Huan stepped out of the mayor’s residence, giving the recently reunited family some space as an excuse to get some fresh air. As night had set, the air outside was cooler and sharper than he remembered.
He adjusted his bag as he glanced around. A few villagers stood in doorways or by the market, their eyes following him with mingled curiosity and skepticism. The outcome of his task was unknown to the unenlightened masses.
Only one dared approach him, Shen Wu. He was the only one who could ascertain the success of his treatment.
“So,” Shen Wu’s voice was low, meant only for Huan to hear, “You won our wager.” He looked around as he shifted his feet almost nervously. “You hide your skill well… I had eyes but failed to see Mount Fuji,” Shen Wu hesitantly gave a bow.
Huan kept his expression even, giving a nod of acknowledgment to the acquiescing man. Despite his victory in the wager, this cultivator would not be someone he’d want to taunt. “The boy’s illness was obscure. I was only able to unearth the cause due to my lack of face.”
Shen Wu’s bow held for a long moment, the silence growing taut, before raising his torso upright, “So skilled, yet modest. A man like you will certainly have his face restored soon.” His words carried the weight of an apology, but not one Huan felt was genuine. “In any case,” he added, “you have my gratitude for what you’ve done for the mayor.”
Huan nodded, meeting the gaze without challenging it. He needed to leave before his lack of cultivation prowess unraveled his weakly held facade.
As he turned to go, he heard the door behind him burst open. “Great Huan!” The mayor’s voice was almost jubilant, “You must accept something for saving our son. We are not a wealthy town, but there is land or women here—”
Huan raised his hand, stopping the mayor mid-sentence. He’d considered this and thought carefully about what he might ask in exchange for his efforts. “I don’t need wealth, Lao Yun,” He chose his words carefully, keeping his tone humble yet firm, “If you’d like to help me, I must beg for knowledge. The Flowing River Cultivation Technique.”
The mayor’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face. “The Flowing River…” Lao Yun looked hesitant. “It’s a technique we’ve preserved here for generations. I did not know you would want… Surely you could have your choice of—”
“It’s no small thing to ask, I know. But it would be of great help to me.” He kept his voice steady, not revealing the faint tremor of fear that he might’ve pushed his luck too far.
Lao Yun looked between Huan and Shen Wu, the latter now understanding how little face Huan retained. “Very well. I owe you more than words can express,” He withdrew a scroll from the folds of his robes and handed it to Huan, his expression almost reverent, “The Flowing River Technique was made by my grandfather. May it serve you well.”
Huan accepted the scroll with a respectful bow, feeling the weight of Shen Wu’s gaze on him as he tucked it into his bag.
The sky was spotted with stars as Huan made his way to the edge of town, the natural darkness not affecting his vision. Lao Yun called out to him, offering refuge for a time, but Huan called back, “It wouldn’t do well for a traveling cultivator to stop his travels.”
With a final glance back, Huan tightened his cloak around him and slipped away, leaving behind the faint murmurs of the townsfolk, the soft crunch of gravel under his feet audible in the stillness of the night.
The night enveloped Huan as he continued his walk, the village’s lights now faint glimmers behind him. The road led him further into a quiet grove, where the sound of water soon filled the air. Following the noise, he found a small creek winding through the trees, its surface reflecting the faint light of stars. The water flowed smoothly, clear and quiet, with flat stones rising here and there along its path. Huan paused, struck by the sense of peace the creek emanated.
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Unclasping the scroll from his bag, he glanced over the words written in neat, deliberate strokes. The Flowing River Technique was as straightforward as its name implied, urging the practitioner to mimic the rash, unyielding flow of a river. Unlike the Tianyun Sect’s technique which focused on letting qi flow as it does down a mountain, it mimicked a river’s strength of will to tear through the earth, not requiring a large decline to flow.
Carefully, he stepped across the smooth stones in the creek, looking for one that would be fit to sit upon. Seeing one, he began to move upstream, but as he went, he saw a single jagged rock.
Suddenly, his vision went hazy, an unfamiliar fear surging up from nowhere. His breath hitched, and an icy dread shot through him, freezing him mid-step.
And then as quickly as it came, it went.
However, his foot slipped on the wet stone, and he staggered forward, arms flailing as he tried to regain his balance. With a splash, he toppled into the creek. The icy stream soaked through his robes instantly, chilling him to the core. For a moment, he lay there, staring up at the canopy blocking the night sky above him.
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Huan forced himself to his feet, feeling the cold water cling to him. His steps were heavy as he waded through the muddy creek, his clothes clinging to him. He steadied himself on the bank, wiping the mud from his face with slow, deliberate movements.
It was another couple of days until Huan saw the next piece of civilization. He had been walking without breaking for sleep or food, just one step after the last.
The settlement he found was larger and more bustling than the last, its residents already stirring in the early morning, preparing for the day's labor. Dirt ramparts surrounded the town, and guards stood posted by the open gates, casting passing glances at him but giving him little more than a cursory nod. He entered unremarked, a traveler among many, and while some townsfolk noted his disheveled appearance, they quickly lost interest, returning to their conversations and tasks.
Huan moved through the busy streets, taking in the loosely packed houses and shops, each brimming with the early morning energy of traders and artisans setting up for the day. The air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, mingling with the more pungent aromas of livestock and market stalls.
As he wandered, Huan began to seek something familiar—a place where he could find work to sustain him for a time, away from the prying eyes of other cultivators and the expectations of the townspeople. His eyes settled on a farm at the edge of town, marked by a worn wooden sign reading "Help Needed." The fields were large, stretching out in orderly rows of crops, and a few workers were already bent over their tasks, their movements steady and rhythmic.
The walk was a short 20 minutes on level ground, a dirt road taking him the whole way there.
A sturdy man with a broad-brimmed hat noticed him approach, giving Huan a quick, assessing look. “You here for work?” he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.
Huan nodded. “I am. I can work with crops or livestock,” he offered, his tone steady. The man studied him a moment longer before shrugging.
“We’ll see about that. We’re short-handed this season, and there's plenty to do. You’ll get a roof and a competitive wage,” the man said, extending a hand. “Name’s Guo. We start early and work hard here, let me find someone to onboard you.”
Huan grasped Guo’s hand firmly, feeling the calluses that he now lacked. “I’ll earn my keep.”
With that, Huan found himself settled into a modest life of farmwork. His days became filled with familiar routines: clearing fields, hauling water, and tending to crops, his hands moving in the comforting patterns of labor. The simplicity grounded him, anchoring his thoughts and giving him a momentary reprieve from the turmoil that stirred beneath the surface. Each night, he’d retire to a small shed on the property, a roof over his head, and a thin bedroll to sleep on.
Weeks passed, blending into one another as Huan fell into a quiet rhythm. Yet as the days wore on, he began to feel a subtle shift in the air. It was faint but persistent—a low hum that seemed to linger just beneath the surface, as if something was alive in the soil beneath his feet. He noticed it most during the quiet moments, in the early mornings before the others arrived, or at dusk when the fields lay empty under the setting sun. It was as though the farm itself watched him, some unseen presence casting shadows just beyond the reach of his gaze.
This was unlike any farm he had worked on before, and there was a tension in the land that made him uneasy. The other workers seemed unaffected, moving through their tasks without a second thought. But Huan couldn’t ignore it after a certain point—the familiar yet foreign sensation that gnawed at him with every passing day.