The wind carried the faint scent of earth and smoke as it swept across the hilltop. A lone boy stood there, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the sun drooped low in the afternoon sky. His long black hair whipped violently with each sudden gust, his simple linen clothes fluttering against his frame.
"War is about to come."
The words escaped his lips quietly, though they carried a weight far beyond his years. His voice trembled, not from fear, but from the heaviness of conviction.
"When war arrives, all will be swallowed by a sea of flame…" He sighed deeply, the sound echoing against the emptiness of the hill.
The boy looked every bit the son of a farmer—his plain garb unremarkable, a sickle clutched tightly in his right hand, as though he had just come from tending the fields. Yet the ordinary appearance belied the sharpness in his eyes.
For weeks, he had watched the movements of the great families near his village. Soldiers marching, scouts traveling under the guise of merchants, banners hidden in the forests. While the villagers remained blissfully ignorant, lulled by their harvests and hearths, he knew the truth.
He had cultivated in secret—slowly, carefully, away from the eyes of his family and neighbors. His senses, honed through long years of silent practice, told him the truth that no commoner could grasp: war was stirring, and it would not spare the soil beneath his feet.
"Maybe… this is the chance I've been waiting for."
He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling with a weight that pressed harder with every passing moment. Fourteen years had passed since he first opened his eyes in this world—since his soul, torn from another life, had awoken in the body of a villager's son. Fourteen years of tilling fields, of living simply, of swallowing discontent.
In a world where cultivators soared through the skies and immortals shaped the heavens themselves, was he to remain nothing more than a forgotten mortal?
"Either I rise above… or I perish here, unnoticed."
His gaze fell upon the sickle in his hand. The blade reflected the afternoon light dully, its edge worn from countless harvests. For a long while he stood there, motionless, staring at the tool as though it carried the weight of his past.
Then—
Clang!
The sickle struck the ground as he let it fall from his hand. The sound rang sharp in the quiet air.
He turned eastward. Beyond forests and rivers lay Celestial Maidan City, a place of legend and ambition. There, the Great Jian Family ruled with authority so vast that even the wind seemed to carry whispers of their name.
That would be his destination.
"I am sorry… but I can no longer endure this ordinary life," he murmured, turning back once to face the tiny cluster of homes that had been his world for so long.
In the distance lay the smoke of cooking fires, the laughter of children, the simple rhythm of life untouched by ambition. His lips trembled slightly as he whispered,
"Father, Mother… my brothers. Forgive this unfilial son."
With that final farewell, the boy stepped forward, leaving the hilltop—and the life of a villager—behind.
*****
Between the humble Little Grass Village and the glittering spires of Celestial Maidan City stretched a wilderness vast enough to test the patience of any traveler. Two forests stood as natural guardians of the path—dark, ancient, and filled with whispers of legend.
The first was the Black Serpent Forest, said to be the domain of a serpent that had lived for three hundred years, a creature so vast its coiled body was mistaken for the ridges of hills. The second, beyond it, was the Moonlight Forest, where, according to tales, a star had fallen five centuries ago, giving birth to trees that glowed faintly under the silver light of night.
To reach the city, one had to pass through both. For most villagers, it was an impossible journey. For Wudi Egun, it was the only path forward.
This was his first time entering the Black Serpent Forest.
Despite its ominous name, what greeted him was not endless terror but the ordinary face of wilderness: towering trees stretching their limbs toward the sky, rivers that wound lazily through stone, and hills covered in thick undergrowth. No serpents revealed themselves, no monstrous beasts lurked within sight.
Three days had passed since he stepped beneath its canopy, each step carrying him farther from the simple life of a farmer's son and closer to Celestial Maidan City.
That night, the moon was high and dazzling, its silver light spilling between branches. Wudi settled himself near a shallow stream, deciding to rest.
The forest, curiously, held no trace of wild animals—perhaps driven deeper into the wilderness by unseen predators. With no meat to hunt, he had gathered berries scattered in clusters across the summer underbrush.
Now, seated before a small bonfire, he chewed on the tart fruit, gaze wandering up to the stars.
"What should I even do once I reach the city?"
The question slipped from his lips in a low murmur, soon swallowed by the crackle of the flames. Should he join the army? Seek service in a noble household? Would the Jian Family, rulers of Celestial Maidan, even take notice of a villager like him if he pledged himself as a servant?
Each path seemed uncertain, yet all promised at least a chance—an opportunity greater than the confines of Little Grass Village.
As he mulled over these thoughts, the quiet of the forest fractured.
Crunch.
The faint snap of branches carried through the air, followed by hurried footsteps—more than one, heavy and uneven.
Wudi's body tensed. His ears strained. Amid the rhythm of boots against soil, he caught ragged breathing—five, maybe more.
"They're coming closer…" His brows knitted tightly.
