The Huashan Province had long been praised as a land where earth kissed heaven. The jagged ridges and solemn escarpments formed a crown of stone that pierced the sky, while countless plateaus lay hidden like jade terraces among drifting clouds. To common travelers, this province was a place of pilgrimage and awe, for its soaring cliffs and ancient monasteries held echoes of sagely hermits and warriors whose names had not faded with time.
Li Wei and Leng Yue glided upon their drifting cloud, its edges trailing in wisps like torn silk. A light drizzle had accompanied them through the Qianlong region, speckling their hair and leaving their robes damp against their skin. Li Wei fastened the belt of his silk-blue robe with deliberate calm, his fingers pressing out the wrinkles as though the act itself would smooth the turbulent world below. His gaze, steady as an unyielding river, stretched across the expanse beneath him.
Below, terraced fields crawled up the sloping hillsides, each step carved by calloused hands into green ladders that clung to the mountain's body. Bent-backed farmers moved with patient rhythm, their hoes striking earth in steady beats. From above, the pattern resembled an intricate tapestry of toil, life woven directly into stone.
Leng Yue stood with her vermilion robe drawn close about her form, the cloth clinging to the curves of her chest where the drizzle had dampened it. She brushed aside a loose strand of hair that had slipped from her bun and leaned lightly against the side of the cloud. Her lips curved in a faint smirk when her sharp eyes caught movement further along the mountainside.
"Look there," she said, pointing with slender fingers.
Li Wei followed her gesture. High upon the greater mountains, the air vibrated with the clamor of iron against rock. Scores of low-ranked disciples labored like ants, their pickaxes striking sparks from the cliffsides as they clawed at the bones of the earth.
Shafts of timber propped up crude mine mouths, while baskets of broken stone were carried out in a weary procession.
From one of the tunnels a youth emerged, his face streaked with soot yet split by an insolent grin. In his hands gleamed an emerald the size of a clenched fist, catching what little sunlight pierced the fog. He lifted it aloft like a trophy, taunting his peers who watched with thinly veiled envy.
Leng Yue gave a short, almost scornful laugh. "See how they are worked to the bone, baited by promises of prestige? 'A dog runs fastest when meat dangles before its nose,' as the elders say.
These poor creatures think themselves one step away from glory, when in truth they are yoked oxen fattening another's granary." Her words were brisk, edged with disdain as she pulled her robe tighter across her modest chest.
Li Wei's eyes did not soften at the sight. His tone was even, the voice of one who had long weighed the worth of such scenes. "Sects are clever farmers. They plant seeds of ambition in soil of desperation, and the crop that grows is loyalty. To the eyes of disciples with no name, the gulf between beggar and master appears bridgeable, so long as sweat is poured into the stones. Thus the wheel turns, and youth after youth lays down his bones for the sect's glory."
His words carried no sorrow. He remembered well how such methods had been used by sects across the provinces. Before his reincarnation, he had thought little of it—passing cruelties on the great chessboard of cultivation.
Yet now, the burden of leadership pressed at the edges of his mind like a blade waiting to be drawn. Would I not one day herd my own disciples in similar fashion? he thought, watching a young boy stumble beneath the weight of a rock basket. To guide a sect is to guide a herd, and herds are not swayed by kind words alone.
The disciples he had left behind in Crescent Moon City lingered in his thoughts. At first, they were chosen as mere pawns, selected to provoke the greed of men. But fate had mocked him—those three girls had revealed unique bone constitutions, each carrying seeds of greatness.
A jest from Heaven, or perhaps a boon hidden within cruelty? he mused. Their potential now tied them to him like threads, threads that could not be easily severed.
Leng Yue glanced at him, sensing his silence. "You are thinking of them," she remarked coolly, though she did not speak their names.
Li Wei inclined his head slightly. "Their futures weigh more heavily than they know. Such gifts do not go unnoticed forever. Even now, Ba Zi stirs in the North. His wanted banners were nailed across Qianlong's inns and taverns, though only our names were painted there. For now the girls remain shadows. But shadows lengthen when the sun rises, and soon they too will be sought."
Leng Yue's lips curved faintly, though it was not amusement that colored her expression. "Ba Zi, Protector of the Northern Regions… even tigers cast nets when they fear a hidden serpent."
"Time is our enemy now," Li Wei said. His hand flicked, and the cloud beneath them rolled forward, slipping into a veil of fog that clung like old breath to the mountains. His eyes scanned the ridges, searching for a plateau whose name was whispered in old scrolls—a place said to cradle a relic of antiquity, a relic that breathed in harmony with those of rare bodies and bones.
The fog thickened, curling around them, wetting their hair and lashes. The world below blurred, until only the muffled clang of miners reached their ears. Leng Yue stepped closer, her sleeve brushing his arm as she peered into the gray.
"Li Wei," she said quietly, "do you believe such relics truly exist? Or are they another carrot, dangling like the emerald in that boy's hand?"
He did not answer immediately. Instead, he extended a hand, parting the mist as though feeling its pulse. His voice came low, steady as iron. "In every legend lies a seed of truth. A farmer may lie about the size of his harvest, but the soil never denies that something grew there. I would be a fool not to dig."
Leng Yue gave a soft hum in reply. Her eyes drifted once more to the obscured mountains below, where sweat and blood mingled with stone dust. "Then let us hope the soil here is kinder than the fields below. For those poor disciples, their digging only deepens their graves."
The cloud drifted on, silent save for the faint whisper of wind. Somewhere in that hidden plateau, history slumbered. And Li Wei, son of a Matriarch, reborn wanderer of fates, intended to wake it.