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Chapter 10 - “The Watcher’s Touch”

A week had passed since Li Rong first noticed the subtle signs around his hut. Each day brought minor changes — bent leaves, smoothed soil, and carefully nudged herbs — small evidence of someone moving deliberately through the clearing near his home. At first, he had been wary, tense, unsure if the interventions were accidental or hostile. Now, he approached the ridge and his plot with quiet awareness, cataloging every trace.

One morning, he discovered something new. A patch of nettles and wild garlic that had been struggling to take root was now partially supported with small sticks and stones, stabilizing the soil. Li Rong knelt, fingers brushing the fragile roots. Someone had intervened with care. They had not stolen, nor destroyed, but had subtly improved the environment, making survival easier. He glanced toward the ridge; the pines swayed, but no one was visible.

Later that day, as he checked a shallow trench he had dug to prevent water pooling around the cabbage roots, he noticed it had been deepened and widened in several spots. Water now flowed more efficiently, reaching even the roots of the tenderest plants. Li Rong pressed his hands into the moist soil, tasting the faint mineral richness, and marveled at the thoughtfulness of the unknown presence. Protective, perhaps — and skilled.

Over the next few days, the pattern continued. A small branch that had blocked sunlight for one of his plots was carefully removed. A few wild roots that he had overlooked were gathered and placed near his hut, neatly aligned, as if guiding him to better foraging. Li Rong inspected them — nettles for energy, garlic shoots to ward off infection, edible roots for stamina. Whoever had left them understood both the practical needs and subtle health benefits of these plants.

One afternoon, he ventured to collect firewood near the lower ridge and froze at a sudden sound: a small landslide of loose stones shifted down a slope, revealing a tiny patch of fertile soil that had been blocked by rocks. It would have remained hidden from him, but now it offered a new area for planting herbs. Li Rong's heart quickened. Someone had intervened silently but decisively, protecting and enhancing his survival without revealing themselves.

By midweek, he had noticed more protective actions. Several young shoots of wild garlic near the edge of his hut had been shielded with small rocks from wind and frost. A minor erosion on the slope near his vegetable plot had been stabilized, preventing water from washing away soil. Li Rong crouched beside these interventions, studying their subtlety. No one careless would do this. They know what they're protecting.

The sun was low when he returned to the hut one evening. A faint glint of metal caught his eye near the ridge, reflecting sunlight at an unusual angle. Approaching cautiously, he saw it was a small, flat stone placed upright at the edge of the clearing, marking a safe route through a patch of uneven ground. Li Rong traced the path with careful steps, realizing that the unseen watcher had considered his safety. Every step was deliberate, every intervention protective, every gesture silent but meaningful.

As twilight fell, he leaned against the wall of his hut, hands pressed into the cool mud. The wind whispered through the pines, carrying faint sounds of movement and rustling leaves. Each day's small acts of care were a dialogue without words: a demonstration of intelligence, patience, and caution. Li Rong realized that the presence above was not just observing but actively ensuring his well-being.

High on the ridge, Wen watched, careful and deliberate. Each cleared ditch, nudged herb, and arranged bundle of plants had been intentional. Protective without revealing himself, he had subtly enhanced Li Rong's safety, preparing for the eventual moment when observation would become interaction. He cataloged Li Rong's movements, intelligence, and resilience, noting not only skill but an instinctive ability to survive and adapt. Soon, their silent dance of observation would shift — the first contact drawing closer with every deliberate intervention.

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