Lin Chen walked deeper into the forest.
The encounter behind him did not linger in his steps. His pace did not change. His breathing remained even, unhurried, as though nothing unusual had occurred. The Old Forest closed around him again, branches folding inward, light scattering into fragments that refused to align.
The deeper he went, the more the forest seemed to forget direction. Paths curved without reason. Moss grew thick in places that received no light, while bare soil appeared where rain had fallen only moments ago. Even the air carried a faint weight, not of pressure, but of age — as if the forest had long since stopped distinguishing between moments.
The forest did not ask him who he was.
It did not care who followed.
That suited him.
Inside Lin Chen, there was no disturbance.
No curiosity that pulled.No caution that tightened.No pride that stirred.
His heart beat slowly, each pulse steady and unforced. The silence within him was not cultivated — it was maintained by refusal. Refusal to grasp. Refusal to measure. Refusal to anchor himself to meanings that would eventually rot.
The name the man had spoken—Holy Son of the Nine Heavens Holy Land—passed through his mind like wind through tall grass. It did not catch. Did not linger.
Titles were things the world used to speak to itself.
He had learned long ago not to listen too closely.
Behind him, footsteps resumed.
Measured.
Controlled.
Not attempting concealment.
Lin Chen noticed them without turning. The forest noticed them as well — branches shifting faintly, Qi thinning just enough to remind the follower that this place was not his domain. The ground beneath those steps seemed marginally less cooperative, roots rising where they had not before, soil compacting unevenly beneath unfamiliar intent.
The man did not close the distance aggressively.
He matched Lin Chen's pace.
That, in itself, was a decision.
"You are unfamiliar with the Qingyun Continent," the man said after some time.
His voice did not intrude upon the forest. It slid between the trees, careful not to provoke an echo.
Lin Chen did not answer immediately.
The path dipped slightly, roots forming uneven steps. He adjusted his footing naturally, his balance effortless. His body moved without consulting thought, as if the forest itself had decided he belonged to its rhythm.
"I am unfamiliar with most places," Lin Chen replied. "They change less than people think."
The man accepted that answer without correction.
"You walk without destination," he said instead.
Lin Chen nodded once. "Destinations harden the heart."
That answer slowed the footsteps behind him for half a breath.
Then they resumed.
"I am not here to stop you," the man said.
Lin Chen did not respond.
"I am also not here to recruit you."
Still nothing.
"I am following because this forest does not forget you," the man continued calmly. "And because I do not understand why."
That, at least, was honest.
They walked in silence for a while longer.
The forest deepened.
Trees grew closer together. Roots rose higher from the soil, knotting together like scars layered upon older scars. Qi became thinner still, unraveling before it could complete a circuit. For Lin Chen, nothing changed. For the man behind him, every step required subtle adjustment — circulation corrected instinctively, then consciously, then with faint irritation.
Leaves brushed against Lin Chen's sleeves without clinging. Against the man behind him, they resisted just enough to be noticed.
"You asked no questions," the man said eventually. "Most would."
Lin Chen's voice was quiet. "Most want something."
"And you?"
"I am already walking."
The man studied his back for a long moment before speaking again, as if deciding which truths were stable enough to survive being spoken here.
"There are four Great Holy Lands on the Qingyun Continent," he said, as if reciting a fact rather than proclaiming authority. "They exist to stabilize the cultivation order."
Lin Chen did not turn.
"Continue," he said.
The word was permission — not interest.
"The Nine Heavens Holy Land," the man said, "governs alignment. Fate. Legitimacy. It is where Heaven's will is interpreted rather than questioned."
Lin Chen walked on, his steps unbroken, as though Heaven itself were a distant rumor rather than an active force.
"The Primordial Flame Holy Land governs conflict," the man continued. "They resolve instability through destruction and rebirth. Where wars are inevitable, they ensure the strongest survive."
A branch snapped nearby.
Not threatening.
Listening.
"The Profound Ocean Holy Land governs accumulation," he said. "Time, depth, endurance. They do not act quickly, but once they do, the tide does not recede."
Lin Chen stepped over a fallen trunk without breaking stride. The wood beneath his foot did not crack, despite its age.
"And the Void Scripture Holy Land," the man said last, "governs absence. Space. Detachment. They are tolerated because they do not seek authority."
There was a pause.
"They are the most difficult to provoke."
Lin Chen glanced sideways, briefly.
"Which one sends someone to observe without being seen?"
The man hesitated for the first time. Only for a breath — but the forest noticed.
"The Void Scripture Holy Land," he admitted.
As if in response, the forest shifted.
Not violently.
Precisely.
A presence emerged ahead — not from concealment, but from coincidence. One moment, the path was empty. The next, a figure stood beside an ancient stone half-buried in soil, as though the forest had finally decided to acknowledge what had always been there.
Robes the color of ash.
Edges frayed, not from age, but from deliberate neglect.
The figure leaned casually against the stone, as though he had been there for years, perhaps longer than memory cared to confirm.
Lin Chen stopped.
So did the man behind him.
The newcomer did not look at Lin Chen immediately.
He looked at the forest.
Then at the way Qi behaved around Lin Chen.
Then—finally—he smiled faintly.
"Interesting," he said.
His voice was light.
Uninvested.
And yet the forest bent subtly around him, space adjusting just enough to acknowledge his existence without resistance, like water flowing around a stone it had learned not to erode.
The man behind Lin Chen stiffened slightly.
"This place rejects Heaven," the newcomer said mildly. "But it tolerates silence."
His gaze finally met Lin Chen's.
"Which makes you troublesome."
Lin Chen regarded him calmly.
"And you are?"
The newcomer shrugged. "A passerby."
That was a lie.
But not an aggressive one.
The man behind Lin Chen spoke. "He is from the Void Scripture Holy Land."
The newcomer sighed. "You say that like it's an accusation."
"It is a warning," the man replied.
The newcomer laughed softly. "Only to those who still rely on being warned."
Lin Chen listened.
He felt no pressure from either side.
No alignment pulling him.
No absence swallowing him.
The Dao within him remained still.
Complete.
Unbothered.
The newcomer straightened from the stone and inclined his head slightly toward Lin Chen — not in respect, not in mockery.
Recognition.
"You walk where Heaven loses interest," he said. "And where fate hesitates."
Lin Chen nodded once. "They are noisy companions."
The newcomer's smile widened, just a little, as if he had found confirmation rather than surprise.
Behind Lin Chen, the Holy Son of the Nine Heavens Holy Land felt the forest resist him again — faintly, persistently. His Qi adjusted, then adjusted again, as if the world were reminding him that authority here required effort.
Ahead of him, the Void Scripture observer stood comfortably within absence, unbothered by the forest's selective indifference.
Between them, Lin Chen remained untouched.
Walking.
Unclaimed.
The forest did not speak.
But it remembered this arrangement.