Chapter 8: Roots of the Past
The morning after the fight, the hill was quiet again—but not the same kind of quiet.
It was the kind of quiet that comes after a wolf's howl is heard at night, when even the birds think twice before singing.
Alex stood near the small cottage he built, watching the woman and her child sleep peacefully for the first time in days. He didn't ask her story yet. Didn't need to. Pain speaks loud even when no words is used.
The system chimed softly.
"Detected: residual trauma in guests. Recommend healing tea or emotional balance incense."
"Make both," Alex whispered.
"Brewing now."
The steam rose in slow, curling spirals from the stone kettle near the porch. Its scent—calm lotus and warm honeyroot—floated on the breeze.
Meilin sat cross-legged nearby, meditating. Her brows was tight, though. She could feel it too. The balance was shifting.
"You think they'll come back?" she asked without opening her eyes.
Alex nodded once. "Eventually. That guy last night won't let this go."
"We could leave," she said, half-joking.
"I did that before. In my last life. Ran and ran. Got strong. Killed a lot of people. But never really had peace."
He looked out at the fields. "This time, I won't run."
Meilin opened one eye. "You really was someone in your past life, weren't you?"
Alex chuckled. "Depends who you ask. Some said hero. Others, monster."
The woman and her son woke up just then. She stepped outside slowly, bowing deep. "Thank you… for saving us."
"You're safe here," Alex said. "What's your name?"
"Liuna," she said softly. "And my son is Xiao Rui."
The boy peeked from behind her leg. His eyes was wide, but he smiled when he saw the spirit butterflies dancing around a flower bed.
"You hungry?" Alex asked gently.
The kid nodded fast.
Alex grinned and waved them in. "Come on, then. Breakfast waits for no one."
As the day moved on, word spread.
The villagers came climbing up the hill again—not in fear, but to check on their strange friend, the immortal farmer. They brought baskets of rice, jars of soup, and more carved gifts. When they saw the new arrivals, nobody questioned it.
They just made room.
"Storm's getting closer," one of the elders said quietly to Alex. "We can feel it in the soil."
"I know," he replied. "But we'll weather it. Together."
That night, Alex walked alone to the old tree near the top of the hill. A memory tree, the villagers called it. No one knew how long it had been there, only that it never lost leaves, even in winter.
He sat beneath it, looking at the stars.
"Host has denied combat upgrades again. Confirming peaceful build path."
"Yes," Alex said.
"However… it is time."
Alex frowned. "Time for what?"
The system paused—longer than usual.
"Time to unlock Root Memory Protocol."
A strange warmth bloomed in his chest. Then it hit him—like a flood behind his eyes.
Memories. Not just from this life, but the last.
His fall from grace.
His years wandering the cultivation world, covered in blood.
The Sect he led… and lost.
The love he buried.
The betrayal that ended everything.
He gasped, grabbing the ground as it all came back like lightning in a storm.
Then, just as sudden—it passed.
He was still Alex.
But now he remembered being Xiao Ren, the Heaven's Blade of the Azure Flame Sect. A man once feared across three empires.
He leaned back against the tree and let out a long breath.
Meilin stood at the edge of the path, arms folded. "You remembered?"
Alex nodded, eyes half-glazed. "I didn't want to… but yeah. I did."
She walked over slowly, kneeling beside him. "Does it change anything?"
He shook his head. "No. I'm still just a farmer now."
"But you ain't just anything," she said. "You're the blade that chose to rust in peace."
Alex laughed—tired, but honest.
"I just wanna grow good food," he said. "And maybe protect this little corner of the world."
Meilin looked at him for a long time, then gave a small smile.
"Then let's make this hill the strongest damn farm under the heavens."
The wind carried seeds of change down the valley that night.
Not everyone who once feared Xiao Ren would forget his name. And those who hunted him might yet learn the cost of pushing a peaceful man too far.
But for now, Still Wind Hill slept soundly.
The moon rose.
And the fields grew.