They left the nameless town before dawn.
Neither Lin Chen nor Yun Qiao wanted to see what the town might become if they lingered. The mist thinned as they walked, and with each step, the echoes of laughter faded further into silence, as though the town were once more falling asleep.
The road ahead curved gently upward, leading out of the valley.
For the first time since Lin Chen had been pulled from the river, the world felt… normal.
That thought unsettled him more than the town had.
Normal meant predictable.
Predictable meant dangerous.
They walked in silence for a long while.
Yun Qiao finally spoke. "You don't cultivate, do you?"
Lin Chen shook his head. "Not even a little.
The closest I've come is carrying herbs for people who do."
She glanced at him. "Then how did you survive that thing last night?"
"I'm asking myself the same question."
The mark on his chest was quiet again, as though nothing had happened. Lin Chen could not decide whether that was comforting or unsettling.
Ahead, the road bent sharply.
Voices drifted through the trees.
Lin Chen slowed, raising a hand.
Three figures stood in the clearing beyond the bend. Their clothes were practical, worn from travel, and faint ripples of spiritual energy clung to their bodies. Each carried a weapon: a saber, a bow, and a long spear.
The spear caught Lin Chen's eye.
It was plain, its shaft scarred from use, its metal head chipped at the edges. There was nothing remarkable about it.
And yet—
Something in Lin Chen's chest tightened.
Not pain.
Recognition.
The sensation was faint, fleeting, but it lingered just long enough to unsettle him.
Yun Qiao whispered, "Traveling cultivators. Probably from a small sect or mercenary band."
The three noticed them.
The one carrying the spear stepped forward. "This road isn't safe. You two should turn back."
Lin Chen almost laughed.
Turn back to the town that remembered itself?
"That's kind of the problem," he said. "There's nowhere safe behind us either."
The cultivator with the bow narrowed his eyes. "You're not lying."
The man with the spear studied Lin Chen more closely. His gaze lingered for a moment too long on Lin Chen's chest, though nothing was visible through his clothes.
"You're… strange," the spearman said slowly. "Not strong. But the flow of the world bends around you."
Lin Chen blinked. "That's… not reassuring."
The spearman snorted softly. "It wasn't meant to be."
The group introduced themselves as low-level wandering cultivators who had been escorting goods between towns. Their destination lay beyond the valley, toward a minor cultivation city that sat along the outer trade routes.
Yun Qiao's eyes brightened. "A city? With sects?"
The archer nodded. "A few small ones. Nothing famous. But safer than wandering these roads alone."
Lin Chen hesitated.
Joining cultivators meant stepping fully into a world he did not understand. It meant danger, rules, hierarchies, and eyes that could see far more than he wanted them to.
It also meant answers.
"I don't cultivate," Lin Chen said honestly. "If that's a problem—"
"It's not," the spearman interrupted. "It's rare, but not unheard of. Mortals with strange fates cross our paths from time to time."
He adjusted the grip on his spear.
"For some reason," he added, "you feel like trouble."
Lin Chen sighed. "I get that a lot. And I only just started."
As they set off together, Lin Chen walked a few steps behind the spearman.
His gaze kept drifting to the long shaft of the weapon, to the way the man carried it with quiet familiarity.
The world around them felt… aligned in small, subtle ways when the spear moved.
Lin Chen frowned, a strange thought forming in his mind.
Why does it feel like that thing is closer to me than it should be?
The road stretched ahead, winding toward the first city he would ever see beyond his village.
And with every step, the world seemed to be quietly preparing him for something he was not yet ready to understand.