Chapter 2 — The River That Does Not Argue
The village did not greet him with hostility.
It greeted him with uncertainty.
Qin Wumian stepped past the wooden boundary markers and into the dirt road running through the settlement. Chickens scattered. A dog barked once, then quieted as if unsure whether he was worth the effort.
Children stopped playing.
A blindfolded man in torn black robes descending from the mountain was not ordinary.
A middle-aged farmer muttered under his breath, "Bandit?"
Another whispered, "Cultivator."
Qin Wumian did not acknowledge either.
He simply walked.
Measured steps. Steady breathing.
The air carried smoke from cooking fires and the faint bitterness of dried herbs.
That was what made him stop.
Not suspicion.
Not the villagers.
The herbs.
Poorly dried.
Overexposed.
The medicinal scent had thinned into something weak.
He turned toward the smell.
A small wooden house near the riverbank.
Bundles of herbs hung beneath the eaves.
An elderly woman stood on a stool, adjusting one of them.
She noticed him immediately.
Her eyes narrowed—not in fear, but in caution.
"You're hurt," she said bluntly.
Her voice was firm, aged but steady.
"I require water," Qin Wumian replied.
He did not bow. He did not plead.
He stated a fact and his behavior still that of a Time Sovereign
The woman studied him for several heartbeats, then climbed down from the stool.
"Come inside," she said. "Don't drip blood on my herbs."
---
The interior of the house was warm and smelled of dried roots and river clay.
The elderly woman handed him a bowl.
"Drink."
Qin Wumian drank slowly...
Not because he doubted her—but because he felt the dryness in his throat clearly now. Mortal thirst had sharp edges.
She crossed her arms.
"I'm Grandma Yu," she said. "Who are you?"
He paused a moment.
He could not give his true name.
That name no longer belonged to this realm.
"Wuchen," he said simply.
She snorted.
"That doesn't tell me much."
"It is enough."
Grandma Yu eyed him suspiciously, then gestured toward the herbs on her table.
"You smelled them, didn't you?"
"Yes." Wuchen nodded.
"And?" Grandma Yu asked
"They have lost half their potency." Wuchen answered
Silence filled the room for moment
Grandma Yu stiffened and said
"Half?" she repeated feeling offended.
"You hang them too long," Wuchen continued calmly. "The river's humidity rises at night. It seeps into the fibers. You should dry them in rotation, not in one batch."
Grandna Yu stared at him.
"You're blind."
"And you're telling me how to dry herbs?"
"Yes." Wuchen said
The simplicity of his answer irritated her more than arrogance would have.
She marched to the hanging bundles, pulled one down, and shoved it toward him.
"Fine. Tell me what's wrong."
Wuchen ran his fingers lightly over the leaves.
Texture brittle.
Edges uneven.
Stem still slightly damp inside.
"Turn them before sunset," he said. "Not after. And separate by thickness."
Granma Yu watched Wuchen's hands closely.
"You've done this before."
"I've watched it done correctly." Wuchen said
Grandma Yu narrowed her eyes.
"You don't speak like a beggar."
"I am not one." Wuchen sigh..
Before Grandma Yu could respond, the door swung open violently.
---
A young man in brown robes stepped inside without permission.
His qi signature entered first—uneven, forceful, crude.
He was in his twenties.
Strong for a village.
Weak for the world.
"Grandma," he said casually, ignoring Qin Wumian at first. "I heard there's a stranger."
Grandma Yu sighed.
"Zhang Rui, don't start."
Zhang Rui's gaze finally settled on the blindfolded man.
"And who's this?"
"Someone who knows herbs better than you know breathing," Grandma Yu snapped.
Zhang Rui laughed.
"That's not difficult."
His tone shifted when he addressed Wuchen
"You staying long?"
"For a few days," Wuchen replied.
"Protection fee's due at the end of the month," Zhang Rui said lazily. "Everyone contributes."
"I do not require protection," Wuchen answered.
