The house was quiet now.
Wei Ran sat alone on the steps, just outside the door. Behind him, his parents moved like shadows—silent, slow. The door creaked shut. He didn't turn.
The road before him stretched empty, covered in dust that hadn't yet settled from the carriage wheels.
A breeze rolled down from the hills.
The hairpin.
The one he'd carved for her. The one she wore on her birthday. It must've fallen in the chaos.
He stared at it.
He picked it up slowly, brushing off the dirt. The wood was cracked. A thin splinter ran through one edge. But it was still hers.
His hand curled around it.
"I'm glad you're my Gege."
The words echoed like a whisper.
His throat closed. He blinked hard, but the sting behind his eyes didn't fade.
He didn't move. Just sat there, letting the quiet press down on him like stone.
Then—soft footsteps on the dirt.
He looked up.
It was Suji, one of the girls from the village. The same one Yilin had teased him about.
She stood a few steps away, wringing her hands.
"I… I'm sorry," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "We all loved Yilin. I can't imagine how horrible this must be for your family."
Wei Ran didn't respond.
Suji shifted uncomfortably, then continued, "My grandfather… he asked me to come talk to you. Said when you're feeling a bit better, he'd like to see you."
She paused, searching his face for something. But Wei Ran's eyes stayed on the ground.
"I don't know what it's about. He didn't say. Just that… it's important." She hesitated. "Anyway. I should go."
She turned, stepping back slowly, then stopped. "Take your time, okay?"
Then she was gone.
Wei Ran sat there a while longer.
The leaf still trembled by his foot.
Finally, he stood, dusted off his pants, and began walking.
The path to Old Zhen's house wound through the western side of the village—past drying herbs, creaky gates, and rooftop tiles warped by decades of wind and sun. Wei Ran had walked it many times, but it felt longer now. Like each step echoed louder than it should.
By the time he reached the crooked wooden fence, the sun had dipped low. Shadows stretched long across the mossy stones.
He knocked once.
"Come in."
The old voice came before he even touched the handle.
Inside, the room was cluttered but warm. Scrolls, teacups, and bundles of dried roots hung from the beams. Old Zhen sat cross-legged on a floor cushion, a pot of tea steaming beside him.
"I heard," the man said without looking up. "I'm sorry."
Wei Ran said nothing.
Old Zhen gestured to the cushion across from him. "Sit."
He did.
For a moment, the only sound was the bubbling of the kettle.
"Do you know what Qi is, boy?" the old man asked suddenly.
Wei Ran blinked. "I've heard of it. They say… it's the power cultivators use. From nature."
Old Zhen snorted. "A leaf's answer. Too simple."
He poured two cups of tea.
"Qi is not power. It's pressure. Rhythm. Breath. It's the pulse beneath the skin of the world. The same force that moves the stars, stirs the oceans, and ripens the fruit on the branch."
He handed Wei Ran a cup.
"Some say it is the breath of the Sovereign himself."
Wei Ran stared down at the steam.
"And Dantian?" Old Zhen continued. "Have you felt it?"
Wei Ran didn't answer.
The old man smiled knowingly. "I thought so."
"The Dantian is no muscle. It cannot be seen on a table. But it's there—deep inside, behind the navel. A well. A core. Some are born with it open. Others never feel it stir."
Wei Ran looked up. "And those who don't?"
"Remain Rootless." Zhen sipped his tea. "Live. Work. Die."
Silence.
"The Sovereign Tower," the old man went on, "was not built for them. It respects only cultivation. It sees no kindness in birth. No mercy in bloodlines."
He tapped his chest. "Only what's inside."
Wei Ran's hand curled slightly around his cup.
"You saw what they did to your sister," Old Zhen said. "Because she was useful. She'll live. She'll serve. She might never be in danger."
"But she'll never come back."
Wei Ran's jaw tightened.
"And you," Zhen added, "you have no clan, no teacher, no Dao."
Wei Ran stayed silent for a moment.
Then, quietly: "…What is Dao?"
Zhen smiled—not mocking, but distant, like he was remembering something far away. "The Dao is… direction. Path. Meaning. Every cultivator walks a Dao, whether they know it or not. It's not a technique. It's not something you learn. It's something you follow."
He gestured toward the window, where the sky was beginning to darken.
"Some chase fire. Others pursue strength, healing, lightning, even silence. Their path shapes the Qi they attract—and how they wield it."
He looked back at Wei Ran. "But without a Dao… you walk in circles."
Zhen leaned back slightly. "But before you can follow a Dao… you must have a Dantian—and understand it."
Then he leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
Wei Ran stayed silent.
"But you do have a Dantian." The old man's eyes glinted. "Don't you?"
A beat passed. Then:
"…Yes."
Zhen exhaled through his nose. "Good."
He leaned forward, voice lowering.
"To cultivate is to refine Qi into yourself. Into your Dantian. To make it part of you."
Wei Ran nodded slowly.
"Most fail," Zhen said. "They lack patience. Or heart. Or both. They chase strength. But strength is the final step, not the first."
He picked up a worn scroll from beside the table.
"This," he said, "was given to me decades ago. A method for Rootless. Simple. Slow. But real. I never used it."
He extended it across the table.
Wei Ran hesitated.
"Why me?"
"Because no one ever gave me a chance," Old Zhen said softly. "Maybe I regret that."
Wei Ran took the scroll.
It felt heavier than it should.
Outside, the wind rustled the trees.
"Start small," Zhen said. "Sit beneath the wind. Feel the quiet. Learn to breathe again."
Wei Ran stood slowly, the scroll clutched to his chest.
He bowed.
Then turned to leave.
He stepped out of Zhen's house into the fading light.
The village was quiet again. The sky burned gold.
Wei Ran reached into his sleeve and pulled out the hairpin. The crack along its side caught the sun.
He held it for a moment… then tucked it safely away inside his robe.
He didn't need a banner. Or a vow carved in stone.
He had this.
And he had his promise.