Fortunately, the river was near. Without hesitation, he slipped into its cold embrace, submerging himself up to the shoulders. Holding still, he parted the reeds just enough to observe the path.
Moments later, a figure burst into view.
A woman—tall, strikingly beautiful even in disarray, her luxurious silk gown torn and smeared with blood. Her right shoulder dripped crimson as she staggered forward, chest heaving with desperate breaths.
Behind her, five black-cloaked pursuers gave chase, their movements sharp and swift, unnaturally fast—like leopards gliding over the earth. No mortal could move with such speed.
Wudi's heart hammered.
"Cultivators?" he whispered inwardly, his mind racing. These were no ordinary men—of that he was certain. And yet, something felt amiss.
If they were truly cultivators, where were their flying swords? Back in his village, even the most exaggerated tales agreed on one thing: cultivators soared across the skies with blades beneath their feet.
So why were these figures running on the ground?
Were they truly cultivators… or something else entirely?
*****
Perfect — now the story is starting to escalate, bringing in real cultivator-level combat, danger, and a glimpse of the "greater world." I'll refine this draft with cinematic detail, psychological weight, and classic pacing. Every dialogue line will be tightened into something timeless and powerful, keeping that anime/manga 70s–90s tone.
Here's the polished version of this scene:
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Cultivation, Cultivators And The Immortals
Chapter 3 – Flames in the Forest
Wudi Egun remained submerged in the cold river, every muscle tense, eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before him. He dared not move, dared not even breathe too loudly, for the slightest disturbance could mean his end.
"Little lady," one of the black-cloaked pursuers snarled, his voice dripping with malice. "Hand over the divine sword, and we may yet spare your life."
The words sent a chill down Wudi's spine. Just the weight of that voice alone seemed enough to crush his spirit into dust.
Was this… the power of a cultivator? Or something close to it?
He clenched his teeth, refusing to name them cultivators outright. He had no true knowledge, only the stories whispered back in his village.
The woman stopped in her tracks, her tall frame trembling with exhaustion, blood soaking her shoulder. Yet her voice, though weakened, rang clear, carrying a strange grace.
"I would rather die," she spat, "than hand over my family's heirloom to the likes of you!"
Her body twisted as she formed a series of rapid hand seals. Then, planting her feet, she roared:
"Heaven, Earth, and Man—bless me with the power to incinerate my foes!"
Both palms thrust forward.
From the air itself, a blazing circle of light flared into being—inscribed with runes that shimmered with ancient force.
Swoosh!
A storm of flames surged forth, roaring across the forest like a tidal wave of fire. Trees split and withered, soil blackened, and the night itself seemed to burn.
Even from a hundred meters away, buried in the river's embrace, Wudi felt the searing heat. Sweat poured down his face despite the cool water. His heart raced wildly.
So this… this is the true power of this world's cultivators.
"This is… unexpected," he muttered through clenched teeth, awe and fear twisting together in his chest.
The cloaked leader raised his arm. His cloak rippled as invisible energy erupted from his body, distorting the air itself. A translucent barrier expanded outward, forming a colossal shield before him and his men.
Boom!
The sea of flame struck, shattering against the shield in a thunderous explosion. Cracks webbed across the barrier, sparks raining like shards of glass.
The leader's eyes narrowed. "So this is the power of the Dan Family's eldest daughter… truly worthy of the title Dan Phoenix, one of Celestial Maidan's Three Phoenixes." Despite his words, a note of grudging respect edged his voice.
But the woman's defiance faltered. Her proud expression twisted with pain as black veins crawled across her pale skin. Poison—already gnawing at her body.
Her breathing grew ragged. With one last glare, she spun on her heel and fled deeper into the forest, her figure staggering into the night.
The cloaked figures wasted no words. Like shadows, they pursued her, vanishing into the darkness.
Silence fell again.
Only after half an hour, when the night wind carried no sound of pursuit, did Wudi Egun dare to move. Slowly, cautiously, he rose from the river, water streaming from his clothes. His body still trembled, not from the chill—but from the memory of that overwhelming power.
"That was… insane." He clicked his tongue, forcing a wry smile as though mocking his own fear.
Curiosity tugged at him. Against his better judgment, he approached the charred battlefield. Burned earth stretched before him, scorched trees groaning as they shed glowing embers.
Then his eyes caught a glimmer.
Half-buried in the blackened soil lay a jade token, smooth and cold to the touch, crafted with exquisite precision. Under the moonlight, a single word shone upon its surface: Yuan.
Wudi turned it over in his hand, puzzled.
"That woman… They called her the Dan Family's eldest daughter. Then this doesn't belong to her." His brow furrowed in thought, but only for a moment.
In the end, he slipped the token into his wa
ist. "Whatever its meaning… it may be useful one day."
Without another glance, he left the scorched clearing behind, footsteps quickening into the depths of the forest.