The road ahead was quiet, swallowed by the sound of a distant river that twisted around the base of a mountain. The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, but the weight of its dampness clung to everything, from the tips of Li Zhen's boots to the silver strands of his hair. Each step seemed to echo in the stillness, as if the world held its breath, waiting for something to happen.
He could feel the sword at his side, cold against his skin. For a while now, it had been quiet, as if even it were hesitant to speak.
Li Zhen paused at the edge of a clearing where the trees thinned and gave way to a rocky outcrop. A cold wind blew, and the leaves rustled like whispers in the wind. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Something was wrong. He had felt it for hours—an unease that had crawled under his skin, settling in his chest like a knot. He wasn't alone.
The first sign came when the ground shifted beneath his feet, a sudden rustling of stones that made him tense. Instinctively, he reached for the hilt of his sword, but before he could draw it, a sharp, hollow voice broke the silence.
"You've come," it said, low and soft, yet filled with an unsettling power. The voice was devoid of malice, but it carried a weight—like a warning whispered from the edge of a precipice.
Li Zhen spun around, his eyes searching the darkness, but he saw nothing. The voice came from nowhere, and everywhere.
"I have been waiting," the voice continued, calm, as if speaking to an old friend. "For someone who has forgotten themselves."
From the shadows stepped a figure, tall and slender, dressed in simple robes. The man moved with eerie grace, his movements fluid, deliberate. But what struck Li Zhen most were his eyes—or rather, the lack of them. The swordsman had no eyes, only smooth, pale skin where they should have been. A strange aura radiated from him, a calmness that contrasted sharply with the storm brewing in Li Zhen's chest.
"I am Zhen the Listener," the man said, his lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "And you… are not what I thought you would be."
Li Zhen's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. Something in the man's presence unsettled him, but it was more than just the fact that he was blind. It was the feeling that the man was seeing more than he ever could with eyes.
"Zhen the Listener?" Li Zhen asked, voice cold. "What do you want from me?"
The blind man tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear. His lips parted, as if to speak, but he paused, sensing something in the air.
"Nothing," he said, his voice quiet but heavy with meaning. "I want nothing from you. But you, Li Zhen... you have forgotten what you are. You have abandoned the path of truth."
At those words, Li Zhen's grip on his sword tightened. His eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward, his heart racing. "I've abandoned nothing," he spat, "I seek only answers."
Zhen the Listener shook his head slowly, as if he were mourning some lost truth.
"No. You seek only to avoid yourself. The answers you seek are within you, yet you run from them, as you always have."
Li Zhen's breath quickened, his mind reeling from the words. He had heard them before, in fragments and echoes, but never so directly. He took another step, this time towards the blind swordsman.
"Enough of your riddles," he said. "I don't know who you are, but I will not stand here and listen to this nonsense."
The blind man tilted his head again, the faintest smile still on his lips. "You think you know who you are," he said, "but you are nothing but a shadow. A reflection of a reflection. You've forgotten the path, Zhen."
And then, without warning, he moved.
The speed was blinding, faster than Li Zhen's eyes could follow. He barely managed to draw his sword in time to block the first strike, the force of it sending a shockwave of pain up his arm. The swordsman's movements were fluid, smooth—his every motion calculated and precise. Despite his lack of sight, there was an eerie sense of awareness about him, as if he could hear the very rhythm of the world around them.
Li Zhen parried another strike, but the sound of the clash resonated deep in his chest. His senses flared, but the overwhelming pressure of each blow made it hard to focus. The blind swordsman was relentless, each attack coming from a different angle, his blade moving in ways that seemed to defy reason.
The wind howled as the two swordsmen danced across the clearing, their blades flashing in the dim light. Li Zhen's body was moving on instinct, his mind still struggling to process the bizarre challenge before him. His sword was an extension of himself, but the man before him seemed to be something more—something ancient and wise, as if his very being were connected to the echoes of the world.
Zhen the Listener struck again, his sword cutting through the air with a sound like wind slicing through reeds. Li Zhen barely managed to deflect it, but the force of the blow sent him stumbling back. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, but the sword felt heavier in his hands now. It wasn't just the physical weight—it was the burden of the past, the echo of memories he couldn't recall, and the heavy realization that this man had come to confront him with more than just a duel.
"You fight against yourself, Zhen," the blind man said, his voice low and filled with sorrow. "You fight against the truth that you have ignored for so long."
Li Zhen's eyes narrowed. "What truth? What are you talking about?"
But the swordsman did not answer with words. Instead, he moved again, his sword coming in a wide arc aimed directly for Li Zhen's chest. With a desperate grunt, Li Zhen barely managed to parry the blow, the impact of it ringing in his bones.
"You have forgotten your purpose," the swordsman continued, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "The world remembers. The fire remembers. And in the end, it will burn everything away until only the truth remains."
Li Zhen staggered back, his breath ragged. His sword was heavy in his hand now, its weight like an anchor pulling him down. The words—those haunting words—echoed in his mind.
In that instant, the blind man's sword stopped mid-air, hovering inches from Li Zhen's throat.
"There is no way forward," Zhen the Listener said quietly. "There is only what you choose to remember. What you choose to be."
Li Zhen looked into the man's face, or what he could see of it. The blind swordsman was not a threat anymore. He had proven that much—he could have killed him when he had the chance. But he hadn't.
The tension in the air was thick as Li Zhen lowered his sword. His mind was still racing, but the flood of memories, dreams, and whispers in his mind felt more overwhelming than ever.
"What do you want from me?" Li Zhen whispered, barely able to voice the question that had been gnawing at him for so long.
"I want nothing," Zhen the Listener replied. "I only want you to listen. To hear what your soul is telling you."
For a long moment, the two swordsmen stood in silence, the rain now falling in steady sheets around them. Finally, Li Zhen spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Who are you really?"
Zhen the Listener tilted his head slightly, as though considering the question. Then he smiled—gently, as if at peace with some secret only he knew.
"I am you, Li Zhen. I am the path you refused to walk. The answer you cannot find."
And with that, he turned and walked away, his steps soft against the earth, as though he had never been there at all.
Li Zhen stood there, his sword at his side, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down upon him. The world felt still, as though it, too, were waiting for something.
He didn't know what that something was.
But he knew that his journey—his true journey—was only beginning.