying into something consistent with the intangible.
Then it disappeared.
Li Tian exhaled, uncertain. The stone now seemed no more different than ever — quiet, ancient, and unmoving.
"Perhaps my imagination," he said softly, though part of him knew better.
He blew out the candle and lay on his small bed, pulling the rough blanket over him. The stone rested on the table, half-lit by moonlight filtering through the window.
Outside, the mountain breezes wandered gently through the pines.
And even though Li Tian fell quickly asleep, the fine lines on the stone pulsed once more — unbroken, like the slow throb of a heart.