Nestled in the hills, there lay a small settlement known as Qingniu Town.
Though some might generously call it a city, in truth, it was little more than a modest town, slightly larger than a village, yet far from grand. The locals had long called it "Qingniu Town," but travelers from the countryside, unfamiliar with its scale, often called it "Qingniu City," as if naming it so might elevate its stature.
At the heart of Qingniu ran a single main road, cutting east to west. At its far western end stood the only inn, the Qingniu Inn. For any visitor passing through, it offered the sole option for shelter. Refuse it, and the open road would be your bed.
This afternoon, from the western edge of town, a caravan of horse-drawn carts rumbled down the dusty road, heading straight toward the inn. Yet they didn't stop there. They pressed deeper into the town, finally halting before a timeworn tavern, the Spring Fragrance Restaurant.
The building looked worn, with peeling paint and faded signs, but there was a quiet dignity in its age. It stood like an old storyteller, whispering tales of decades past. At this hour, high noon, the tavern buzzed with patrons, their laughter and chopsticks clashing in the air. There was barely a seat left.
From one of the carriages, a round-faced, barrel-chested man with a beard stepped down, dragging along a dark-skinned boy who couldn't have been more than ten. The man waddled through the tavern doors like he owned the place, and in a way, he did.
Several patrons recognized him immediately.
"That Fatty Han again," someone whispered with a grin. "Bet he's here to watch the scales."
But then, one of the older drinkers glanced at the boy and chuckled.
"Say, Old Han!" he called out, "That little dark rascal, he yours? Looks just like you. Don't tell me you've been sneaking around behind your wife's back, eh?"
A chorus of laughter erupted through the tavern.
Fatty Han didn't miss a beat. He spat dramatically on the floor and declared, "Tch! He's my nephew. Of course he looks like me. It's in the blood!"
The boy beside him, however, didn't say a word. He simply stood quietly, eyes lowered.
This boy was Han Li.
After three days of rough travel, Han Li and his third uncle, the man known in town as "Fatty Han", had finally arrived. Once pleasantries were done, Fatty Han led Han Li to a quiet courtyard behind the restaurant.
"This'll be your room," he said, pointing at a small, neat chamber.
"You rest for now. Someone from the inner sect will be coming later. I'll call for you when it's time. I've got guests to handle first."
As he turned to leave, he hesitated. The man's usually carefree face grew a shade more serious.
"Don't go wandering around. There are a lot of people in town right now. Best stay inside the courtyard."
"Yes, uncle," Han Li replied.
Only after hearing the boy's obedient answer did the man finally depart.
Once alone, Han Li gazed briefly at the door. Then, as if all the exhaustion of the journey came crashing down, he climbed onto the bed and drifted into sleep. There was no nervousness in his eyes, no fear about being far from home. Just a quiet stillness, like a mountain under snow.
That night, a servant brought food. It wasn't much, plain rice, a few side dishes, but warm and filling. After clearing the dishes, the servant left, and not long after, Fatty Han returned.
"Did you eat well?" the man asked, sitting down with a huff. "Missing home?"
"A little," Han Li said honestly.
That seemed to please his uncle. With a wide grin, Fatty Han launched into a stream of rambling tales, how he came to manage the tavern, the trouble he'd gotten into in his youth, the fights, the debts, the women. None of it was entirely suitable for a child, but Han Li listened quietly, a small smile sometimes flickering across his lips.
And so, two more days passed peacefully.
But on the third evening, just as Han Li finished his meal and was waiting for his uncle to come with another story, a strange carriage stopped outside the tavern.
It was entirely black, sleek and sombre, with a dark flag fluttering from its front.
Upon that flag was a single word embroidered in silver thread, "Xuan."
It sent a chill down the spine.
Any martial artist within a hundred miles who saw that symbol would immediately recognize it, someone from the mighty Xuan Sect had arrived.
The Xuan Sect, also known as the "Seven Mystics Sect," had ruled Jing Province over two centuries ago. Founded by the legendary Mystic Sage, its influence had once extended into neighboring regions. But after the Sage's death, its power waned. Rivals closed in, forcing the sect to retreat to Mount Taihe, a desolate corner of Jing Province.
And yet, even a fallen dragon is no worm. Though now considered a third-rate sect, the Xuan Sect still commanded a vast number of disciples and controlled over a dozen towns like Qingniu. Its strength was far from gone.
Their greatest rival in the region was the Wild Wolf Gang, a brutal band of former mountain bandits. Though wealthy, the Wolves lacked the roots and respect of a true sect. This constant tension had led to skirmishes, raids, and a quiet, grinding war that had lasted years.
And now, it seemed the Xuan Sect had come again to Qingniu.
From the carriage stepped a tall, lean man, face sharp, eyes narrow. His movement was swift, precise, like a blade in motion.
Without a word, he made his way through the tavern and into the private rooms beyond.
When Fatty Han saw the visitor, he stiffened immediately and gave a respectful bow.
"Protector Wang," he said cautiously. "To what do we owe the honor of your presence?"
"Hmph," the man grunted. "This area's unstable. The elders ordered me to personally lead the escort. Enough talk. Is this the child you recommended?"
Fatty Han bowed again.
"Yes, yes. My own nephew. I hope… I hope Protector Wang might look after him a little on the road."
As he spoke, he slipped a small pouch into the man's hand.
It jingled.
Wang weighed the pouch, then gave a subtle nod.
"You know how to behave. I'll make sure the boy stays safe."
Then, without another word, he turned to leave.
Han Li's quiet journey had come to an end.
Something unknown was beginning.
And somewhere beyond the hills, far from the comfort of taverns and familiar faces, the path of cultivation waited, cold, merciless, and filled with shadows