Without effort, she lifted her son onto the high step of the carriage, carefully maneuvering him inside and settling him on the worn wooden bench before taking her own seat beside him.
The bench creaked faintly beneath them, worn from years of use.
Looking around, she noted that nearly half the seats had already been claimed by those who had arrived before them.
The most attention-grabbing among them was a burly man whose broad frame dominated most of the opposite bench.
His imposing figure seemed to shrink the space around him.
Unkempt hair and a thick, black braided beard framed a rugged face marred by scars.
Bare arms, also crisscrossed with old wounds, rested on his lap, while a heavy chest plate- scratched and dulled by use adorned his torso, the metal gleamed faintly where the oil lamp's flickering light from above caught it.
Resting beside him was a massive axe.
It's dark wood shaft and sharp, cruel-looking head wrapped tightly in cloth as if to conceal the menace it promised, made it a weapon of terrifying size.
It appeared ridiculously large—nearly as tall as her son, who nestled against her, stared at it with wide, curious eyes.
Provided a striking contrast to his imposing presence were the passengers beside him.
Seated next to the warrior were two young women, refined in both appearance and manner, carrying the quiet confidence of those raised in comfort and privilege. And even from her seat, she could catch the faint scent of jasmine that clung to them—light, but deliberate.
Their delicate features mirrored each other with striking similarity, suggesting a familial bond—perhaps sisters. Draped in luxurious fur-lined garments—one in deep crimson, the other in forest green, they sat with practiced grace. Jewelled clasps and earrings caught the dim light in brief, glittering flashes, spoke clearly of a wealthy household.
In the far corner of the carriage, seemingly trying to shrink into the shadows, sat the final passenger.
A middle-aged man dressed in the modest robes of a scholar, whose appearance was altogether unremarkable at first glance.
His light brown hair and eyes paired with a modest blue tunic seemed to let him blend seamlessly into any crowd.
Silver-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, the only feature lending distinction to an otherwise forgettable face.
He clutched a worn, leather-bound book, fingers absently tracing its embossed cover, his gaze distant as though already lost in its pages.
Only standard greetings were exchanged before silence settled over the carriage. No one seemed inclined to start a conversation, and she and her son were no exception.
They sat quietly, patiently awaiting the departure, participating in the somber mood that enveloped the carriage.
While no words were exchanged. The silence was not uncomfortable.
As she studied the others, she could feel their eyes on her as well—measuring, curious, the way people always were when faced with strangers in close quarters.
The only thing they would see, however, were two ordinary travelers: a woman and her child, with nothing worth remembering.
Before leaving the inn, she had carefully affixed a pair of talismans to their skin, infusing them with spiritual energy to alter their appearances.
Their once-striking features had been replaced, transformed to unremarkable black hair, dull eyes, and faces so plain they barely registered in a crowd.
Every detail had been carefully altered—reshaped to vanish into the background, to be overlooked, forgotten, and ignored without a second thought.
Her own cultivation, once a beacon of power, was now carefully suppressed to the middle layer of the Basic Body Refining Stage—low enough to seem unimpressive, yet not so low to invite trouble by appearing too weak.
Over the years, she had learned the hard way that both beauty and high cultivation were double-edged blades, attracting admiration and danger in equal measure.
If she concealed only her cultivation, her looks alone would draw attention. And without the deterrent of visible strength, beauty became bait.
She was self-aware enough to know how they truly appeared in the eyes of strangers.
She had been called beautiful more times than she cared to remember. And Yuan—her son, with his clear, intelligent eyes and delicate, almost ethereal features—had always drawn attention. His young age only made it worse.
He was a cultivation prodigy, gifted beyond his years.
They needed to travel incognito, and a child of his age, with such a high cultivation for his age, would leave too strong an impression—one too memorable to go unnoticed.
If they didn't hide what made them stand out, they would attract all manner of people—some intrigued, and others with far darker intentions.
It was a problem that had caused trouble before, back before she was as strict with their disguises.
More than once, human traffickers and opportunists had taken an interest in them, forcing her to act—quickly and ruthlessly—to keep them safe. Not all dangers in the cultivation world came with swords drawn.
Some people smiled kindly and spoke with gentle, honeyed voices—masking their true intentions behind a carefully crafted facade of warmth—while quietly scheming to take whatever they desired. This subtle deceit was why she had grown so vigilant, so strict about their protection.
Yuan now always wore a high-grade concealment artifact beneath his robes, one capable of completely suppressing his cultivation and cloaking his presence beneath the guise of an ordinary mortal.
It was also the reason they wore talismans to conceal their faces.
Over the years, she came to understand one simple truth: anonymity was the surest form of protection—especially when moving through the world and wanting to avoid drawing the attention of greedy eyes.
In a world filled with envy, greed, and betrayal, invisibility was power—especially when journeying through unknown lands.
Here, in this remote and forgotten corner of the continent, spiritual energy was thin and true powerhouses were scarce. The region's harsh conditions and meager energy supply made it impossible for small sects to nurture cultivators beyond a modest level. Talents rarely thrived here, for there was simply not enough to sustain their growth.
Consequently, cultivators above the Foundation stage were few and far between, most of them being elders or patriarchs of major families and sects. Those with greater ambition or potential inevitably left, seeking regions rich in energy and resources—opportunities this land could never offer.
Because of these factors, the region became a quiet refuge—long dismissed by the continent's dominant forces as barren, unworthy of conquest, let alone care. The major sects and aristocratic clans turned their ambitions toward richer, more prosperous lands brimming with resources and opportunity.
This neglect made their journey relatively safe—at least for now.
Her own cultivation level far exceeded most in this region, making her more than capable of protecting them should any threat arise.
Yet, she never let complacency take root.