The dawn arrived not with light, but with a dense, silvery fog that swallowed Qinghe whole. It muted the world, softening the sharp lines of rooftops and blurring the distant mountains into nothingness. The usual chorus of morning birds was absent, replaced by an eerie, expectant silence.
Yan Shen felt the change before he saw it. It was a pressure, a subtle distortion in the ambient Qi of the valley. The energy around the village, usually a calm, placid pool, now had a current running through it- cold, sharp, and purposeful. He stepped out from the garden of his home, his senses on high alert, just as the mist directly ahead swirled and parted as if by an unseen hand.
A figure stood there, materialized from the fog itself.
He was tall and lean, clad in robes of a deep, midnight green, so dark they seemed to drink the scant morning light. Silver thread, fine as spider silk, traced elegant patterns along the cuffs and hem, shimmering with a faint, internal luminescence. A long, slender sword was strapped across his back. It was sheathed, but its presence was a tangible coldness, a promise of sharpness that needed no demonstration.
A Sect Emissary. He had come.
Lanlan emerged from her home behind Yan Shen, her footsteps silent on the damp earth. He didn't need to look to know her posture was ramrod straight, her breath held captive in her chest.
The emissary's eyes, cool and assessing like chips of polished jade, swept over the sleeping village with an air of detached curiosity. There was no contempt in his gaze, only the mild interest of a scholar examining an unusual insect. Then, those eyes found Lanlan. The air temperature seemed to drop several degrees as his focus narrowed, pinning her in place.
"You are Lanlan, daughter of Shen Wei," the emissary stated. His voice was cultured, mellifluous even, but it carried an undercurrent of absolute authority that brooked no question. It was the voice of someone accustomed to being obeyed without hesitation. "By the order of the Verdant Willow Pavilion, I am here to conduct your evaluation. Should your talent meet our highest standards, you will accompany me back to commence your training as an inner sect disciple."
Lanlan managed a stiff nod, forcing her voice to work. "Yes, honored emissary."
The man took a single, silent step forward. His gaze was a physical weight, scanning her from head to toe. "You have reached the middle stages of the Qi Gathering realm. Your foundation is… surprisingly solid for one from such a place. Your breath control is unnaturally disciplined. The flexibility in your stance is notable." His compliments were delivered like clinical observations. "But potential on paper is one thing. Demonstrated worth is another."
With a flick of his wrist, a palm-sized disc of milky white jade floated from his sleeve. It hovered in the air between them, pulsing with a soft, silvery light that seemed to repel the clinging fog.
"Place your hand upon the evaluation token," he instructed.
Lanlan stepped forward, her movement slightly hesitant. She pressed her palm flat against the cool surface of the jade.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the air around her crackled. The token flared brilliantly, its light intensifying until it cast sharp shadows across the ground. intricate silver symbols- ancient, complex characters denoting spiritual root density, elemental affinity, meridian width, and bloodline purity—swam across its surface like minnows in a clear stream.
Yan Shen couldn't read the intricate script, but he could read the emissary's face. The man's eyebrows lifted a fraction, a faint spark of genuine interest lighting his impassive eyes.
"A high-grade Water root. Exceptionally pure. Your meridian passages are wider than expected," the emissary murmured, more to himself than to her. "To achieve this in a backwater… truly, talent can bloom in the most unexpected soil."
Then, without turning his head, his piercing gaze shifted to Yan Shen, who had remained a silent, watchful statue. "And you. You stand with her, yet your energy signature is dissonant. Are you her kin?"
Yan Shen took a half-step forward, instinctively squaring his shoulders under the weight of that scrutiny. "No, honored emissary. A childhood friend."
The emissary's eyes narrowed, his focus intensifying. Yan Shen felt a bizarre sensation, as if the man's gaze were peeling back layers of his skin to examine the energy beneath. "Your Qi… it is unusual. Not weak. Dense. Oppressively so. It has weight, like river stones piled in a deep current, but it is… unrefined. Chaotic. Have you never been tested with a proper evaluation token?"
Yan Shen met his gaze steadily. "I have been tested. The stone could not measure me. It was declared unstable, with no discernible affinity."
A long, thoughtful silence followed, broken only by the soft drip of condensation falling from the pine needles. The emissary's expression became contemplative, distant. "The token measures what is readily apparent. It seeks the bright, quick-burning flame. Some roots do not grow toward the sun. They drive deep into the earth, unseen, gathering strength in the darkness for a lifetime before they ever break the surface."
He fixed Yan Shen with a look that was no longer merely assessing, but carried a faint, almost imperceptible note of… curiosity. "Shallow trees grow fast and are easily seen. The deepest oaks take generations to mature, but their wood does not break."
He hesitated, as if deciding whether to say more. "In six months' time, the Green Willow Pavilion will hold its annual outer disciple selection. Representatives will tour the surrounding villages. Your friend's path is assured. Yours…" He let the word hang. "That the token cannot measure you does not mean there is nothing to measure. It means its scale is insufficient."
The emissary's austere demeanor softened by a hair, the barest hint of something resembling encouragement in his tone. "Cultivation is not a sprint for all. For some, it is a marathon laid over ten thousand years. Do not be discouraged by the perceptions of others. A single spark, no matter how small or how deeply buried, can, with enough patience and fuel, set the entire world ablaze."
With that final, cryptic pronouncement, he turned his attention fully back to Lanlan, discussing the logistics of her departure.
That night, the fog had cleared, revealing a sky dusted with cold, bright stars. The air was chill. Lanlan found Yan Shen sitting on the low stone wall beside her family's vegetable garden, staring out at the dark, brooding silhouette of the mountains.
"I leave with him at first light in three days," she said softly, her voice barely disturbing the stillness.
Yan Shen didn't turn. "You're ready," he stated, his voice flat with certainty.
She nudged his shoulder with her own. "Liar. I'm terrified. My stomach is in knots."
He allowed a faint, wry smirk to touch his lips. "Then be terrified. Just don't let your feet get caught in the trap."
A long, comfortable silence stretched between them, filled with the chirping of crickets and the memory of a thousand shared days under the sun.
"I'll miss this," Lanlan whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "The smell of the pines. The dirt in this garden. Your stubborn face. My mother's cooking."
"You'll be back," he replied, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "You'll come back wearing finer robes, with a sharper look in your eyes. But you'll still be the girl who couldn't dodge my first punch."
Lanlan hesitated, then reached into her sleeve. She pulled out a small, carefully folded square of paper. Faint, rust-colored characters were drawn on it a simple, homemade talisman. Scratched clumsily on the edge was his name.
"I pestered Old Man Lin for the ingredients and made it myself," she said, pressing it into his hand. Her fingers were cold. "It's a protection charm. Probably not very strong. But… it's something." She took a shaky breath. "You might not walk the sect's polished path, Yan Shen. But I know you. You'll carve your own road, and it will lead you farther than any of them can imagine. Just… please. Be careful while I'm not here to watch your back."
Yan Shen looked down at the crude, heartfelt talisman in his palm. He didn't believe in magic charms, but he believed in the intent behind it. He nodded once, a sharp, grateful gesture, and carefully tucked it into the fold of his rough-spun robe, close to his heart.
"I will," he said. And for once, it was a promise.