Yi Lian moved through the dense forest, his steps steady and unhurried. The soft crunch of fallen leaves beneath his feet blended with the distant chirping of birds and the rustling of unseen creatures. He had been walking for hours, his path aimless, allowing the unfamiliar land to reveal itself to him. The mortal realm was unlike the world he had known—there were no towering sects, no cultivators soaring through the skies. Here, life was simpler, unburdened by the relentless pursuit of power. He found solace in its untouched beauty.

Yet, despite the tranquility, a hollow feeling remained within him. He had chosen this path, but what lay ahead was still uncertain. He had stripped himself of what defined a cultivator—what did that leave him with? Was he now merely a wanderer, drifting wherever the wind carried him? These thoughts accompanied him as he walked, lingering unanswered, but they did not weigh him down.

A distant voice carried on the wind, breaking the serene silence. It was faint at first, just a whisper amid the rustling leaves, but as he focused, he discerned the laughter of children, the chatter of women, and the rhythmic clatter of tools against wood and stone. A village.

His gaze sharpened as he took in his surroundings. He had been wandering without a destination, merely acquainting himself with this new reality. But a village could provide insight into the lives of mortals—how they lived, how they struggled, and perhaps, how they thrived without the crutch of cultivation.

Following the sounds, he soon reached the village's outskirts. A vast tree stood at its entrance, its wide canopy offering shade to a group of elderly men engaged in quiet conversation. Further in, children ran along dirt paths, their laughter ringing in the air. Women leaned over balconies, exchanging stories, while men dressed in simple work clothes headed toward the fields or workshops. It was a scene of ordinary life, untouched by the ambitions of sects or the battles of the strong.

But as Yi Lian stepped forward, the atmosphere changed. The villagers, once lively and carefree, stilled at his presence. The children, sensing the tension but not understanding why, scampered back to their mothers. The elderly men fell silent, their gazes wary. The men and women whispered among themselves, their expressions a mixture of fear and unease.

Yi Lian understood their reaction immediately. Though his robes were simple and unassuming to a cultivator’s eye, to these villagers, they marked him as an outsider—perhaps a noble, perhaps a wandering cultivator. And in their eyes, neither brought anything good.

He did not blame them. The world was not kind to those without power, and mortals had long been at the mercy of those above them. To a cultivator, a mortal village was insignificant, its people mere background to their grand paths. Some would exploit them, others would ignore them, and the worst would treat them as pawns in their own struggles.

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An elderly man stepped forward, his steps hesitant but firm. There was fear in his eyes, but he masked it well, standing as the village’s representative.

"May I ask, young nobleman," the elder said, his voice measured despite the tension in his stance, "what brings you to our humble village?"

Yi Lian observed him carefully. There was weight in the man’s voice—not just fear, but something deeper, something born of experience. This village had suffered before. He did not know their story yet, but he could see it in their wary eyes. To them, he was a possible storm, a force beyond their control.

His expression softened, and when he spoke, his voice carried a gentle warmth—a deliberate contrast to their fears. "I am merely a traveler," he said calmly. "I go where the roads take me, seeking to understand the world. I happened upon your village and thought to stay for a while before continuing my journey."

The elder’s shoulders eased slightly, and a silent wave of relief passed through the villagers. A traveler. Not a noble, not a cultivator demanding offerings or fealty—just a passing wanderer. That, at least, they could accept.

"I see," the elder nodded, his voice more relaxed now. "If that is the case, then you are welcome to stay for as long as you need. We do not have much, but our village is peaceful. We only ask that you bring no trouble upon us."

Yi Lian inclined his head. "I understand. I will bring no harm to your people."

The elder studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Then, I shall have someone arrange a place for you."

As the tension in the village slowly dissolved, Yi Lian allowed his gaze to sweep over the people once more. This place carried a history, one that had made them wary of outsiders. And while he did not pry today, he would come to understand it in time.

"Forgive me for troubling you," the elder said, his tone respectful.

"There is no trouble," Yi Lian replied. "I am grateful for your kindness."

Soon, he was led to a small wooden house on the village’s edge. It was modest, just enough for a single person to live in comfortably. Yi Lian examined it for a long moment, taking in the craftsmanship, the simplicity of its design. It was unlike any place he had stayed before.

Seeing his prolonged gaze, the elder hesitated before speaking. "I apologize, sir. This is the only house we have available at the moment. If you find it unsatisfactory, you may stay in my home instead."

Yi Lian shook his head, a small smile touching his lips. "I am not dissatisfied. I was merely observing. This is more than enough."

The elder exhaled, relief washing over his features. "I see. Then, I will leave you to rest." He offered a polite bow before turning to leave.

Yi Lian stepped inside the house, the wooden floor creaking faintly beneath his feet. He sat on the bed, exhaustion settling over him. Hours of walking without food or rest had drained him, and now, for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to relax.

For now, he had taken his first step into this world—not as a cultivator, not as a warrior, but as a man seeking something beyond strength. And in doing so, he had begun a new path—one unseen by those who clung to power alone.

That was his last thought before sleep claimed him.

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