The village remained shrouded in the lingering smoke of the fire.
Though daylight had begun to break, the scorched earth and collapsed rooftops still bore witness to the devastation of the previous night. Xiao Chen said little. After settling the wounded and the children, he quietly gathered his things.
Han Bo, seeing this, asked no further questions. He silently packed his own bag. The two departed the village, one behind the other, stepping into the forest beneath the morning glow.
Villagers watched their silhouettes fade into the trees. An elder murmured, "Those two… were never ones we could hope to keep."
Sunlight slanted through the canopy, casting dancing shadows. In a secluded pavilion deep in the woods, Xiao Chen and Han Bo sat across from each other. The silence was heavy, the air thick with unspoken tension.
"Senior," Xiao Chen asked in a low voice, no longer uncertain but resolute, "may I ask—where is the Tower of Fate?"
Han Bo paused before replying. "Three hundred li north of Guling, deep within a silent forest. No one dares approach it. There is a guardian beneath the tower. Without the Guide, no one can take even a single step inside."
Xiao Chen's brows drew together. "The Guide?"
Han Bo nodded. "Ancient texts say that each time the Tower of Fate awakens, there is one destined to lead the way. That person is not the master of the tower, but can commune with its fate and judge who may enter."
He paused, his gaze darkening, voice dropping. "When I was young, I heard tales. One elder, whose fate was said to be extraordinary, believed himself chosen by the heavens. He sought the tower alone, but without the Guide's lead, he wandered the northern forest for seven days and nights. When he emerged, half-mad, he repeated only one phrase—'The tower was before me, yet I could no longer see it.'"
He sipped his tea and continued slowly. "Another man, proud of his unmatched talent, refused to accept his rejection. He attacked the Guide… What became of him, no one knows. Only that the Tower of Fate vanished for ten years, until another appeared to awaken it."
Han Bo looked up at Xiao Chen, voice grave. "This is not a warning—it's something you must understand. The Tower of Fate is not for just anyone. Without the destined connection, if you force your way in… you may never even glimpse its shadow."
Xiao Chen met his gaze, eyes burning. "I chose this path. I never intended to turn back."
Han Bo sighed. "Very well. Then be cautious. The tower does not appear first—the trials do. You must prove that fate allows you to enter."
After Han Bo finished speaking, Xiao Chen rose and bowed slightly, his voice sincere yet firm. "Thank you, elder, for your guidance."
Han Bo gently swirled his teacup and smiled. "I merely said what needed saying. The road ahead is yours alone."
Xiao Chen nodded and turned to leave. His steps were steady, but in his heart, he marked this moment—perhaps the last time they would meet.
Though Han Bo said no more, that cup of tea and his silent contemplation were all the blessings he could offer.
Xiao Chen did not look back. At dawn the next day, he set off alone toward the north.
The mountain paths were rugged, the ancient forest dense. As he ventured deeper into the land where spiritual energy flowed, the world grew quieter. So quiet it felt like the calm before a storm—even the birds had hushed.
By dusk, the mountain trail was silent. Only the wind whispered through the trees, carrying the chill of early autumn. Xiao Chen reached a slightly elevated ridge, pulled out a simple compass, confirmed his direction, and began searching for a place to rest.
Descending along a narrow path, he heard the forest stir with insects. The fallen leaves were damp, and the air held faint traces of spiritual fluctuation. After choosing a sheltered spot, Xiao Chen was about to light a fire when a panicked cry rang out from the distance—
"Help—!"
Xiao Chen dashed toward the source of the cry. As he focused his gaze, he saw seven or eight spirit wolves encircling a family of three. Their fangs bared, eyes glowing with an eerie blue light, radiating unnatural spiritual energy.
Night had fallen, and the wolves' shadows flickered in the dark. Xiao Chen's eyes sharpened. His figure flashed forward, lunging toward the trembling farmers. With a burst of energy, he moved like wind incarnate, weaving through the wolf pack. His left hand surged with rippling force, while his right palm struck back a lunging wolf head.
Yet the wolves' assault did not falter. Instead, their formation grew more precise, as if guided by a hidden will. Blood stained Xiao Chen's chest, but he did not retreat. He stood firm, shielding the frightened family behind him.
As the final blow landed, a pure white spirit wolf halted in place, staring at him. In its eyes—was that confusion? Or… a flicker of recognition? It howled toward the sky, then turned and led the pack into the forest, vanishing without a sound.
Before it disappeared, it even glanced back, as if confirming something, then slowly faded into the misty woods. Xiao Chen's breath was ragged, his chest heaving. Kneeling in the forest, he watched them go, a thought stirring in his heart: Were they… sent by someone?
Once the wolves had retreated, Xiao Chen steadied himself, his body covered in blood and dust. He turned to the stunned couple and the tear-streaked little girl. His voice was weak, but carried a gentle warmth. "Are you all right?"
The old farmer rushed forward, dropping to his knees with a thud, tears streaming down his face. "Great benefactor! You've saved our lives—we owe you everything!"
Xiao Chen reached out and helped him up, speaking softly. "You were merely passing through. Had I not intervened… you might not have escaped."
The woman, choking back sobs, pulled out a small bundle of food. "We prepared this this morning—it's still warm. Please… you must accept it."
Xiao Chen took it with a nod, though his gaze had already begun to drift. The little girl timidly stepped forward, holding a wooden carving tied with a red string. "Big brother… I carved this bunny. It'll protect you from the big bad wolves!"
He froze for a moment, then smiled faintly and tucked the carving into his robe. But as he turned, his blood surged, spiritual veins trembled, and before he could exhale the pressure, his body staggered. He collapsed heavily against a nearby boulder, sweat pouring from his brow.
