As the sun dipped below the horizon, the forest gradually surrendered its colors, draping itself in shades of shadow and silver. Crimson bled into violet, and violet into deep indigo until the heavens became a shroud of darkness pierced only by the faint glow of scattered stars.
On a narrow road where mangroves rose like sentinels, their roots coiled and half-buried in marshy earth, the caravan slowed to a halt. The travelers, wearied by the long march of the day, recognized the folly of pressing onward in pitch darkness. A decision was swiftly made: they would rest beneath the canopy of the mangrove grove, whose twisted branches formed a natural shield against both eyes in the sky and prowlers of the night.
The bald man at the head of the convoy dismounted from his horse. His frame was broad, his features plain, yet an enigmatic aura clung to him like a veil. When he spoke, his tone was low but absolute.
"Eliminate the creatures that dwell in the area. We cannot risk disturbances while the night watches us."
At once, practitioners from the convoy leapt into action. Some drew blades, their edges catching faint traces of moonlight, while others summoned strands of spiritual energy that hummed with quiet menace. Their movements were swift, efficient, born of long campaigns together.
The grove, though still, soon quivered with life. Pairs of red eyes glowed faintly in the underbrush as beasts stirred. The warriors clashed with them quickly—steel against claw, Qi against fang. The sounds of scuffles rang out—clang! hiss! thud~—before silence reclaimed the grove once again. The air was soon laced with the metallic tang of blood, yet no beast cry lingered longer than a breath.
By the time the moon had risen higher, a camp had been raised. Canvas tents sprouted across the cleared ground, lanterns hung from poles casting their warm flicker, and the sharp smell of firewood smoke mingled with the damp earth. Around the fires, warriors spoke in low voices, their fatigue softened by bowls of rice wine and shared tales of the road.
Within one of the larger tents, however, quiet reigned. A single lantern burned inside, its wavering glow casting tall, shifting shadows across the canvas walls.
On a simple cot sat Li Wuji. His body bore fresh wounds—lines of crimson already darkened where blood had dried. He sat upright, unmoved by pain, his posture straight as a pine. Opposite him knelt a middle-aged woman in plain robes, her hair tied back neatly. Her hands were steady, her manner serene.
"Good evening. I am Yuan Yi," she introduced herself gently, her voice carrying the calm lilt of one long accustomed to tending others. "I shall be treating your wounds."
Li Wuji gave her only the faintest nod, his face carved in stone. He neither flinched nor protested as she set to work. Her touch was careful but practiced; bandages were wrapped, poultices applied, herbs ground with swift efficiency.
"Please inform me if you feel any discomfort," Yuan Yi offered, though her eyes already betrayed her astonishment. Such injuries, and yet he does not wince? He bears pain as though it were no more than a passing breeze. Were he older… perhaps my heart might have stirred in ways unfit for a healer.
Li Wuji remained silent, his gaze unfocused, his thoughts turning inward. This woman's hands… skilled. If I possessed even half her technique, I could mend myself in battle without reliance on others. His eyes lingered briefly on the precise movements of her fingers before he closed them, withdrawing into himself.
Within his consciousness, a vast expanse unfolded. At its center shimmered a vision both haunting and beautiful—a swirling dance of ethereal blue wisps. They circled, weaving around one another, gathering into a luminous orb suspended in the void of his inner world.
Yet when he willed it, the energy did not spill into his meridians. The orb remained contained, unyielding. Frustration darkened his thoughts. So close… still a step away from reaching the peak of Qi-Refining. Without the flow, I cannot touch Foundation-Establishment. Lei Mu is near, and yet the gulf between now and then looms wide as ever.
The teachings echoed within him. In the early stages of Qi-Refining, one learned to sense Qi, refine it, control it. Now, in these latter stages, the goal was to nurture the Dantian, expand its vessel, and clear the meridians so Qi might flow unhindered. He had strengthened the orb, yet the river of his Qi refused to course outward. His body was a fortress with barred gates, its lifeblood dammed within.
If I fail to ascend before Lei Mu, then my path will crumble before it even begins. His brows twitched ever so slightly, the only sign of the storm within.
Meanwhile, Yuan Yi worked without pause, oblivious to his internal struggle. She tied the final knot of the bandage with deft fingers, then offered him a steaming cup of herbal tea. The faint aroma of lavender and chamomile wafted into the air, soothing in its simplicity.
"You should rest now," she said kindly, her eyes meeting his with warmth. "Your wounds will heal in due time. Let your body mend. Strength returns faster when one does not fight it."
Li Wuji lowered his gaze to the cup, the steam curling upward like whispered prayers. He accepted it with both hands, lifting it to his lips. The warm liquid slid down his throat, calming the body even as the mind raced.
"Thank you," he said at last, his voice level. Gratitude sat strangely on his tongue, but it was genuine. He respected her skill and her willingness to expend her Qi without hesitation.
As he drank, the sounds of the camp filtered faintly into the tent: laughter, the clink of cups, the distant crackle of fire. For many, the night brought respite and camaraderie. For him, it brought only deeper solitude.
Those who seek true power must carve their road with suffering. To pause for comfort is to dull the blade. The words of the man who had raised him rang clear—harsh but steadying. Li Wuji's father had perished in the provincial wars, and the path of hardship had been his inheritance.
Setting the cup aside, he sat back, straightening his posture once again. His focus turned inward, toward the orb in his Dantian, toward the promise of power still just beyond reach.
It was then a voice, sharp enough to pierce the veil of night, sounded outside his tent. "Yang Guo."
The fabricated name he had given the convoy.
Li Wuji's eyes opened at once. He recognized the voice—it belonged to the inquisitive young lady who had interrogated him earlier. Her tone tonight carried something new, a formality that hinted both respect and intent.
"Enter," he permitted.
The flap of the tent shifted aside, the lantern light spilling briefly into the darkness before it was cut off once more. She stepped inside.
His eyes widened, though only slightly, as he regarded her. Tonight she wore a black dress, stark against her pale complexion. The moonlight that filtered faintly through the canvas caught her silhouette, lending her an almost spectral beauty. Her presence filled the tent as surely as the lantern's flame.
She met his gaze with quiet certainty, curiosity burning still but tempered with gravity. Her every movement was deliberate, her steps accompanied by the soft rustle of cloth.
"I hope I am not disturbing your rest, Yang Guo," she said softly, though her voice carried a chill beneath its politeness. "There are matters we must discuss. I thought it best to come directly."
Li Wuji inclined his head slightly. His expression remained impassive, though intrigue flickered faintly beneath.
"You have my attention. Speak."
For a heartbeat, her eyes lingered on him, as though measuring the distance between the mask he wore and the truth she sought. Then she moved further inside, her poise controlled, her intent veiled.
The lantern flame trembled in the hush of the tent. The forest outside whispered faintly with insects and wind. Inside, however, a different current coiled—of suspicion, of revelation, of bonds yet to be tested.
Under the shroud of night, Li Wuji and the young woman stood at the cusp of words that would alter their paths. A dance of trust and doubt had begun, its rhythm set by secrets neither was willing to surrender lightly.
And so, as the camp beyond sank into slumber, within this quiet space destiny began to stir.