Volume 3 — The Era of Convergence
Chapter 2: The Price of Survival
Three Stones Station appeared on the horizon shortly before sunset.
At first glance, it resembled a fortress built to withstand a prolonged siege. Its walls had been constructed from blocks of black stone reinforced with metal plates and formation inscriptions that glimmered faintly in the fading light. Three towers rose above the main entrance, each built upon a separate rocky outcrop. That was where the settlement had acquired its name, although the oldest residents claimed that before the Convergence, those three elevations had been nothing more than hills covered in medicinal herbs.
Now, they served as the foundations of one of the few functioning trade routes left in the region.
Han Feng studied the fortress without changing his expression.
The outer walls bore the scars of battle, and part of one tower had been rebuilt with materials of noticeably different colors. There was something unusual about the inscriptions surrounding the entrance as well. Some followed the familiar patterns used by Gu Masters, while others seemed designed to channel a form of energy he could not fully recognize.
The two systems coexisted, but they did not fit together perfectly.
In some places, their lines overlapped. In others, they ended abruptly, as though the people responsible for constructing the formations had been forced to abandon their work before finding a solution.
The fortress had not been built to demonstrate grandeur.
It had been built because the world outside had become too dangerous for those without sufficient strength to protect themselves.
The road leading to the entrance was congested. Wagons carried timber, armed cultivators traveled in groups, families transported their belongings in baskets, and small merchants hired mercenaries to guard their goods.
Near the gate, two men were arguing with the guards while a woman pleaded with an official to allow her sick father inside.
Nobody had much time to pay attention to anyone else. Every few moments, someone raised their voice, a crossbow was adjusted, or an order cut through the crowd.
Survival had turned even entering a city into a negotiation.
Zhou Ren sighed when he saw the queue.
"If we'd arrived two hours earlier, we might have made it through before the gates closed."
"Do they close the gates before nightfall?" Han Feng asked.
"In theory, yes. In practice, it depends on who's waiting outside."
The merchant discreetly indicated a group of six cultivators standing near the entrance. They wore dark robes and carried white stone insignias on their chests. They did not look like ordinary guards. People passing nearby slowed their steps and avoided meeting their eyes.
"The Three Stones Guard," Zhou Ren explained. "They answer to the Station Council. They maintain order, collect taxes, and prevent disputes between cultivators from destroying trade. At least, that's what they claim."
"And what do they actually do?"
Zhou Ren glanced at him, apparently deciding whether the question was naïve or dangerous.
"They make sure conflicts don't destroy what the Council considers important."
Han Feng gave a slight nod.
That was answer enough.
The caravan advanced several more meters. When it finally reached the entrance, an official approached with a wooden register and began inspecting the cargo.
He showed little interest in the people themselves. His attention remained fixed on the crates, draft animals, and containers used to store spiritual materials.
"Name of the person responsible?"
"Zhou Ren. Independent merchant."
"Origin?"
"Former Gray Lotus District."
The official made a mark on his register.
"The district is under trade restrictions. All goods originating from that region must be inspected before entering."
Zhou Ren showed no surprise.
"My cargo consists primarily of cloth, tools, and dried food. I have the transport documents."
The official examined the papers without hurrying.
"The inspection fee is twenty primeval stones."
"Twenty?" Zhou Ren frowned. "It was five last month."
"Last month, the district wasn't under restriction."
"The restriction was announced three days ago. Merchants haven't had time to adjust their prices."
The official raised his eyes.
"Then perhaps you should have chosen another route."
Zhou Ren tightened his grip on the documents.
Han Feng noticed the tension in the merchant's shoulders. The caravan guards had also begun exchanging uneasy glances.
Twenty primeval stones represented a considerable portion of the cargo's value. If Zhou Ren paid, most of his profit would disappear. If he refused, he could lose the right to enter and might be forced to spend the night outside the walls.
The official knew this.
That was precisely why he was demanding twenty stones.
"I can pay ten now and the remainder after selling the goods," Zhou Ren offered.
The man closed the register.
"No."
"I have commercial references in this station."
"Then your acquaintances can help you pay."
The merchant remained silent for several seconds.
At last, he opened his pouch and removed the required stones. He handed them over one by one, watching as the official counted them before locking them inside a wooden box.
Han Feng observed without intervening.
The man needed no elaborate justification to charge more. He possessed authority over a gate everyone needed to cross.
Scarcity had not eliminated the old mechanisms of exploitation. It had merely provided them with new tools.
Before the Convergence, an official might demand a bribe to expedite the passage of goods. Now, he could turn survival itself into an official fee.
Once the inspection was complete, the caravan received permission to enter.
Before crossing the gate, Han Feng glanced at the inscriptions carved into the stone. One of the lines flickered for an instant, producing an almost imperceptible glow.
He felt no obvious change in the surrounding primeval energy, but he noticed a slight irregularity in the flow conducted by the formation.
The structure was not functioning perfectly.
Or perhaps it was functioning in a way its original creators had never intended.
Han Feng looked away and entered the city.
Three Stones Station was considerably larger inside than it appeared from the outside.
