Qin Lian had never seen so many trees in her life.
Or maybe she had. It was hard to say, given the memory problem.
But gliding above a sea of towering pines in a flying boat made of dark spiritwood and inlaid jade, with birdsong echoing below and mist curling like silver thread across the treetops, felt like a first. Everything smelled fresh—like rain, bark, and something faintly spicy she couldn't name. Sunlight cut through the clouds in golden ribbons, painting the landscape with shifting hues of warmth and shadow.
It was stunning.
And kind of exhausting.
She let out a breath and adjusted the strap of her tiny satchel. The flying boat rocked gently beneath her feet, a sleek vessel barely wider than a rowboat, but balanced with the stillness of meditation. Runes shimmered faintly along its curved hull, and a translucent qi crystal pulsed at the helm.
Beside her, a round grey rabbit perched contentedly at the edge of the boat, its ears twitching in the wind. Somehow, it had followed her from the hut. Now it refused to leave.
"Do rabbits normally stalk people in this world?" she asked.
"Only the bold ones," said Yan Zhenwu at the bow, not even winded. "That one has excellent spiritual instincts."
"I think it just wants my steamed buns."
The rabbit gave a smug little wiggle. Yan Zhenwu smiled faintly.
They had been in the air for nearly half the morning, drifting between mountain ridges and valleys. Despite his long hair and impossibly neat robes, he looked like he belonged in the sky — graceful, effortless, untouched by the chill.
Meanwhile, Qin Lian's legs were shaking, and she was gripping the side rail a little tighter than necessary.
Also, he looked too young to be anyone's great-great-grandfather.
She squinted at him. "Are you sure you're old?"
"Yes."
"Like really sure?"
"Yes."
"You don't look older than me."
"I've been cultivating for over two hundred years."
"Two hundred?!"
He glanced back, amused. "Would you prefer I had a long white beard?"
"I'd at least believe you were someone's grandpa!"
He gave a small shrug. "Cultivation slows aging. The more refined your spiritual core, the more your body adapts. Eventually, time… stops counting the same way."
"Cheating," she muttered.
"Says the one who woke up in a new body with no responsibilities."
"Touché."
They floated in silence for a while. Below them, the mountains shifted, slopes opening into terraces filled with spiritual herbs and moss-covered stones etched with ancient runes. Peaks shimmered faintly with qi. Qin Lian didn't know how she recognized that word — qi — but it felt right. Like her bones remembered something her mind had forgotten.
Somewhere far beneath them, a low, rumbling roar echoed across the ridgeline.
She stiffened. "What was that?"
"Likely a sky-lion," Yan Zhenwu said, completely unbothered.
She stared at him. "Excuse me—what?"
"Don't worry," he added casually. "They don't come this high unless there's a blood moon or a turnip shortage."
Qin Lian gave him a long look. "Do… those things happen often?"
He said nothing.
"…You're not comforting."
The boat tilted slightly as it caught another current, rising higher. The wind curled around them, clean and crisp. The rabbit wiggled its nose and chewed on something it had stolen from her satchel.
"Can I ask something?" she said after a while.
"Always."
"…What exactly is cultivation?"
Yan Zhenwu turned his head slightly. "A way of refining the soul. Strengthening body and spirit in harmony with the world. It's… many things. A path. A power. A promise."
"That's vague."
He smiled. "Yes."
"And how does someone even start? Do you just… breathe harder than usual and hope for the best?"
"That's meditation."
"Same thing."
He chuckled. "I'll teach you."
The boat dipped lower, gliding toward a stone platform nestled on the side of a cliff. A shallow stream wound through the clearing nearby, glinting like glass. Yan Zhenwu flicked his fingers, and the boat gently settled to a stop without a sound.
He stepped off first, then crouched by the water, splashing his hands through the surface like a boy on a summer day. His movements were casual but precise — like everything he did was trained, honed, even when he wasn't trying.
Qin Lian and the rabbit disembarked more cautiously. She crouched beside him, watching the water swirl between her fingers.
"Do you… have family?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away. The breeze picked up, ruffling the edge of his sleeve.
"I used to," he said quietly. "Once. A long time ago. My mother passed when I was a boy. My father left after that, never coming back. I traveled alone after that. I made… mistakes."
She glanced at him. His expression was unreadable.
"I didn't know about the child I left behind," he continued. "I didn't know I had bloodline left until that letter reached me."
He pulled it from his sleeve again — the same worn parchment.
She's alone now. Please… come find her.
Qin Lian's chest tightened.
"I'm sorry," she said.
He looked at her then. "You've done nothing to be sorry for."
She didn't know what to say.
So they sat in the quiet for a while, listening to the water, the wind, and the sound of the rabbit chewing mushrooms nearby.
Eventually, they moved on.
Around midday, they rose into the skies again, and Yan Zhenwu summoned a simple warding dome over the boat with a flick of his fingers. Then he reached into the silver ring on his finger — his space ring — and drew out an entire clay pot of steamed rice and sliced radish soup.
Qin Lian blinked. "You just pulled lunch out of your jewelry."
"Space ring," he said, pouring her a bowl. "Very convenient."
"This world is cheating," she muttered.
He smiled again.
As she ate, she asked about cultivation ranks.
"Most sects follow nine stages," he explained. "Body Tempering. Foundation Establishment. Core Formation. Soul Expansion. Nascent Sky. Dao Initiation. Void Step. Then… Transcendence."
She blinked. "You just made all that up."
"I did not."
"Nascent Sky?"
"Sounds poetic, doesn't it?"
"And where are you?"
He hesitated, then answered, "Void Step."
She nearly choked on her radish.
"You're almost a Transcendent?!"
He raised an eyebrow. "Would it impress you if I said I fought a spirit dragon once?"
"No."
"I didn't."
She snorted.
After lunch, the boat descended once more, weaving through clouds and bamboo groves. The light was golden now, warm against the cold wind, and distant birds flew in formation toward the peaks ahead.
Qin Lian rubbed her sore legs. "Do we teleport at some point?"
"You could ride on a sword," he said helpfully.
"Really?!"
"…You'd fall."
She sulked. The rabbit smugly cleaned its face.
But truthfully, despite the strangeness of it all, she didn't mind. It felt… peaceful. Like the world around her was made of breath and stillness and old things that remembered how to wait.
She'd expected panic. Or grief. Or fear.
But what she felt most… was curiosity.
About the strange man beside her. About the world unfolding beneath them. About who she'd been — and who she could become.
By late afternoon, the boat rose above a final ridge.
And there — nestled high among the mountains, floating on clouds and glowing faintly with lantern light and spiritual flame — was a place unlike anything she'd ever seen.
Pavilions rose like outstretched wings. Waterfalls spilled into crystal lakes. Bridges arched over streams. Strange birds soared through the sky, their feathers trailing sparkles.
A sect.
Yan Zhenwu's sect.
Qin Lian stared, wide-eyed.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
He stood beside her, quiet.
"Welcome home," he said at last.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
And then Qin Lian took a step forward — toward the edge of the boat, toward the path ahead, toward the life she never expected to live.
The rabbit followed.