Once the decision was made, preparations began—not with excitement, but with a kind of quiet determination born from necessity. They had little to spare. Lu Chenyuan unwrapped a faded cloth pouch and slowly counted out ten of their remaining twenty-seven low-grade spirit stones. Five he tucked away for emergencies, or in case the road demanded tolls. The other five? An offering. A gamble. A fragile hope that Shen Yue might be more than rumor, and the Shen family more than a dead-end.
Uncle Liu, ever dependable, dug out a spear from the storage shed—old, rusted, and nearly forgotten. He spent the evening sharpening it by lamplight, the steady scrape of metal against stone echoing through the stillness like a sorrowful lullaby. He also packed a modest bundle of dried provisions—hard millet cakes and boiled water, enough to keep them upright. Lu Chenyuan himself brought only a chipped utility knife and the worn, half-complete Azurewood Art manual tucked inside his robes like a fragile secret.
At dawn, the two stood beneath the rotting arch of the clan's main gate, chilled by the sharp mountain air.
"The foothills are treacherous, Young Master," Uncle Liu said, his voice low. "We should avoid the main roads. Bandits, rogues... best not draw their attention."
Lu Chenyuan gave a single nod, eyes scanning their fading courtyard. Leaving, even in ruins, felt like peeling off a layer of skin. "We'll take the long road. There's no sense risking everything before we've even begun."
The Serpent's Coil Hills were aptly named—twisting, tangled, and unforgiving. The sky above was a bruised purple, like it too was nursing old wounds. Uncle Liu moved with a cautious grace, his memory of the land deep and precise. He pointed out safe trails, bitter but edible roots, and warned Lu Chenyuan of innocuous-looking shrubs that would blister skin on contact.
The Qi in these parts was even thinner than back home. Lu Chenyuan tried to cultivate during their sparse rests, but it was like asking a stone to bleed. His connection to the Azurewood Art barely flickered. The system's interface in his mind hovered like a ghost, constantly reminding him of how little time he had—and how little strength.
On the second day, a foul stench crept into the air. Uncle Liu's hand found his spear without thinking, and he signaled for silence. Just around a rock outcrop, three Scavenger Dogs hunched over a torn deer carcass, their patchy fur clumped with filth, eyes glowing with dull hunger. Low-level beasts, but in a pack, even one cultivator might not walk away.
They backtracked. Slowly. Quietly. Every step was a gamble.
Later that day, they spotted another threat: three rough-looking cultivators crossing a ridge, weapons drawn, eyes sharp and empty. Not bandits, but something worse—men who'd lost the line between survival and savagery. Uncle Liu dragged Lu Chenyuan into a thorny thicket, and they waited, barely breathing, until the men passed. Thorns cut their skin. They didn't move.
That night, Lu Chenyuan lay awake, staring at the moon between the branches. One wrong move. That was all it would take.
By the afternoon of the third day, the air began to change. The forest thickened, the light dimmed. The Whispering Woods lived up to their name—every gust of wind sounded like breath through ancient lungs. The trees were taller here, older. They leaned together like huddled giants, their branches weaving a canopy that turned the forest floor into perpetual dusk. The scent of damp moss, decayed leaves, and something sweeter—barely there—hung in the air.
"The Shen family's hut is near Old Moss Creek, half a li from here," Uncle Liu murmured. Even his voice had softened. "We should go gently. They may not take kindly to strangers."
They moved in silence, their boots sinking into moss and pine needles. The murmur of water reached them first. Then, through the dense undergrowth, they saw it—a crooked little hut, half-sunk into the earth, smoke curling from a crude hole in the roof. A few chickens scratched around a mud yard, scrawny and aimless. The whole place looked like it had been forgotten by the world.
Lu Chenyuan's chest tightened. This was it.
He summoned the system's assessment ability and focused on the hut.[Dwelling: Crude Hunter's Hut (Poor Condition)][Spiritual Environment: Low Qi concentration. Minor undeveloped herb growth (Grade 0–1).]
No surprises. But the dwelling wasn't the point.
"Let's not rush," he whispered. "We're just two travelers, lost and thirsty."
Uncle Liu nodded, and they stepped into the clearing, walking with the weary gait of men who'd traveled far and had little to show for it.
The door creaked open. A man hobbled out—old, gaunt, leaning on a rough crutch. His leg was stiff, his posture bent by more than age. But his eyes were sharp, assessing them like a hunter sizing up a threat.
Lu Chenyuan bowed politely. "Greetings, elder. We've walked a long way. Might we trouble you for a drink of water?"
The man didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on Liu's spear. "Not many come this deep unless they're running from something."
"We're not looking for trouble," Uncle Liu said smoothly. "We lost our path on the way to Green Willow Village."
Then she appeared.
A girl stepped from the shadowed doorway, holding a wooden bucket. Her clothes were threadbare, her expression unreadable. Dark hair tied back with twine. Skin pale but not sickly. She moved without hesitation, her presence quiet, not timid—just... resigned. Like someone used to being overlooked.
Lu Chenyuan's breath hitched. It had to be her.
He activated the system, heart pounding.
[Target: Shen Yue][Age: 19][Cultivation: None (Mortal)][Spiritual Root: Wood (Variant – Dormant/Obscured)][Quality: Low-grade potential. Status: Tangled, Underdeveloped.][Disposition: Neutral (Wary)][System Note: Potential present. Dormancy likely environmental. "Curse" linked to Qi fluctuations.]
He nearly staggered.
A Wood root. Variant, even if dormant. The implications clicked into place. The so-called curse—unstable, latent Qi leaking without control. Not malice. Not misfortune. Untapped talent.
This was it.
Shen Yue looked to her father, silently asking what to do. He grunted, less suspicious now. "Fetch our guests some water."
She obeyed without a word.
As she returned with a ladle, Lu Chenyuan met her eyes. They were still. Not lifeless—but tempered. She'd been through things. And she'd survived them.
She handed him the water, and he drank, savoring its cool clarity.
He'd seen enough.
When they'd finished, he stood a little straighter and faced Shen Bolin directly. "Elder Shen," he began, calm but firm. "I am Lu Chenyuan, Patriarch of the Azurewood Lin Clan. My servant and I did not come here merely for water."
The forest seemed to still around them.
"We came because we heard you have a virtuous daughter. Our clan is small, struggling—but I seek someone who will stand beside me as we rebuild. I wish to inquire about a marital alliance with your daughter, Shen Yue."
Silence fell.
Shen Bolin stared at him, unmoving. Shen Yue froze where she stood, eyes wide, the ladle still in her hand. Even the trees, it seemed, waited.
This was the moment everything could change—for all of them.