The rain fell softly, a whispering veil of silver in the dying light.
It pattered against the leaves of ancient trees, their gnarled branches stretching like skeletal fingers over the lonely village.
The air hung thick with the scent of wet earth and pine, a quiet symphony of droplets tapping against wood and stone.
A kind-looking old man with a long white beard rested on a rocking chair under the terrace roof in front of a simple wooden house.
His rocking chair creaked faintly, a tired rhythm against the hush of the rain.
There was a teacup beside the old man on a small table, white steam rising from it slowly.
Looking at the color of the sky, it was around the time when it was about to get dark.
Alongside the rain, the sound of slow but strong breathing could be heard.
Everything seemed peaceful...
The old man slowly came out of his meditative state, and his hand moved toward the teacup. He picked it up to take a sip—but suddenly, his breathing stopped.
He listened carefully...
He could hear an extra breathing sound!
Slow, but strong, mixed with the sound of the rain...
The only thing that came to the old man's mind at this moment was:
'When was the last time someone could get so close to me without me noticing?'
The old man's eyes snapped open, and he looked left and right to find the source of the extra breathing while thinking:
'Is this an old enemy? A demonic beast with an innate hiding skill? Even so, how did the other party enter our village?'
While thinking, his gaze stopped on the source of the breathing sound...
Atop a large backpack, about 1.5 meters tall, a little boy—around three years old—sat cross-legged, looking at the rainy sky, breathing in the moist and pleasant air with a peaceful aura...
Feeling the old man's gaze, the three-year-old boy jumped down from the backpack, cupped his hands together, bowed slightly, and said:
"Hello, Pillow Dao-beast. You finally woke up."
Hearing the small boy call him 'Pillow Dao-beast,' the old man's hands suddenly trembled, and the teacup in his grasp cracked...
But looking at the boy's honest eyes, he knew the child didn't mean to insult him—he didn't know the correct term, 'Fellow Daoist.'
The old man took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and looked carefully at the little boy...
Simple and clean haircut. A black headband that seemed unique in some indescribable way. Bright black eyes that, when gazed into deeply, bore only one word:
[Determination.]
Black cloth and pants, martial arts-style, but with one extra pocket on his shirt containing a notebook and pen. A black wristband that seemed to match the headband. And a black belt around his waist, like a martial arts master...
The old man's eyes stopped at the right side of the boy's waist, where a small iron cage hung from his belt by a chain—so inconspicuous it could easily be missed.
Inside the cage was complete darkness.
The old man felt that if he stared too long, he might become part of that darkness forever.
Yet, at the same time, he sensed no danger from it.
Then he looked down at the boy's feet...
No shoes. Bare feet—but surprisingly clean in this muddy ground.
It was as if dirt and mud avoided those two small feet...
Overall, only 'clean and neat' could describe this small boy standing in the middle of this godforsaken place.
After taking another deep breath, the old man said:
"Hello, young Fellow Daoist."
He spoke slowly, correcting the boy's mistake.
When the little boy heard the answer, he gasped and asked:
"Fellow Daoist or Pillow Dao-beast?"
The old man smiled and said:
"Fellow Daoist, young man. Fellow Daoist."
Hearing this, the boy pulled out his notebook and pen from his pocket. The word 'Notebook' was written on the cover. He flipped through it until he found a blank page.
"Do you know how to write 'Fellow Daoist'?" the little boy asked.
After a brief silence, the old man nodded.
The little boy handed him the pen and notebook, then pointed at the blank page.
"Can you write it on this page for me?"
The old man, though confused, took the notebook, wrote it down, and handed it back.
The little boy took the notebook, went to the corner of the old man's terrace, and began writing 'Fellow Daoist' over and over while whispering it to himself...
After about ten minutes, he closed the notebook and returned it to his pocket.
Then he climbed back onto the backpack, sat cross-legged, and—after clumsily forming hand seals with a serious expression—declared:
"That wasn't a good first impression! I should take care of that!"
