The air in the hidden village was thick and heavy, like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. It wasn't the natural humidity of the mountain valley; it was a spiritual pressure, a palpable wrongness that clung to the leaves and made the birds fall silent. Hua Qian felt it in her bones, a deep, resonant ache that mirrored the one she had seen in Yue's eyes.
She was sitting by the stream, the water gurgling a cheerful, oblivious tune. In her lap, she held a simple, smooth river stone. For the past hour, she had been pouring her energy into it, her hands glowing with that familiar, soft, green-gold light. It was the light of a healer, of a physician. It was meant to mend, to soothe, to encourage life to flourish.
