The sun was just beginning to dip past the ridge, turning the sky a bruised violet, when Zhenyuan stood at the base of the nameless hill behind their village. Hui was beside him, arms crossed, expression skeptical.
"You really think there's something up there?" Hui asked, glancing at the overgrown path.
"I don't know," Zhenyuan admitted, his voice quiet. "But I heard something last night. Like... a whisper in the wind."
Hui snorted. "You're starting to sound like Old Wei. Next thing I know, you'll be telling me the trees talk."
Zhenyuan offered a faint smile but didn't respond. Something had pulled at him in his sleep—no dreams, just a direction, a pull. He couldn't explain it, only feel it.
The hill loomed above them, cloaked in tangled brush and old pine trees. It had always been part of the scenery, never dangerous, never noteworthy. But today, it felt different. Like something had awoken.
They started the climb.
The path wasn't steep, but it was wild. Roots curled from the earth like fingers. Thorny vines snagged at their legs. Hui grumbled under his breath but kept pace. Occasionally, Zhenyuan would stop and tilt his head, as if listening for something only he could hear.
Halfway up, the air grew still. The usual forest sounds—chirping birds, rustling leaves—faded into silence.
"You feel that?" Hui muttered.
Zhenyuan nodded. "It's... quiet."
"Too quiet," Hui added, trying to sound unimpressed but failing. "We should go back."
Zhenyuan hesitated, then pressed forward. A few more steps, and the trees broke apart into a small clearing.
At the center lay a stone slab, partially buried in moss and earth. Embedded within it was a strange object—half-crystalline, half-metal, the size of a fist. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. Symbols danced along its surface, not carved, but floating—ancient runes that shimmered with faint blue light.
Zhenyuan stepped closer. The air around the relic felt charged. A low hum buzzed in his ears, and his fingers tingled.
"Don't touch it," Hui warned, his voice low.
"I wasn't going to," Zhenyuan replied, though he wasn't sure it was true. Something about the object called to him—not with words, but with emotion. A quiet yearning. A promise of something lost and waiting to be found.
He crouched beside it. The moss around the relic was scorched, as if it had burned its way into the earth. The runes shifted as he leaned closer, aligning in patterns his eyes couldn't follow.
Then the whispers returned—softer now, almost like breath. He jerked back, breath caught in his throat.
"What is this thing?" Hui said, inching forward.
Zhenyuan stood. "I don't know. But we need to tell Father."
The descent felt longer than the climb. The forest, once silent, now seemed to press in on them. Every shadow looked deeper. Zhenyuan's chest felt tight, not with fear, but with anticipation—like he'd opened a door he hadn't meant to.
When they reached home, the sky had gone completely dark. A single lantern flickered in the window.
Li Qingshan sat by the hearth, sharpening a rusted blade with deliberate care. Jian was out, tending the animals. The scent of broth lingered in the air, but dinner remained untouched.
"You're back late," Qingshan said, not looking up.
Zhenyuan swallowed. "We found something. On the hill."
Qingshan's hands paused. Slowly, he set the blade aside and turned.
"What kind of something?"
Zhenyuan tried to describe it—the light, the hum, the strange pull. Hui added details about the runes and the scorched earth.
For a moment, Qingshan said nothing. Then he rose without a word, took his walking staff, and gestured for them to lead the way.
Back at the clearing, the relic glowed brighter, as if sensing new presence.
Qingshan stepped into the circle of stone and stopped. His eyes narrowed.
"This shouldn't be here," he murmured.
"You know what it is?" Hui asked.
The hill was darker now. The clearing colder.
Qingshan stopped just at the edge. The relic still pulsed. Still waited.
He stepped into the circle, every instinct screaming at him.
And the memories returned—too quickly, too clearly.
How long has it been? Twenty years since I last stood before something like this?
The hum of the relic tugged at his ruined dantian, drawing echoes from his body that hadn't stirred in a decade. It was power, raw and patient. Not aggressive, not malicious—but aware.
He crouched beside it, eyes narrowing.
"This... This is a relic of the Divine Transformation stage. At least."
The boys exchanged a look.
Qingshan didn't explain right away. He didn't want to. But he could feel their eyes on him. Their questions. Their youth.
"Divine Transformation cultivators... they're not gods," he said. "But they stand on the edge of what mortals shouldn't touch. They can guide winds, move rivers. Tap into the world itself—barely. But it's enough to rewrite fate for those beneath them."
He exhaled.
"But this... This kind of relic doesn't just sit in a hill for no reason."
Zhenyuan took a small step forward. "What should we do?"
Qingshan looked at his son—and saw the soft flicker of fate twisting in his qi.
Why you? Why now?
Did I not flee far enough? Did I not bury it deep enough? I gave up my core. My future. I lived like a ghost among mortals so none of you would be drawn into this cursed path.
He clenched his fist.
But fate... fate is cruel. It finds cracks. It finds bloodlines. And when the world stirs, it doesn't care who is ready.
He turned sharply. "We leave it for now. Do not return here without me."
---
Dinner was quiet.
The fire crackled. The stew grew cold in bowls untouched.
Jian sat across from them, eyes flicking between his father and brothers. He didn't ask what happened. But his eyes lingered a little too long on the empty scabbard hung near the window—on the sword no one ever dared touch.
Zhenyuan barely ate. Hui was unusually silent.
Qingshan sat like a statue.
Inside, his thoughts stormed.
This relic… it could change everything. If it awakens...
Zhenyuan is only fourteen. He's young enough. His body can still accept qi. The relic must sense it. That's why it's calling to him.
But what then? Do I let him walk the path I barely survived? The clans, the sects, the wars? The betrayals?
He touched his side absently—where the scar still throbbed when it rained.
No. Not yet. Not unless there's no other way.
He stood without a word and left for his room.
---
Zhenyuan remained by the fire, staring at the embers.
He didn't feel afraid now. Only... changed.
Something had opened in him—something subtle, like a new sense. The world felt larger. And quieter. As though it held its breath, waiting for him to speak first.
---
Outside, the wind curled through the trees.
High on the hill, the relic pulsed—softly, rhythmically. Not with power.
But with intent.
And far beyond the village, beyond the quiet valley, in lands forgotten by time and abandoned by maps, the world stirred.
As though something ancient had just remembered a name long lost.