The night was cool, the kind of chill that made the pine needles shiver and the damp earth smell sharp and alive. Li Tianlian crouched by the stream, sleeves tucked neatly into his palms, toes brushing the soft mud. Mei slept inside, bundled in blankets that smelled faintly of herbs and smoke. Her small chest rose and fell in gentle rhythm. For a moment, he almost envied her peace. Almost.
He frowned. Peace was rarely a permanent thing.
A soft rustle drifted from the treeline—so subtle he might have mistaken it for the wind if not for the sharp pull in his chest. His instincts tightened, honed over a lifetime of impossible odds. The forest didn't lie. Something moved. Something—or someone—was watching the village.
"…Huh," he muttered, voice barely above the whispering leaves. Not alarmed, just noting.
Li Tianlian shifted forward, bare feet silent on the grass. Every movement measured, deliberate. Moonlight glanced off the stream, reflecting pale ripples. They weren't his. Something upstream disturbed the water, tiny yet deliberate. A fish? Perhaps. Or maybe not.
A faint sound followed. Footsteps—slightly heavier than a child, lighter than an adult. Purposeful, deliberate.
He froze.
Not out of fear. Habit. Observation. Analysis. Reaction came second.
A shadow flickered between the trees. Not human. Not animal. Something in between—or something clever enough to pretend it was.
"Interesting," he whispered, almost amused. "Curiosity. Dangerous curiosity."
Step by silent step, he crept closer, the forest bending around him as if holding its breath. The shadow paused, then melted deeper into the woods, leaving only disturbed leaves and a faint, unnatural pulse in the air.
Tianlian's lips curved faintly. Predator instincts, hunter's patience—still alive even in this small, unassuming body.
He turned back toward the house. Mei slept, her soft breaths undisturbed. The village lights glowed dimly in the distance. All seemed calm.
"…Not for long," he muttered under his breath.
---
Inside, his father stirred. Li Yingshu had always trusted Tianlian's judgment, though he didn't understand why. Tonight, that trust—built on years of observing his son's strange balance of laziness and precision—would not go untested.
Tianlian brushed off grass, scanning Mei's pale face. Small, fragile, alive.
"Stay like this for now," he whispered. "I'll keep watch."
Hours passed. Moonlight shifted, clouds drifting lazily across the silver disc. Tianlian sat by the window, limbs folded neatly, body still, senses stretched across the forest like fine silk threads. Every rustle, every shift in wind, every nocturnal cry carried meaning.
Then, something new.
A faint glow pulsed through the treeline. No noise, no scent. Only light, steady, rhythmic—like a heartbeat.
Tianlian rose slowly, muscles silent as shadows. Step by careful step, he approached the forest edge, mind cataloging possibilities: wandering beast, thief, cultivator passing through, or something older, smarter.
Moonlight touched the glow, revealing faint symbols etched across the trees. Pale, shimmering, almost alive. He crouched low, eyes narrowing.
"…Not ordinary," he muttered.
The light pulsed again, and a figure emerged—a tall, slender silhouette hovering between the trees. Eyes bright, intelligent, focused. No overt aggression, yet every movement radiated awareness.
Tianlian ducked behind a tree, surveying carefully. Observation first, reaction later. He counted every breath, every motion, every tendril of energy that brushed the air like silk threads.
The figure tilted its head. A faint smile, or perhaps a trick of the moon. Then a ripple in the forest—the kind that sets instinct screaming but mind calculating.
He didn't move immediately. Not yet. Patience first.
A squirrel darted past, and his mind briefly quipped: Even the forest has extras casting shadows tonight.
The figure shifted again. The symbols on the trees glimmered faintly, reacting to its presence. Not magical—something else, older, subtler. Tianlian didn't know it yet, but his pulse quickened just slightly. Not fear. Anticipation. Curiosity.
He considered retreat—then shook his head. Not yet. Observation first. Always.
Another pulse, brighter this time. The figure's gaze seemed to sweep over the village, landing briefly on Mei's window. Subtle. Calculated.
Tianlian's jaw tightened. Protective instincts fired. He had survived death once; he had studied how to survive life. And now, he understood what the forest had whispered: this was a test. Or a warning.
He slid backward into shadow, crouched, silent. His mind cataloged everything—the glow, the figure, the subtle energy traces. Possibilities, outcomes, probabilities.
If it's a cultivator… likely low-rank but skilled in concealment.
If it's a beast… intelligent beyond natural measure.
If it's both… I should consider running… or maybe not.
He smirked faintly. "Don't worry, Mei. Even if they're scary, I've got this. Or at least… mostly."
The figure's pulse faded, drifting further into the woods. The glow disappeared. All was silent again.
Tianlian exhaled. For the first time that night, a small, lazy grin curved his lips. Predator instincts were alive, but danger, for now, had paused.
He returned inside, brushing off the faint chill of night air. Mei stirred slightly but remained asleep. He adjusted her blanket carefully.
"Better safe than sorry," he murmured.
---
Morning came in golden streaks, brushing the village in warmth and comfort. Tianlian sat outside, stretching lazily while Mei ate porridge quietly at his side, cheeks puffed adorably.
"You stayed up late," she whispered, voice sleepy.
"Someone had to keep an eye on things," he replied nonchalantly, taking a bite of his own food.
Her eyebrows knit together. "Did… something happen?"
"Nothing you need to worry about," he said, leaning back. Mostly true. He chewed thoughtfully, eyes flicking toward the distant treeline. Forest was calm—too calm.
Mei frowned, unsure if he was serious or joking.
"You talk funny," she said finally.
"I talk like someone who survived twice," he replied, tone flat but amused.
She blinked. "Twice?"
"Yep. Once by mistake. Once by choice," he said casually. Inside, though, a small fire of determination flickered. He would be ready for whatever this world threw at him—creature, cultivator, or calamity.
---
By midday, the village's rhythms resumed: children running, farmers shouting, dogs barking. Tianlian observed everything, even as he feigned laziness.
Later, he wandered toward the stream under the pretense of skipping chores. Mei tagged along, curious and silent.
"Why do you watch everything?" she asked, kicking at the water.
"Because things happen," he said, tone dry. "And when they do… it pays to notice them before they notice you."
She frowned, water dripping from her small fingers. "Are you… scary?"
"Depends on whether you're the problem or the solution," he said lightly, tilting his head.
For a moment, they shared a quiet laugh—childhood innocence meeting the tiny smirk of someone who had already lived a lifetime.
---
Night fell again. Moonlight silvered the village, painting long shadows across the ground. Li Tianlian crouched in his usual spot, senses stretched. He had no illusions about this world: peace was fleeting. Danger was patient, waiting for mistakes.
The forest whispered again. Not a shadow this time, but a f
eeling—subtle, electric, promising change.
He flexed his fingers, a faint grin on his face.
"Good. Now the real training begins."