Chapter 2 — Threads of a New Life
The days settled into a quiet rhythm. Morning sunlight spilled through the shutters, warming the wooden floorboards. The faint scent of boiling herbs drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the soft hum of Mei's tuneless song. She was always awake before me, clattering around with a seriousness that didn't quite match her small frame.
"Good morning, Mei," I said, rubbing my eyes as I stepped into the kitchen.
She glanced up from the bundles of dried roots spread across the table. "Morning. Help me pack these."
I sat down and began tying twine around the neat little bundles, mimicking her quick, practiced movements. Mei worked part-time at the local apothecary, sorting and preparing common remedies for the townsfolk. Even at home, her fingers moved with the same precise care, as if afraid a clumsy touch might spoil the medicine.
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Work at the Inkstone Pavilion became familiar after a week. Old Man Shen still grumbled whenever I showed up, muttering about "freeloaders" and "kids these days," but he let me linger over the books when the shop was quiet.
The shelves smelled of dust and ink, and the paper was often rough beneath my fingers. I started with history scrolls — partly because they were cheaper, partly because they didn't make my head spin with strange cultivation terms. The world slowly unfolded for me through those faded pages.
This Earth was a patchwork of small towns, cultivation clans, and sprawling sects. Strength decided everything — from who guarded the farmlands to who could tax the markets. Even the smallest clan boasted cultivators who could leap onto rooftops and split logs with their bare hands.
Qinghe Town itself was modest, sitting at the bend of the Yu River. Its markets bustled only on the fifth and tenth days of the month. Above the town, barely visible from the hills, a pale blue haze marked the location of the Azure Cloud Sect — the closest sect with real influence. Merchants spoke of it in hushed tones, as if the name alone could draw unwanted attention.
From the old scrolls, I learned that knowledge itself was hoarded. The most valuable books — cultivation manuals, detailed maps, rare medical texts — were guarded by clans or sold at prices that would take a commoner years to save for. In some cases, even touching a clan's archive without permission could get you beaten or crippled. Knowledge was a currency as real as gold.
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Evenings were my favorite. After work, I'd return home to find Mei kneeling by the hearth, coaxing the small fire to life. Tonight, I took over the cooking, pulling out the few ingredients we had left.
The scent of chopped scallions filled the air as I heated oil in our small pan. When the oil shimmered, I tossed in the scallions — they sizzled and popped, releasing a sharp, savory aroma that curled through the room. Mei leaned forward, nose twitching.
"That smells… different," she said.
"You'll see." I drained the noodles, poured the hot scallion oil over them, and mixed in a splash of soy sauce. The steam carried the fragrance between us like a promise.
She took her first bite, cheeks full almost instantly. "It's okay," she said, trying to sound casual.
"That's your third helping," I pointed out, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm still growing!" she declared, voice muffled by noodles.
I smirked, watching her shovel in another mouthful. She asked about my "techniques" after that, but I had a feeling she just wanted me to keep talking.
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On clear nights, we sat outside our small home, letting the day's heat fade into the cool breath of evening. Paper lanterns swayed along the street, their light trembling with each passing breeze.
Peddlers made their last calls for candied hawthorn, their voices mingling with the laughter of children darting between carts. Somewhere farther down the lane, a flute played a slow, wandering tune that seemed to stretch the night a little longer.
I followed the thin ribbon of road that wound past the hills, my gaze resting on the darkness beyond. "Do you ever wonder what's out there, beyond Qinghe?" I asked.
"All the time," Mei said softly. She hugged her knees, eyes reflecting the warm lantern glow. "But people like us… we're not meant to go too far."
Her words lingered even after the street fell quiet. In my old life, it had been ignorance — not fate — that had killed me. Here, I could already feel that same ignorance pressing in, heavy and suffocating.
And this time, I'd decided, I was going to break it.