The morning air was crisp and tinged with pine resin as Li Rong stepped outside his hut. The frost had melted just enough to reveal subtle shifts in the soil of his small vegetable plot. Something was different — a small branch had been bent unusually, as though someone had stepped lightly upon it. His brow furrowed. He knelt to inspect the ground, noticing tiny footprints that hadn't been there yesterday, weaving toward the ridge and then vanishing into the forest edge.
Someone moves through these mountains carefully, he thought, eyes scanning every detail. It wasn't fear that gripped him, but curiosity and a keen sense of observation honed from his modern life. Each footprint, each displaced twig, spoke volumes. The steps were deliberate, careful — an experienced watcher, perhaps trained.
He turned toward his vegetable plot, checking the roots and shoots. A few leaves of his cabbage had been nudged slightly, as if someone had adjusted them without disturbing the surrounding soil. Li Rong pressed his fingers into the earth, noting that nothing had been taken — only altered slightly, almost as if the observer were experimenting with subtle influence. He recalled his knowledge of plant care: the movement of roots, the angle of sunlight, the small drafts of wind could affect growth. Whoever had been here seemed aware of these details.
Curious and cautious, Li Rong decided to test his hypothesis. He rearranged a few herbs, leaving one particularly tender sprout partially exposed, then moved to the edge of the ridge to observe the pattern of shadows cast by the rising sun. Hours passed as he worked, foraging for wild greens and roots, taking care to press moss gently back into place and check soil moisture — modern sensibilities guiding his ancient hands.
By midday, he noticed subtle changes again. One of the small baskets of herbs had been nudged, angled slightly toward sunlight. A twig that had previously blocked a drainage channel was now bent back, allowing runoff to reach the roots more efficiently. Li Rong's pulse quickened. Whoever had come here was not careless. They had intention. Perhaps they had observed him long enough to understand some of his methods — a silent acknowledgment of skill.
He paused, leaning on a large rock, and let his gaze wander across the slopes. The ridge remained empty, the shadows quiet, but the air felt alive. The faintest whistle drifted through the pines — measured, deliberate, almost musical — curling and fading before he could follow it. Li Rong's mind raced. Someone is near, yet careful to remain unseen. Why? Observation? Curiosity? Caution?
Evening approached. He returned to the hut, carrying roots, greens, and mushrooms. Preparing millet porridge, he arranged jars of herbs, tending to them as he always did. But his eyes kept drifting toward the ridge, to the subtle signs left behind: bent twigs, nudged plants, footprints in soft soil. Every small detail was deliberate, purposeful. Someone above him was leaving traces, a cryptic form of communication or testing.
He pressed his hands into the cool soil of his plot, grounding himself. Alone, yes… but not unobserved. The careful intervention spoke of discipline, skill, and patience — a presence that respected his space while silently engaging with it. Li Rong's mind cataloged every sign, analyzing patterns, predicting movements, and noting how the unseen watcher moved without disrupting the balance of his small cultivated world.
As darkness fell and stars emerged, he settled against the rough wall of his hut, listening to the whispering wind through the pines. The metallic glint he had glimpsed yesterday caught faint moonlight again, far on the ridge. Li Rong realized that this presence was deliberate, patient, and perhaps waiting — waiting for him to notice, to understand, or to respond.
And somewhere high above, in the quiet folds of the Cangyun Mountains, Wen observed, patient and deliberate. Each small movement, each subtle intervention, was a calculated message. He did not yet approach, but his watchful eyes followed Li Rong's every motion, cataloging skill, patience, and intelligence — quietly shaping the connection that would inevitably draw them together.