CHAPTER 1
Dust Knows It Is Dust
Lin Chen learned about death at the age of fifteen.
Not because someone died.
But because no one was surprised.
That day, an old man named Hu Wen did not come to the well.
The water cooled.
The line stood in silence.
After a while, someone said:
"Then it's without him today."
And that was enough.
Lin Chen watched as women filled their buckets, as children argued over trivial things, as the sun rose—exactly the same as yesterday.
The world did not pause.
He thought:
If I disappear—will anything change?
The answer came too quickly.
No.
That evening, he sat on the threshold of their old house.
The wooden boards creaked, as if remembering those who once lived there.
His mother had died three years ago.
His father—even earlier.
Not from tragedy.
Just… time.
Once, an elder told him:
"You're resilient."
Lin Chen never understood whether that was praise.
That night, he saw a light.
Not bright—dim, like moonlight reflected in dust.
He climbed the hill beyond the village and saw a man in long robes.
The man stood there, gazing at the stars.
A cultivator.
Lin Chen knew it instantly.
From his posture.
From the silence around him.
"Sir…" His voice faltered. "Will you… save the village?"
The man did not turn around.
"From what?"
"From…" Lin Chen fell silent.
From old age?
From death?
From emptiness?
The cultivator left without waiting for an answer.
Only a thin trace remained on the ground—
and the feeling that immortality does not necessarily mean mercy.
That night, Lin Chen thought for the first time:
If the path to eternity truly exists—
I want to know why people walk it.
And that was his first step.
Even though he was still mortal.
The Trace That Should Not Have Remained
After that night, Lin Chen did not become different.
That was what frightened him.
He still carried water, repaired the elder's roof, helped in the fields.
People talked, laughed, argued.
The sun rose.
The sun set.
But now, between these familiar things, an empty space had appeared—
a question without shape.
He did not speak of the cultivator.
Not because he did not want to.
But because he did not know what to say.
If power does not save…
if immortals pass by without stopping…
then what is the path?
The hill became a familiar place to him.
Every evening, he climbed up and sat on the stone where that man had stood.
The stone was cold, as if the memory had not yet faded.
One day, he noticed something strange.
Dust.
It lay in a perfect circle, as if something had kept the wind from touching the ground.
Lin Chen crouched, brushed it with his fingers—and felt faint warmth.
Not qi.
He did not know the word qi.
It was an echo.
Beneath the layer of dust was a stone.
Flat, dark, covered in cracks like ancient wrinkles.
There were words upon it.
Not carved.
Not written.
Rather—left behind.
"If you seek power—leave.
If you seek eternity—forget.
If you seek an answer—sit."
Lin Chen sat.
He sat for a long time.
So long that time itself lost meaning.
Thoughts came and went.
Fear.
Anger.
Envy toward those who believed.
Then only silence remained.
And within that silence, he felt something strange for the first time—
not energy,
but clarity.
As if the dust within him had settled.
He did not become stronger.
But the next day, he noticed that he was less afraid.
Not of death.
But of life passing by—like that cultivator.
That evening, Elder He looked at him and frowned.
"You've changed."
"No," Lin Chen answered after a pause. "I've just… become more attentive."
The old man was silent for a long time, then said:
"That's dangerous."
"Why?"
"Because attentive people are the first to leave."
That night, Lin Chen returned to the stone.
The words upon it had changed.
"You are still here.
That means you are not seeking the easy path."
He understood then:
This was not a technique.
It was an invitation.
And it would demand a price.
They Came in Daylight
They came in daylight.
Not with thunder.
Not from the heavens.
They simply appeared on the road—three figures in identical dark-blue robes, as if shadow itself had chosen to pass through the Village of Quiet Ash.
Lin Chen saw them first.
He was carrying water from the well when he felt a strange pressure—
not fear,
but a sense of imbalance.
As if an adult had stepped into a children's game.
The people around him felt it too.
Conversations died down.
Laughter cut short.
Even the wind seemed to grow cautious.
"Cultivators…" someone whispered.
The three stopped at the center of the village.
Elder He stepped forward, leaning on his staff, bowing deeply.
"Greetings, honored—"
The words were never finished.
One of the newcomers waved a hand—lazily, as one would brush away dust.
The elder dropped to his knees, gasping, as if the air itself had refused to support him.
"We are not here for that," said the cultivator.
His voice was calm. Indifferent.
"In this area, a trace of will has been detected."
Lin Chen shuddered.
He understood what they were talking about before he dared to admit it.
"A trace left behind after the death of one of… ours," another continued.
"It should not have remained."
The third surveyed the village with his gaze, as if selecting goods.
"We will take it," he said.
"And if the trace has already found a bearer…"
"Then the bearer as well."
The words held no threat.
They were simply facts.
---
Lin Chen did not take a single step.
But the stone on the hill responded.
Not with warmth.
Not with light.
With weight—
as if a gaze had fallen upon him.
You are still here.
The words returned to him.
That means you have made a choice.
He understood then:
the choice had not been made today.
---
"There are no cultivators in this village…" Elder He rasped.
"Not yet," came the reply.
One of the three turned his head.
And looked directly at Lin Chen.
Not at his body.
At something behind him.
The cultivator's brow twitched slightly.
"Interesting."
One word.
Yet it brought cold with it.
"You," he said. "Come here."
Lin Chen's legs felt heavy, as if the earth itself did not wish to release him.
But he walked forward.
He understood one simple thing:
if he did not take this step—
the village would disappear.
"How old are you?" the cultivator asked.
"Fifteen."
"A mortal?"
"Yes."
A faint chuckle.
"For now."
The cultivator reached out and touched Lin Chen's forehead.
In that instant, Lin Chen saw—
ash,
endless roads,
people forgotten faster than they died,
and a single question that refused to leave the world alone.
He staggered, but did not fall.
"Curious…" the cultivator murmured.
"The trace is unformed. But it responds."
"Then what do we do?" the second asked.
The first fell into thought.
"Killing him would be simplest.
Taking him—risky.
Leaving him…" He smiled faintly. "Too interesting."
He leaned closer to Lin Chen.
"Listen carefully, mortal.
We will not touch you. For now.
But if you take another step—
the heavens will learn your name."
He withdrew his hand.
The pressure vanished.
The three departed as they had come—
leaving behind a silence heavier than any scream.
---
Lin Chen stood there for a long time.
Elder He approached later, breathing heavily.
"Now you understand," he said quietly.
"Attentiveness is an invitation."
Lin Chen looked toward the hill.
"No," he replied. "Now I understand the price."
---
That night, he sat by the stone once more.
The inscription was new.
> "When eyes watch you from above—
you either bow your head,
or straighten your back."
Lin Chen sat upright.
And for the first time, he began his contemplation consciously.
This was the moment
when a mortal
ceased to be merely mortal.