Morning came with a soft frost, brushing the edges of Li Rong's small hut and vegetable plot. He stepped outside, feeling the cold bite against his skin, and immediately noticed subtle differences in the soil near the perimeter of his garden. Disturbed patches, small depressions in the mud, and a faint scrape against the stone edging — nothing overt, yet enough to alert him.
Someone has been here, he thought, kneeling to examine the marks. Footprints, too precise and deliberate to belong to an animal, led from the edge of the ridge toward his plot, then disappeared into the underbrush. His pulse quickened. Patience, observation, and deduction were his allies — lessons from a life he had left behind in another world.
He adjusted the placement of his baskets of wild herbs and roots, noting that a small clump of sorrel had been partially trampled. Carefully, he straightened the plants and repositioned stones to protect the tender shoots. Whoever had moved through here had done so with caution, leaving no tools, no threat, yet leaving subtle traces — a silent message that he had been watched.
Venturing toward the mountain periphery, Li Rong scanned the slopes for more edible plants. He moved deliberately, pressing moss to the ground, testing roots, and keeping track of the terrain. The ridge above remained quiet, but the broken twigs, slight depressions in the dirt, and a glint of metal here and there suggested someone skilled was observing him — not close enough to confront, but near enough to study.
By midday, he had gathered enough mushrooms, roots, and herbs for the evening meal. He paused to catch his breath, leaning on a sturdy rock and listening. The wind whispered through the pines, carrying faint echoes — perhaps of footsteps, perhaps of nothing at all. Yet the patterns were too consistent to be coincidence.
Returning to his hut, Li Rong began preparing millet porridge mixed with tender greens. As he worked, he reflected on the figure in the mountains. Observing without interference. Patient. Disciplined. Perhaps trained in combat, perhaps simply clever. Whoever it was, they were deliberate, leaving only enough evidence to be noticed by someone attentive.
He pressed his hands into the soil of his plot, grounding himself. Alone, yes… but not unobserved. The faint metallic glint, the careful footprints, and the subtle disturbance of earth were all signs of intelligence and patience. The watcher remained hidden, yet their presence was undeniable.
As dusk settled over the village, a breeze carried a faint whistle from the ridge — the same measured, deliberate sound as before. Li Rong froze, glancing upward. Nothing moved visibly, but the trail of observation was clear. He straightened the rows of crops, adjusted a basket of herbs, and allowed a small smile.
Someone notices me. And they will remain a question for now.
The day ended quietly, yet the tension lingered, weaving through the cold mountain air and the stillness of the hut. Li Rong ate in silence, listening to the whisper of leaves, the subtle shift of earth, and the echo of a presence that might one day intersect with his own.
And somewhere high above, in the shadowed ridges of the Cangyun Mountains, Wen observed, patient and deliberate, taking note of the careful movements below. His eyes followed Li Rong's every step, calculating, assessing, preparing — waiting for the precise moment when observation would become interaction.