The main street passed through a crowded market surrounded by stone buildings, warehouses, and small workshops. Makeshift stalls occupied the spaces between the structures, and merchants traded everything from rusted tools to spiritual materials sealed inside protective containers.
The smell of oil, smoke, and cooked food mingled with the unpleasant odor of medicines hastily prepared from inferior ingredients.
There was also something Han Feng had rarely encountered in the cities of the old Gu World.
Cultivators from another system.
A man in a blue robe passed by carrying a sword without a sheath. His aura differed from the energy produced by a Gu Master's primeval essence.
Rather than concentrating power inside a primeval aperture and circulating it through a collection of Gu, he seemed to channel energy through internal pathways, continuously refining it within his own body.
The difference did not necessarily make him stronger or weaker.
It simply meant that he followed different rules.
Near a workshop, an elderly cultivator demonstrated to a group of disciples how to stabilize their breathing and condense spiritual energy. Farther down the street, a Gu Master negotiated the sale of a Rank 2 Gu that refused to remain still inside a small metal cage.
The insect emitted a sharp chirp whenever the blue-robed cultivator passed nearby.
The two systems were coexisting.
But coexistence did not mean harmony.
Han Feng saw proof of that when a young Gu Master blocked the blue-robed man's path.
"Control your energy," the young man demanded. "Your method is affecting my Gu."
The blue-robed cultivator glanced at the cage.
"I'm not using any technique."
"Then your body is leaking energy."
"And you intend to charge me for that?"
The young Gu Master moved a hand toward his waist. The other man rested his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
People nearby began moving away.
A fight between cultivators from different systems could be unpredictable. The Gu Master possessed specialized tools, but depended on primeval essence and Gu that might react poorly to unfamiliar energy.
The blue-robed cultivator, meanwhile, appeared to possess a stable foundation. Han Feng could not determine his level, however, or how his techniques would respond to an unexpected attack.
Neither man had time to strike.
A sudden pressure swept through the street.
Both cultivators paled at the same moment. The Gu Master withdrew his hand from his waist, while the blue-robed man released his sword.
A guard in a dark robe approached from the market. His white stone insignia shone on his chest, and the energy radiating from his body was dense enough to make it clear that he was no ordinary soldier.
"The station's formation is active," he declared. "Any unauthorized conflict will be treated as a threat to collective security."
The Gu Master clenched his teeth.
"He's interfering with my Gu!"
"Submit a complaint to the Council."
"And if he continues?"
The guard looked at both men.
"Then you will both be removed from the station."
The threat was sufficient.
The blue-robed cultivator inclined his head and continued on his way. The Gu Master stood still for a moment before gathering his cage and disappearing among the stalls.
Han Feng watched the guard until he was out of sight.
The pressure had not been merely a display of personal strength. Something within the city's formation had amplified the guard's presence, allowing him to enforce an order without expending an excessive amount of energy.
It was an intelligent solution for an environment where resources had become scarce and conflicts between different cultivation methods could produce consequences no one knew how to predict.
Even so, Han Feng was not impressed.
A formation capable of controlling a street would not be enough to stop a genuine expert. And every system of authority ultimately depended on those strong enough to enforce it.
Three Stones Station might appear stable.
But its stability had limits.
"Mister Han, this way," Zhou Ren called. "I know an inn that still accepts merchants without charging a fortune."
Han Feng followed the caravan into a side street.
The traffic was lighter there, although the buildings were in worse condition. Many had cracked walls, and some had been divided into tiny compartments to accommodate families who had lost their homes during the Convergence.
The inn was called the Dry Wind Rest.
It had two floors, a weathered façade, and a wooden sign whose name had been carved so many times that the original letters were barely visible.
The owner was a burly man with graying hair and a scar running from his chin to his neck. He recognized Zhou Ren and allowed the caravan to occupy the available rooms, but demanded payment in advance.
Han Feng chose a small room on the second floor.
Its window overlooked a narrow alley, and the door had a simple lock. It was not particularly secure, but it offered two possible exits: the main staircase and a window from which he could reach the roof of the neighboring building.
For Han Feng, that mattered more than the quality of the bed.
After inspecting the room, he placed his bag on the table and removed the stone tablet found in the gorge.
Under the weak lamplight, it appeared harmless. The symbols had lost their glow, and small marks resembling cracks had appeared across its surface.
Han Feng did not touch it directly.
He picked up a piece of wood and used it to turn the tablet over.
On the back was an inscription he had not noticed during the battle.
Four characters.
They did not belong to the common script used by Gu Masters, but Han Feng recognized their general structure. They resembled symbols found in certain ancient records concerning containment formations, although their arrangement matched no pattern he had studied.
He brought the lamp closer.
The inscription appeared to read:
Vestige of Origin.
Han Feng remained motionless.
Not because he understood the meaning, but because he recognized the danger of finding such a specific phrase on an object that had reacted to a fissure between worlds.
The word origin appeared vaguely in ancient records, usually in connection with theories about the formation of natural laws. Some scholars claimed that all energy originated from a primordial source. Others argued that the different cultivation systems were separate manifestations of a single underlying structure.
