The faint hum of life in Qinghe had returned, but it was fragile, like the first breath after a long illness. The villagers worked cautiously in the fields, their laughter subdued but genuine. For the first time in weeks, the air carried the scent of wildflowers instead of corruption.

Li Feng stood at the edge of the village, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He could feel something faint—a pulse, a rhythm that echoed through his chest. It was the mark, or what was left of it. Though it no longer adorned his palm, its energy lingered, a tether to the Dao he couldn’t sever.

“What is it?” Yan Wei asked, her voice breaking the silence. She leaned against a tree, her blade resting across her knees.

Li Feng hesitated. “The mark. It’s… still there, somehow. I can feel it.”

Yan Wei frowned. “You think it’s coming back?”

“No,” Li Feng said. “It’s not the same. It’s like an echo. A reminder of what it once was.”

Yan Wei’s sharp gaze softened slightly, though her grip on her blade remained firm. “Be careful with that. Echo or not, the Dao doesn’t give up its ties lightly.”

Lei Ming approached, his spear resting on his shoulder. “That’s not surprising. You were tied to the Dao in a way none of us can understand. That connection doesn’t just vanish.”

Mei Lin joined them, her expression thoughtful. “If it’s still there, it might be trying to tell you something. The Dao is never quiet without reason.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Li Feng nodded slowly. “Then I need to listen.”

----------------------------------------

Their peace was interrupted as three cultivators approached the village. Their robes bore the sigil of a distant sect—an intertwined sun and crescent moon. The leader, a tall woman with sharp eyes and a commanding presence, stepped forward. The faint hum of her qi resonated in the air, drawing the attention of everyone present.

“I am Lan Xiu of the Celestial Tides Sect,” she said, her voice steady but edged with authority. “We’ve come seeking answers.”

Lei Ming moved instinctively, his posture guarded. “Answers about what?”

Lan Xiu’s gaze swept over the group, pausing on Li Feng. “The Dao is mended, but the balance is unstable. Cultivation realms are collapsing in some regions, and qi deviation is spreading like a plague. Whatever you did, it wasn’t enough.”

Yan Wei stepped forward, her blade still resting in her hand. “You don’t know what we’ve done. The threads were shattered, and we fought to restore them. What makes you think we owe you answers?”

Lan Xiu held her ground, her sharp gaze unyielding. “Because the instability is spreading. The threads may be mended, but their energy is fractured. If we don’t act, the Dao will unravel again.”

Li Feng stepped between them, his voice calm but firm. “How do you know this?”

Lan Xiu gestured to the horizon. “Our sect has observed the Nexus for generations. Since the threads were mended, the Nexus’s energy has grown erratic. It’s calling to something—or someone.”

Mei Lin frowned. “The Nexus hasn’t stirred since the mending. How can you be sure?”

Lan Xiu’s gaze shifted back to Li Feng. “Because the threads are reacting to him.”

Li Feng’s chest tightened as the faint pulse of the mark flared, its energy resonating in time with the surrounding qi. The group exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of her words sinking in.

“We’ll help,” Li Feng said finally, his voice steady. “Whatever it takes to protect the Dao.”

Lan Xiu studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Good. Because this time, failure isn’t an option.”