"Just need a moment… I'll be fine," he murmured, though he could no longer stand. The couple quickly ushered the girl aside, watching from a distance, afraid to disturb him.
Night fell. Xiao Chen rested beside a forest spring. Shadows danced beneath the trees, moonlight flowed like water. He sat cross-legged to meditate, but his mind was restless—dreams and reality blurred like mist.
Leaning against an ancient tree, his depleted spiritual energy soon pulled him into a deep slumber. In his dream, he arrived in a fog-laden realm. The sky was gray, the wind cold. He knelt at the edge of a broken cliff. Below, a woman in white slowly fell, her long hair fluttering like snow in the wind. Her lips held a faint smile, but her eyes brimmed with finality.
"You've forgotten me… in the end," she said. Her voice seemed to echo from a time long buried, soft yet fatal. He tried to call out, but no sound came. He could only watch as she vanished into the abyss.
Suddenly, the dream shifted—the woman's face blurred, and for a moment, it became his own. As if he had killed her, or her death was somehow tied to him. Guilt, confusion, and fear surged like a flood. He could barely breathe.
Then, from the edge of the dream, a low voice echoed:
"Even in dreams, you fail to protect her… and yet you dare speak of defying fate?"
It was the voice of the Guide—the illusion trial of the Tower of Fate had begun.
Under the weight of sorrow and pressure, Xiao Chen could no longer suppress the storm within. His chest convulsed, and suddenly, a sharp pain flared in his left palm. A blood-red sigil burst forth on the back of his hand, glowing like a burning sun.
"Ah—!!"
His eyes snapped open, now crimson, veins bulging, his expression twisted in fury. Rage surged like a tide, resentment like blades, slicing through his soul. Energy erupted around him, sweeping through the forest in a violent gust—trees bent, stones shattered.
"Why… even in dreams… I still fail to protect!" he roared, voice hoarse and broken. Spiritual force poured out uncontrollably, cracking the earth beneath him.
The entire forest trembled under his unleashed power. Dead branches exploded, birds scattered in panic. His roar faded into sobs, and as his strength waned, he collapsed to his knees, fists pounding the soil. Only then did the storm begin to settle, his breath ragged, as if clawing his way out of an abyss.
When the dust cleared, spiritual energy still lingered among the scorched branches.
Xiao Chen gasped for air, chest rising and falling like a drumbeat, sweat beading on his brow. In his eyes, the fading image of the dream still lingered. As he lowered his gaze, he suddenly froze.
Just three zhang away, beside a large stone, a single blade of grass remained untouched—vibrant green, unburned, even the surrounding rocks were unharmed. The grass was pinned gently beneath a pebble, as if someone had placed it there with care.
He stepped closer. A familiar herbal scent wafted toward him—it was Lingxin Grass.
He recognized the rare herb instantly, his heart stirred. This plant grew only where spiritual energy intertwined. Gentle in nature, it could soothe the meridians, calm the soul, and was especially effective for internal injuries caused by spiritual disruption. He had heard of it many times in Master Suan Wuyi's lectures, but had never seen it in person.
A memory surfaced—just before he fell asleep, he'd heard the little girl's voice, mischievous yet tender:
"This herb is really precious. I searched for it for a long time… You didn't talk when you were awake, and your face looked really serious. You seemed… unhappy."
He lowered his head, throat tightening, fingers brushing the soft leaves. Though the world had nearly collapsed, warmth still remained. He carefully wrapped the herb and tucked it into his robe. This time, he vowed—not a single act of kindness would be lost to silence.
Just as he felt a flicker of human warmth, he sensed a sudden shift in the air. A damp chill crept in. Within a few steps, mist rose from all directions, quickly enveloping the forest.
He tensed, senses sharp. From within the fog, a figure stepped forth—as if emerging from the weave of fate itself.
An old man with white hair, holding a bone staff, his aura unfathomable. Stroking his beard, he spoke slowly:
"Young one, your mark may shake the heavens… but if you wish to enter the Tower of Fate, you are not yet qualified."
Xiao Chen sprang to his feet, eyes wary. "Who are you?"
The elder smiled faintly, his gaze deep as the stars. "I am the Guide… the one who communes with the tower. And also… the one who tests fate."
Xiao Chen's expression remained unchanged, but his voice was low. "Senior, may I ask… what qualifications must one possess to enter the Tower of Fate?"
The elder's eyes gleamed with quiet approval, as if pleased by his composure. "A good question. The tower does not reject, but it does not welcome those who should not come. If your fate sleeps, you cannot enter. If your heart strays, you will be lost."
"Qualification is not bestowed by heaven—it is what you are willing to trade… for the future you wish to protect."
His gaze fell upon the mark on Xiao Chen's palm, eyes narrowing. "If you continue down this path, you will find her. But you will also draw the attention of those who do not wish for your reunion. When the balance tips, all beings stir. If you truly are the one who defies fate—then prove it."
Xiao Chen was silent. He nodded, but did not move. His eyes fixed on the path ahead, where the mist thickened into a void. The Guide's aura was like fog and sea—gentle, yet instinctively unsettling.
He recalled Master Suan Wuyi's teachings:
"In the world of rivers and blades, trust yourself before you trust others. Every anomaly has its cause. Better to believe than to tread blindly."
His palm clenched, spiritual energy coiled at his fingertips. His gaze was steady as a mountain—he would take this step, but not in blind faith.
After a moment's silence, he finally stepped forward—as if entering a hidden path of destiny. The long-sealed gate of the Tower of Fate quietly began to open.
And beyond that gate lay the true beginning of his journey—where dream and reality no longer held boundaries.