Chapter 5: The Thing That Sleeps Beneath
Beneath Still Wind Hill, deeper than roots ever dug, deeper than even the system's scanners could see...
Something moved.
It wasn't fast. It wasn't loud.
It just... shifted.
Like a sleeper turnin in bed, rollin over in dreams too big for words.
Above ground, Alex didn't sleep that night.
He sat on the porch, staff layin across his knees, starin out over the fields.
The land was quiet, but not calm. The qi was wrong—too thick in some places, too thin in others. Like the breath of the hill itself had gone uneven.
"System," he said softly. "Any update on that 'spiritual tear'?"
"Analyzing... Fluctuations increasing. A second pulse was detected at 3:22 a.m. Coordinates: directly below the hill."
"So somethin is wakin up."
"Correction: something has already awakened."
Alex didn't curse often.
But he did then.
In the morning, he and Meilin went down to the southern cliff edge—the oldest part of the hill, where the soil was black and cracked like old pottery.
Jun followed behind, nervous.
"I don't feel nothin," Meilin said, kickin a rock off the edge.
"That's the scary part," Alex muttered.
He knelt down, touchin the earth. "System, open terrain scan to depth level 7."
"Warning: scanning at this level may provoke deep response—"
"Do it."
"Confirmed. Beginning scan…"
The ground beneath them... hummed.
And then, a sound rose up from the earth.
Not a roar. Not a growl.
Just... a whisper.
"Heeere…"
Jun's eyes widened. "Did... you hear that?"
Alex stood fast, grip tight on his staff.
"Yeah. An' I wish I didn't."
They retreated back to the farm, but the feeling followed them.
Birds stopped singin.
The spirit pond turned cloudy.
Even the rice fields… leaned slightly, like they were bowin toward the memory tree.
That afternoon, Liuna and the village elders came up the hill.
"You feel it too, then?" she asked.
"Yeah," Alex said. "Somethin's movin under us. Old."
Old Man Jia squinted at the horizon. "Could be a buried beast. Or a sealed cultivator."
"Or worse," Meilin muttered.
"What's worse than a sealed cultivator?" Jun asked.
Alex answered without humor.
"Somethin that ain't human no more."
That night, the villagers lit candles all along the fields.
It wasn't a ritual. It wasn't magic.
It was reminder—that they was here, alive, and still standin.
Alex sat beneath the memory tree again, eyes closed.
The system pinged.
"Would you like to activate Emergency Defense Mode?"
"No," he said.
"Clarify?"
"I ain't buildin a fortress. I'm growin a home."
The system paused.
"Understood. Initiating Root Shield Protocol instead."
All around the farm, small vines began to grow up the fences, the gates, the sides of every hut. Gentle, soft, green—but alive with qi.
The land would protect its own.
Far below, the whisper grew louder.
Not words anymore. Just hunger.
It had no shape. No name. Only the memory of pain. Long ago, someone tried to bury it.
But roots don't forget.
The thing beneath Still Wind Hill was awake.
And it was listening.