And he shouted:
"Divine Technique: Time Reversal—to before I said hello to the old man!"
Then he resumed gazing at the rainy sky, breathing in the moist air with a peaceful aura...
Exactly as he had been when the old man first saw him.
Once again, pretending to notice the old man's gaze, the little boy jumped down, cupped his hands, bowed slightly, and said:
"Hello, Fellow Daoist. You finally woke up."
The old man was dumbfounded...
He thought to himself:
'What just happened? What divine technique? What time reversal? Did time reverse without me noticing…?'
The old man suddenly looked at the teacup in his hand. Seeing the cracks still there, he sighed in relief.
'Is this kid messing with me? But what was that feeling just now?'
After a moment, he laughed at himself—how this little brat had scared him twice in a row.
Shaking his head, he replied:
"Hello, young Fellow Daoist."
The little boy, satisfied that his 'Divine Technique' had worked, smiled confidently.
"Old sir, I've had a long journey and am tired of all the hardships and challenges along the way. Do you know if there's a hotel in this village where I can rest? Preferably five-star!"
Hearing the boy's words, the old man felt uneasy.
'Was he raised in some high-end family with special education from birth? What challenges and hardships? How old is this kid? When did he even have time for hardships? So much doesn't make sense here!'
He glanced behind the boy, frowning.
'Am I still in the same place, or was I transported somewhere else while napping?'
Sure enough, he was still in the same village, the same jungle—the 'Forbidden Jungle.'
He looked at the less-than-one-meter-tall boy and asked:
"Young man, did you come here from there?"
The little boy glanced at the so-called 'Forbidden Jungle' behind him and nodded.
"Yes."
The old man pressed:
"Where are your parents? Did you come here alone?"
The boy answered:
"I don't have parents—just a big sister. But I had to come alone to take care of private matters. By the way, old sir, you didn't answer me. Is there a hotel here or not? I'm tired."
Hearing the boy's impatient tone, the old man grew more suspicious.
This 'Forbidden Jungle' was a place where beasts or animals might survive if lucky—but for humans, entering meant certain death.
Yet this boy, less than a meter tall, had come here alone?
How?
The old man felt fear for the third time.
'Something is wrong with this kid…'
"Ahem, young man, this is just a simple village of old people nearing the end of their lives. There's no hotel here…"
The little boy frowned.
"No hotel? But the one who gave me your address said I could find what I want here and rest!"
The old man stiffened.
"The one who told you? Who? And what are you looking for here?"
The boy scratched his head.
"That lady in brown said so. But forget that—for now, I need a place to rest. Look, it's getting dark!"
The old man grew even more confused.
'What lady in brown?'
"Alright, if you need a place to rest, there are plenty here. By the way, what's your name? Where are you from?"
The old man sensed the boy was fixated on resting and wouldn't answer easily, so he played along while probing.
The boy looked at him.
"My name is Mortal, and I'm from another world you don't know about. So, old sir, can you show me where to stay? How much per day? And what's your name?"
The old man's breath hitched at 'another world.'
'Why did he say that so casually? Is he insane? But then how did he enter our village?'
"Ahem… little Mortal, you can stay in the house beside mine. No payment needed. We haven't had guests in ages—how could we charge? Hahaha! The villagers call me Old Seven—I was the seventh person to arrive here. Come, I'll take you."
Old Seven tried to appear friendly, hoping to unravel the boy's mysteries later.
The little boy lifted his backpack like a schoolbag and eyed the old man curiously.
"Old Seven? There are six more people here? Are they as strong as you?"
Old Seven nodded, amused.
"Hahaha! Correct. Six others live here—all as strong as me, if not stronger."
As he answered, Old Seven studied the backpack.
It stood about 1.5 meters tall, with two adult-sized straps and two smaller ones at the bottom—customized for the boy. Two side pockets, a sleeping bag near the top, and a special slot for a wooden stick with a leather handle. A small hook held a pot of unknown material.
