The village of Qinghe lay nestled in a lush valley, its fields kissed by the morning mist and bordered by towering, ancient pines. Life here moved at a steady, predictable pace—planting, harvesting, and preparing for the cycles of the seasons. Li Feng, a fifteen-year-old boy with an unruly mop of black hair, had always imagined this would be his life: tending the fields, raising a family, and perhaps someday owning a plot of land as his father did. It wasn't an easy life, but it was honest, and until now, it had been enough.

The day began like any other. The sun had barely crested the horizon when Li Feng set out with a woven basket strapped to his back. His task was simple—gather medicinal herbs from the nearby forest. The village healer, Old Yan, had promised a few copper coins in exchange for the herbs, which Li Feng's family desperately needed. His mother had been coughing for weeks, and the healer's potions, though bitter, seemed to help.

The forest greeted him with its familiar symphony: the rustle of leaves, the chatter of birds, and the distant babble of the stream. Li Feng moved with practiced ease, identifying the herbs by sight and smell. His father had taught him well. "Pay attention, Feng," he would say. "The earth provides all we need if we know where to look."

As Li Feng filled his basket, his gaze wandered to the deeper part of the forest, where the trees grew denser, their gnarled roots clawing at the earth like ancient fingers. His father had forbidden him from venturing there, warning of treacherous terrain and wild beasts. But today, curiosity tugged at him. He'd heard rumors from other villagers—stories of strange lights seen in the woods and whispers of an old, forgotten relic hidden among the trees.

"Just a quick look," Li Feng muttered, tightening the straps of his basket. His heart raced with a mix of fear and excitement as he stepped off the well-worn path.

The air grew cooler as he ventured deeper, the canopy above thickening to blot out the sun. The forest seemed alive, its shadows shifting and whispering as if urging him to turn back. Yet something pulled him forward, an invisible thread drawing him to an unknown destination. After what felt like an eternity, he came to a small clearing.

At the center stood a stone monolith, weathered and cracked with age. Strange symbols adorned its surface, glowing faintly in hues of silver and gold. Li Feng's breath caught in his throat. He had never seen anything like it. The monolith exuded an aura of ancient power, the air around it humming with energy.

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Driven by an inexplicable urge, Li Feng approached the monolith. His hand trembled as he reached out, the tips of his fingers brushing against the cool stone. In an instant, the world exploded with light.

A surge of energy coursed through him, searing hot and unbearably cold all at once. The symbols on the monolith blazed to life, their glow intensifying until they filled his vision. A sharp, burning pain erupted in his palm, and he cried out, stumbling backward. When the light finally dimmed, Li Feng lay sprawled on the ground, gasping for breath.

He raised his hand to his face and froze. A glowing mark, intricate and otherworldly, now adorned his palm. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.

"What... what is this?" he whispered, his voice shaking.

Before he could gather his thoughts, the ground beneath him trembled. A low rumble echoed through the forest, and a wave of energy radiated from the monolith, spreading outward like ripples on a pond. Birds took flight, their cries piercing the air, and distant howls rose in response. Whatever had just happened, it hadn't gone unnoticed.

Li Feng scrambled to his feet, clutching his marked hand to his chest. The once-dormant forest now seemed alive with activity, every rustle and shadow threatening to leap at him. He turned and ran, his heart pounding in his ears.

By the time he reached the village, the sun was high in the sky, casting a golden light over the fields. But Qinghe was far from its usual serenity. Villagers clustered together in groups, their faces etched with fear and confusion.

"Did you feel that tremor?" one man asked.

"It came from the forest," another replied. "Something's not right."

Li Feng ducked his head and slipped past the gathering crowds, his marked hand hidden beneath his sleeve. He reached his home and bolted the door behind him, his chest heaving.

His mother sat by the hearth, her face pale but warm with a welcoming smile. "You're back early," she said, her voice weak from illness.

Li Feng forced a smile. "I found enough herbs quickly," he lied, placing the basket on the table. "You should rest, Mother. I'll prepare some tea."

As he busied himself with the task, his mind raced. What was the mark on his hand? Why had the monolith reacted to him? And, most troubling of all, why did he feel as though he were being watched?

His questions went unanswered as the day wore on. That night, as he lay in bed, the mark began to glow faintly, casting eerie shadows on the walls. It pulsed rhythmically, each beat resonating deep within him. Sleep eluded him, his thoughts tangled in fear and wonder.

Miles away, in a grand hall carved from jade and gold, a man knelt before an ornate throne. His robes were black as midnight, adorned with the silver emblem of the Silver Shadow Sect.

"We felt the tremor," the man said, his voice low and measured. "The artifact has awakened."

On the throne sat a woman with eyes like frozen steel, her expression unreadable. She tapped her fingers against the armrest, her nails clicking softly.

"Send a team," she commanded. "Find the source. And bring me the artifact."