He wasn't looking for a perfect hiding spot—just one that didn't look like much. Deceptive in appearance, but solid where it mattered. Something overlooked by anyone who wasn't desperate.
Something that looked uninviting—cramped, awkward, even a little dangerous—but was in truth defensible and quiet. Something only the desperate would choose. A place that wouldn't catch the eye on first glance.
Li Wei marked each potential location in his mind anyway. Just in case. Never leave yourself without fallback options.
He kept walking. The sun dipped lower. His shoes scraped over pine needles, moss, and the occasional broken root. The forest grew thicker the further he went—branches leaned low, heavy with age, and the air grew cooler under their shade. Still no ideal spot.
Most of what he saw was useless. Too open, too soft underfoot, too likely to be disturbed by others either seeking shelter or searching for prey.
But Li Wei wasn't in a rush. He'd rather spend an extra day walking than three years looking over his shoulder.
Li Wei scowled silently as he pushed past another thicket. Still nothing. Everything he'd seen was too obvious, too exposed, or too likely to attract other cultivators. No ridges, no concealed depressions, no caves worth the risk. Just pine, moss, roots, and time slipping away.
The sun was nearly gone. The last rays angled low through the trees, catching on bark and needles like faint embers. He wasn't going to keep walking through the night. Not blind. Not in unfamiliar terrain. That was a good way to trip over someone else's blade.
The next decent hollow he passed—he took it.
It was nestled at the base of an old, split pine. The bark had grown warped around the opening like scar tissue. Looked like something a fox or a boar had once used. He crouched low, inspecting the entrance. Shallow. Just enough space to lie curled up inside. No good for long-term shelter, but it would do for the night.
Too small.
Li Wei stepped back, reached into his storage pouch, and released a wave of bone dust onto the forest floor. It swirled out like a fine mist, then dropped heavily into place—silent and quick. He gave it a mental command.
The particles stiffened, clumping in layered threads. With each thought, he shaped them into firm, wedge-shaped clusters—shovel-like plates layered over one another like insect mandibles. They moved as one.
He had them dig sideways—cutting under the roots, widening the space without disturbing the structure above. The pine's core held. The dirt came up in steady, whispering cascades. It wasn't elegant, but it was precise. Efficient.
He cleared space enough to crawl in fully, then enough to sit. The bone sand worked like a colony of ants—sectioning the soil, pulling it loose, and reinforcing the walls with packed mud and stray bone fragments.
By the time he was done, there was a decent cavity. Cramped, yes. But hidden, and not uncomfortable.
That would do. For now.
Li Wei crouched low and crawled into the freshly hollowed den. The space was tight, but manageable. He could sit with a slight hunch, knees drawn close, his back brushing against cool, damp earth. The smell was sharp with decomposing pine and wet soil—unpleasant, but tolerable.
He turned and looked out. The light had faded to grey. Nothing moved beyond the roots and trunks. No sound but the natural creak of the forest.
From his storage pouch, the bone sand responded.
It flowed out silently, spreading across the entrance in a controlled sheet. From within the cocoon, Li Wei directed the bone sand outward, using it to scoop and pull loose dirt from the surrounding area. Bit by bit, the material was dragged over the entry point and packed into place. Once the outer surface was fully covered in a layer of wet earth and debris, he drew the bone sand back inside, reabsorbing it into the interior shell. Mud clung to the outside, dark and uneven. It wasn't pretty—but that was the point.
Now, from the outside, it looked like undisturbed ground. Nothing gleamed. Nothing pulsed. Just a patch of pine mulch and moss-dark soil. Someone walking past would see nothing. Someone scanning with spiritual sense might feel resistance—but not the kind that triggered suspicion. The packed dirt helped with that. Inert material masked the Qi-infused bone sand beneath.
It wasn't built to withstand a full assault—but it might tank a hit or two. Enough to alert Li Wei before someone got close. That was the real purpose. Warning, not defence. And if he had warning, he could act.