None of these theories possessed sufficient evidence to be considered true.
The Convergence had made such discussions far more dangerous.
If two cultivation systems that had once been separated could now coexist within the same world, perhaps their differences were not as absolute as people had believed.
But concluding that both originated from a single source would be a far greater leap than the available evidence allowed.
Han Feng disliked leaps.
He preferred to build conclusions from verifiable facts.
He wrapped the tablet again and stored it in the deepest compartment of his bag. He would not attempt to activate it that night.
First, he needed to discover who the men carrying it had been, why they had chosen the gorge, and what they intended to do with their captives.
He had just finished securing the object when someone knocked on the door.
Han Feng closed his bag and stood.
"Who is it?"
"The innkeeper. I've brought you some hot water."
Han Feng opened the door only far enough to inspect the corridor.
The burly owner stood outside, holding a wooden basin. No weapon was visible.
Han Feng allowed him inside but remained near the door.
The innkeeper placed the basin on the table and glanced briefly at the bag.
"I heard you fought a group of raiders in the old passage."
Han Feng did not answer immediately.
"News travels quickly."
"News about men attacking caravans always travels quickly. Especially when they leave bodies behind."
The innkeeper folded his arms.
"You should be careful. Those men weren't part of an ordinary gang. Some say they work for an organization searching for objects left behind by the fissures."
Han Feng kept his expression neutral.
"What organization?"
"No one knows for certain. Some call them the Void Collectors. Others claim they're merely an offshoot of a sect that lost its spiritual mountain. The Council insists there's no proof such an organization even exists."
"And do you believe the Council?"
The innkeeper gave a dry laugh.
"I believe the Council doesn't like talking about things it can't control."
Han Feng considered that answer more useful than any name.
"What are they looking for?"
"Relics. Materials. Anything that appears in the convergence zones. Some people will pay a fortune for a stone that shouldn't exist or a Gu that has developed an unknown ability. Others search for ancient formations, fragments of laws, or traces of places that vanished during the collision."
The innkeeper paused.
"Some of those objects are valuable. Others kill anyone who tries to use them. And there are things that attract people willing to kill for the chance to possess them."
Han Feng glanced at his bag.
The man noticed the movement but asked no questions.
"If you found anything in the old passage, don't show it around," he advised. "There are people in this city who can pay well for rare objects. There are others who prefer not to pay at all."
"Thank you for the warning."
The innkeeper nodded and headed for the door. Before leaving, however, he looked back.
"One more thing. Tomorrow, the Council will inspect the materials brought in by the caravans. Ever since a containment formation failed in the northern district, every object found near a fissure must be registered."
Han Feng showed no reaction.
"I understand."
The innkeeper left and closed the door.
Han Feng remained silent, listening until the man's footsteps faded down the corridor.
The information changed the situation.
If he registered the tablet, the Council would know he possessed it. If he concealed it and was discovered, he might be treated as someone hiding a dangerous object. If he sold it, he would lose the opportunity to understand why the Celestial Diagram had reacted to it.
There was no need to decide immediately.
But he would have to decide carefully.
Han Feng extinguished the lamp and approached the window.
The sky was dark, and the city's lights cast long shadows across the streets. In the distance, the three towers remained illuminated by their formation inscriptions. Beneath them, guards patrolled the walls while Council officials checked records and sealed warehouses.
For a moment, Three Stones Station seemed almost safe.
Then a bell rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The sound spread across the city, and the lights atop the towers changed color.
Han Feng watched as people hurried out of buildings. Guards rushed toward the northern gate, while cultivators in the streets raised their heads. An unstable pressure swept through the air, extinguishing several lamps and causing the inscriptions on nearby walls to vibrate.
This was not an ordinary attack.
It was the signal that something had happened to one of the containment formations.
Han Feng felt the same irregularity he had sensed in the tablet.
This time, however, it did not originate from the object.
It came from much farther away.
Deep within his consciousness, the Celestial Diagram awakened for a single instant.
A thin line traveled across its surface, and the sensation of immeasurable distance returned to touch his mind.
Han Feng saw no face, heard no voice, and received no revelation. He merely felt that the disturbance in the city was not an isolated event.
Something connected these phenomena.
Something he still could not understand.
The sensation vanished before he could investigate it.
Han Feng stepped away from the window and picked up his bag.
He did not know what he would find in the northern district, but he had already realized that waiting in his room for news would offer him no advantage.
He checked his spear, adjusted his clothing, and extinguished the remaining light.
Outside, the bells continued to ring.
Beneath the foundations of Three Stones Station, a formation designed to keep the remnants of the two worlds separated had just registered a presence that did not appear in any of its records.
The Council did not yet know what had awakened.
The guards believed it was another failure caused by the lingering instability of the Convergence.
The cultivators nearest the walls felt only a strange pressure, difficult to distinguish from the exhaustion caused by the scarcity of energy.
But at the center of the formation, an ancient inscription began to change.
One line disappeared.
Another appeared in its place.
And among the newly formed characters emerged a symbol that belonged to neither world's cultivation system.
The symbol of a door.
A door that, until that moment, should have remained closed.