The room went quiet.
Grandma Yu looked between them nervously.
Zhang Rui's smile thinned.
"You're new," he said. "You don't understand how this village works."
"I understand weakness when I hear it." Wuchen said calmly.
Zhang Rui's fave turnes red in anger
"What did you say?"
"You circulate qi through force," Wuchen said calmly. "It creates instability."
Zhang Rui stepped closer.
"You think you can evaluate me?"
"You hold your breath before striking," Wuchen continued. "That is why your qi compresses unevenly."
Grandma Yu whispered sharply, "Wuchen—"
But it was too late.
Zhang Rui's pride ignited.
He gathered qi in his palm.
The energy crackled visibly.
"You want to test that theory? Take this!" Zhang Rui lunged.
Grandma Yu gasped.
"Stop!"
Wuchen did not move immediately.
He listened.
The shift of air.
The compression of qi.
The angle of the strike.
For a split second—
He considered bending time.
Just a fraction.
No one would know.
But that was exactly why he must not.
Instead, he stepped sideways.
Minimal movement.
The palm strike grazed his sleeve instead of crushing his ribs.
Qi slammed into the wooden wall.
Splinters flew.
Zhang Rui's eyes widened.
"You.. you dodged?"
Wuchen felt the pain ripple along his already damaged shoulder.
His body was slower now.
Every miscalculation mattered.
He reached forward.
Not aggressively.
Two fingers pressed lightly against Zhang Rui's wrist.
A shift.
A redirection.
Zhang Rui's qi cycle stuttered instantly.
He staggered.
"What did you do?!"
"You force your lower channel," Wuchen said quietly. "Stop compressing."
Zhang Rui tried to circulate qi again.
It refused to gather properly.
Fear flashed across his face.
"You crippled me!"
"No," Wuchen replied. "I stopped you from crippling yourself."
Grandma Yu's hands trembled.
"Zhang Rui… breathe."
Zhang Rui inhaled shakily.
Pain pulsed in his chest.
He felt it now—the constriction he had ignored for months.
Wuchen stepped back.
"You will recover in two hours," he said. "If you listen to the river."
Zhang Rui stared at him, pride warring with fear.
"You… you're not normal."
"No," Qin Wumian agreed softly. "I am careful."
He walked past him toward the door.
Grandma Yu grabbed Wuchen sleeve lightly.
"Wait. You're bleeding."
Wuchen paused.
"It is manageable."
She hesitated.
Then spoke more quietly.
"You could stay in the storage shed. It's dry."
He considered.
Shelter meant time.
Time meant rebuilding.
He nodded once.
"For a few days."
---
That night, Wuchen sat beside the river.
The pain in his shoulder had deepened into a steady throb.
He welcomed it.
He dipped his hands into the water.
Cold.
Uncomplicated.
He began circulating qi again.
Slowly.
Matching breath to current.
Inhale.
Pause.
Exhale.
His meridians resisted.
Burned.
Shook.
He did not stop.
A thread of mortal qi gathered in his dantian.
Thin.
Fragile.
Honest.
Behind him, footsteps approached quietly.
Grandma Yu.
"You shouldn't provoke Zhang Rui," she said.
"I did not provoke him." Wuchen replied.
"You insulted his breathing." Grandma Yu said.
"That is not an insult. I helped him" Wuchen said.
Gradma Yu sighed.
"You speak strangely."
She watched the river.
"You don't look like someone who lost a fight," she said carefully.
Wuchen did not answer.
After a moment, Grandma Yu added softly, "Whatever you're running from… you don't have to fight here."
Wuchen felt that sentence settle somewhere deeper than it should have.
He spoke without turning.
"I am not running."
"Then what are you doing?" Grandma Yu asked
Wuchen paused.
The water flowed.
"I am beginning again."
Grandma Yu did not understand.
But she nodded anyway.
Behind the seal in his chest, the River of Time remained silent.
For now—
He was only a man beside a river.
And that was enough.