Inside, it was silent.
Inside, it was pitch black. Silent. The air was still. No light, no sound, no movement. Just an, enclosed space with nothing to give him away.
Li Wei leaned back against the cool inner wall of the cocoon, joints loosening slightly for the first time in hours. The compressed bone interior wasn't comfortable, exactly, but it insulated well against the cold mud beyond. The air inside was dry, quiet. Isolated.
"Shit's kinda cozy, actually."
No light. No Qi leak. No connection to the ground either—nothing to trigger Bone Whisper Art. That part irritated him slightly, but it was the price of security. Total insulation meant total blindness. Still, it was better than being skewered in his sleep.
He wouldn't risk a fire. He knew enough to understand that carelessness was one of the top reasons Reaping disciples died in their first week.
Instead, he wrapped his robe tighter and settled into thought.
Today's fight replayed in his mind. The guy hadn't been weak—but he'd folded quickly. Even then, Li Wei hadn't finished the job. That wasn't good enough. A kill meant fewer risks, more resources, and no one returning with backup.
The bone sand was faster than any fleeing cultivator. But these weren't mortals—they could react, dodge, use spiritual tools. Once they slipped past the first assault and got outside his effective range, it created a gap. That was the issue. Retrieving the sand took time. Moments spent vulnerable. He couldn't give chase immediately without leaving it behind, and he wasn't about to run after someone while vulnerable.
That couldn't happen again.
He considered a shift in strategy. No reason to reveal the bone sand's true potential early. Let them think he was just another cautious disciple with a few tricks. Play passive. Retreat a little. Look weak. Let them come in close, overconfident. Then take the legs. Hamstring them, spike through the knees—whatever stuck. Once they couldn't run, it was over. No need to rush the kill. Just sit back and wait. So long as they couldn't move, they'd bleed themselves out trying.
No panic. No chasing. No escape.
"Mobility kill," he muttered softly to himself.
He also needed to improve coordination while moving with the sand. Right now, control was stable when stationary—anchored footing made precision easier. But in motion? Every step disrupted balance. The subtle feedback needed to guide the bone sand scattered with each shift in weight.
To direct it properly while moving meant managing multiple threads of input simultaneously—density, spread, force, trajectory—all while monitoring the environment. One lapse in attention, and the sand would lose cohesion. He'd tested it before. It worked, technically. But the margin for error was razor-thin, and the energy cost mounted fast.
Still, if he wanted to trap and kill without giving opponents the chance to run, it was the logical next step.
For now though, staying stationary was the only way to ensure reliable defense. On the move, too much went into stabilizing the sand—keeping it packed, anchored against the wind, ready to form and strike. That kind of multitasking while under threat? Risky. He'd practice. But not anytime soon. Not while it could still get him killed.
Li Wei allowed himself a brief rest.
His back pressed to the curved inner wall of the cocoon, breath slowed, muscles relaxed—not fully, never fully—but enough. The tight space forced stillness. And stillness was rest enough. For a while, he let the tension bleed out of his limbs.
He didn't know how long he'd slept.
There was no light inside. Only the stale scent of packed earth, pine, and lingering ash.
When he stirred, he did so carefully. No sudden movements. He reasserted control over the bone sand with a single breath—threading his Qi through the structure gently, not to collapse it entirely but to flex its surface like muscle.
From within, he raised the front section of the cocoon just enough to create an opening. The outer shell of dirt held its shape, slightly sagging but not breaking apart.
He rolled forward and out in a crouch. The earth above the entrance remained mostly intact, disturbed only at the narrow seam where he emerged. Not a single clump fell on him.
He exhaled slowly and scanned the surroundings. Nothing moved. The forest remained quiet.
With another movement, the bone sand reabsorbed into his storage pouch. The now-empty den remained—a shallow, clawed-out hollow tucked beneath pine roots. Nondescript. Undisturbed.
He gave it a final look, then moved on.