The stench of carnage had faded, replaced by the gentle perfume of wildflowers carried on a breeze that whispered through the rebuilt village. Three days. Three sunrises had painted the sky since the crimson tide of rogue blood had stained this soil. Three days since exhaustion had claimed Riu Xian, leaving him to the quiet embrace of slumber within a humble hut. He emerged now, drawing a breath deep into his lungs, the air clean and invigorating, a stark contrast to the smoky reek of battle that had clung to his azure robes. His Qilin bloodline, a potent and ancient inheritance, had woven its magic, knitting flesh and bone, erasing the fiery kiss of his own reckless power from his hand. The memory of the burning pain was now a faint echo, a lesson etched onto his very being.
He stretched, the subtle pop and crackle of his joints a welcome symphony of restored vitality. Before him, the village pulsed with a renewed heart. Scars remained, yes, etched into the wood of homes and the earth itself, but they were being diligently smoothed over. The rhythmic clang of hammers and the rasp of saws, sounds of rebuilding, replaced the chilling screams of the fallen rogues. Laughter, bright and clear as mountain spring water, danced in the air, mingling with the comforting cadence of women’s voices as they ground grain, their faces turned towards the sun.
Riu Xian began to walk, his azure robes, a stark flame against the muted earth tones of the village, drawing eyes like moths to a lantern. Whispers, fragments of conversations, drifted to him on the gentle breeze.
“...sword moved like lightning, they say… faster than the eye could follow…”
“...and the flames! A tiger of fire, roaring from his palm! Did you see it, Old Man Li?”
“My son, little Bao, he says he wants to be a cultivator now! Just like him, the azure hero!”
A cluster of young girls, perched like sparrows on a newly mended fence, giggled amongst themselves, their gazes fixed on him. “He’s even more handsome close up,” one breathed, a blush rising on her cheeks. “Even with… you know…” Her voice trailed off, a shared understanding passing between them. Her companions nudged her, stifling giggles, but their eyes held a similar spark of youthful admiration.
Further on, near a newly erected stall laden with fresh vegetables, a group of men, weathered and sturdy like ancient oaks, were engaged in earnest discussion. “With a protector like him,” one declared, his voice ringing with newfound confidence, “those rogue dogs won't dare sniff around here again. Traders might even return, eh? This village, I tell you, it’ll rise from the ashes, stronger than before!”
A warmth bloomed in Riu Xian's chest, unexpected and gentle. It was not the heady rush of battle, nor the cold satisfaction of victory. It was something quieter, deeper – a quiet resonance with the simple hopes of these people. He had been punching bag for his brither in murim world, yet here, amidst the ruins he had helped clear, life was stubbornly, beautifully, reasserting itself.
He continued his stroll, his senses subtly open, until he reached the village well, the heart of the community. Women gathered there, drawing water, their voices a soft murmur against the backdrop of village life. He approached them, his footsteps light on the packed earth.
“Forgive my interruption,” he began, his voice low and courteous, “but could one of you direct me to Elder Zhao’s dwelling?”
Faces turned, widening slightly in recognition. A young girl, barely blossomed into her teens, her eyes bright with youthful curiosity, stepped forward, her voice ringing with innocent wonder. “Bigr Brother Cultivator!” she exclaimed, her words bubbling with excitement. “Elder Zhao says cultivators can sense everything around them! Can’t you just… you know… use your magic to find him?” She gestured vaguely, as if conjuring invisible threads of power.
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Riu Xian’s lips curved into a gentle smile. He lowered himself slightly, meeting her gaze at eye level. “That is… partially true, little one,” he replied, choosing his words with care. “But to use such abilities merely to locate someone, especially in a place as peaceful as this… well, it would be akin to eavesdropping, wouldn’t it? It is not always wise, nor respectful, to wield the gifts of cultivation unless necessity truly demands it.” He offered a wink, eliciting a delighted giggle from the little girl.
A woman, seemingly in her early twenties, stepped forward, her smile warm and respectful. “The young master is too modest,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. “I will gladly guide you to Elder Zhao’s home. It is not far.” She lifted her brimming water bucket, gesturing for him to follow. The young girl, eager not to be left behind, snatched up her own smaller pail and fell into step beside them, her bright eyes darting between Riu Xian and the path ahead.
As they walked, the woman, introducing herself as Mei, spoke of the village’s resilience, her voice infused with a quiet strength and profound gratitude. “Everyone works tirelessly,” she explained. “Fear had taken root in our hearts… but you, young master… you have shown us the sun again. We will not forget your kindness.”
The young girl, Lian, her energy boundless, skipped ahead, then spun back, her eyes shining with unbridled curiosity. “Great Cultivator,” she asked, her voice breathless with anticipation, “can you truly fly? Like… soar through the heavens, like a celestial crane?”
Riu Xian chuckled, a low, resonant sound. “Perhaps,” he answered, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “But today, little Lian, I think I shall keep my feet firmly planted on the good earth.”
Even as he engaged in lighthearted banter, Lian’s innocent question about his senses resonated within him. He had consciously refrained from displaying overt cultivator abilities in this mortal village, wary of appearing arrogant or detached. Yet her words had inadvertently opened a path. He could, with the barest whisper of his Qi, extend his awareness, a subtle tendril of perception, without intruding upon the villagers' privacy. A gentle sifting of the ambient energy, like feeling the subtle shifts in the wind before a storm breaks.
He turned his focus inward, drawing upon the replenished Qi within his dantian. He released a minuscule thread of spiritual energy, a silent, almost imperceptible emanation, letting it spread outwards, not to pry, but to gently caress the village, to sense its subtle energies. It was like casting a wide, unfocused net, not seeking specific individuals, but the faintest glimmer of something more.
And then, he felt it. A delicate resonance, a subtle flicker of spiritual energy within several individuals. Not the raw, untamed Qi of cultivators, but something nascent, unformed – the faintest echo of spirit roots, waiting to be awakened.
He counted them in his mind. Six children, Lian amongst them, and two young adults, Mei being one. Eight potential cultivators within this unassuming village. A remarkable, almost improbable, concentration. And then, beneath that, a deeper, more profound sensation – a subtle thrumming beneath the very ground they walked upon. A spirit vein. Not a powerful, roaring torrent, but a whisper, a faint pulse, yet undeniably present.
A memory flickered: he’d sensed a weak spirit vein near a mortal village before. Could the continent’s spiritual energy be recovering?
He touched the obsidian ring on his finger, he didn't have the spirit stones to power his spatial boat for a proper survey right now.
To truly investigate the spirit vein beneath this village, to grasp the wider implications of this potential resurgence, he needed resources. Resources he simply didn't possess at the moment.
A surge of excitement mixed with a healthy dose of skepticism washed over him. It was too early to draw conclusions, but the signs were… intriguing. If the spiritual energy was indeed on the rise, it could have profound implications for the cultivation world, for the future of the continent itself.
They rounded a bend in the village path, and Mei gestured towards a slightly larger hut, its yard neatly swept, a sense of quiet dignity surrounding it. “Here it is, young master. Elder Zhao’s home.”
Lian, her youthful exuberance undimmed, darted ahead, her voice ringing out with youthful enthusiasm. “Grandpa Zhao! Grandpa Zhao! He’s here! The Great Cultivator is here to see you!”
Riu Xian followed Mei towards the hut, his mind already racing, the quiet respite he had sought abruptly transformed into the starting point of a far grander, far more perilous, journey. The fate of a village, perhaps even a continent, might just hinge on the secrets hidden beneath this unassuming earth.