"You've got a nice backpack there, huh?" Old Seven remarked as they walked.
The boy frowned.
"It's not a backpack—it's a storage backpack, specifically for adventure."
Old Seven blinked.
"Storage backpack? What's that?"
The boy suddenly froze.
When Old Seven turned, he gasped—the boy's face had gone pale.
His mouth and eyes hung open in shock, as if struck by something unimaginable.
Then his body began trembling violently—like a panic attack.
With a trembling voice, the boy stammered:
"I-I-Isn't this th-the wo-world of c-culti—culpivis—cuntibioter? Caterpillar? Cult—"
When he couldn't recall the word, his shaking stopped. Color returned to his face.
Then, forming clumsy hand seals, he declared:
"Divine Technique: Time Stop!"
He pulled out his notebook, flipped to a page titled 'Necessary Information,' and scanned until he found the word:
'Cultivation.'
"Oh, here it is. The 'Cultivation World!'"
After repeating it three times, he closed the notebook, put it away, formed more clumsy seals, and said:
"Divine Technique: Time Back to Normal!"
Instantly, his face paled again, and he trembled as he asked:
"I-I-Isn't this the wo-world of c-cultivation?"
Old Seven, equally pale, answered with difficulty:
"Y-Yes, this is the one!"
The boy's color returned. He placed a hand on his chest, exhaling in relief.
Then he glared at Old Seven with dissatisfaction.
"Old Seven, you scared me to death! I thought I came to the wrong world and ruined the first step of my plan! How can you be in the Cultivation World and not know what a storage backpack is? Don't you have storage rings and bags here?"
Old Seven, recovering from his own near-heart attack, saw the boy now looking at him like some ignorant old fool.
He stammered:
"I-I know what storage rings and bags are! Look, I even have a storage ring!" He showed the ring on his finger.
The boy, Mortal, held out his hand.
"Give it to me. I'll show you the difference."
Baffled, Old Seven handed it over.
The boy placed the ring inside his backpack.
"See? I can put your ring in my storage backpack."
He returned it.
"Now, try putting my backpack in your ring."
Old Seven tried—and failed.
"Eh? Eeeh? Why can't I?"
The boy smirked.
"Understand now? And that's just one difference."
Old Seven was baffled.
'Is this a normal backpack or not? If it is, why can't it go in the ring? If not, why can the ring go in…?'
"Ahem, I think I get it. Anyway, little friend, here we are. You can stay as long as you like."
Old Seven pointed to a house.
The boy's earlier panic had shaken him—he just wanted to be rid of him for now.
Little Mortal cupped his hands.
"Thank you, Fellow Daoist. I'll stay just tonight. After tomorrow morning's interview with you all, I'll leave to continue my journey. Goodnight for now."
He entered and closed the door.
Old Seven stood bewildered.
'Interview? What interview? Why is this kid so hard to understand…?'
As he pondered, footsteps approached from behind, followed by a mellow chuckle.
"How's your night, Pillow Dao-beast Seven? Hehehe."
A woman's voice teased.
Old Seven gritted his teeth and whispered:
"Sixth Sister, don't mock me. That kid scared me half to death."
He turned to see a woman with pink hair and purple eyes.
Her playful expression turned serious.
"You were scared? What would you have done if you'd seen his entrance like I did? Why do you think I stayed hidden?"
Old Seven gaped.
"You saw him enter from the Forbidden Jungle? Why didn't you warn me?"
As they walked toward the village's end, Sixth Sister said:
"Do you think I—or the others—didn't try?"
Old Seven froze.
"Others?"
The moment he spoke, four figures emerged from hidden spots, joining them silently.
Old Seven fell silent.
When they reached the last house, its door opened on its own. A dignified voice called from within:
"Come in, everyone. I've prepared tea. Let's calm our nerves… then discuss our uninvited guest."
The group—four men and three women—entered, shaking their heads.
Tonight, though quiet on the surface, was one of the most terrifying they'd ever experienced…