The morning sun painted the world in soft gold, casting long shadows over the mountain path. Chen Yun walked alongside the old man and the boy, the cart wheels creaking gently behind them as they followed the narrow road carved into the spine of the Jade Veil Mountains.
Below them, an ocean of trees unfolded in layers—rich, jade-hued canopies waving in harmony with the mountain wind. Wisps of mist clung to the cliffs like drifting silk, parting just enough to reveal waterfalls cascading down sheer faces, their waters glittering like silver veins through the green.
Birds called to one another from the boughs. Wildflowers bloomed from cracks in the stone, brave against the wind. The scent of pine, damp moss, and mountain orchids filled the air.
Even in silence, the world was loud with life.
The boy leaned against the cart's edge, eyes wide."Grandfather… this is the most beautiful place I've ever seen."
The old man chuckled, his voice rasping like bark."The mountain shows her beauty before her fangs, boy. Keep your awe—but never drop your guard."
Chen Yun remained a few paces ahead, silent, his crimson-lined cloak shifting with the wind.
His Qi was quiet but taut, like a drawn bowstring. It flowed through his damaged meridians in slow, precise circuits—fractured, yet refined. Like a river learning to bend around broken stone. The pain no longer roared. It whispered—constant, disciplined, mastered.
He had not overcome it.
He had ascended it.
The path curved around a ridge. A field of golden grass swayed to their right, overlooking a sheer drop. Far below, a river shimmered like a sliver of glass.
Chen Yun's steps halted.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
A moment later, four figures stepped onto the path from the ridge ahead—rough-spun armor, mismatched blades, and eyes bright with hunger.
Bandits. Mountain-slick and desperate.
"Looks like a lucky day," one of them sneered, a scar splitting his lip. He pointed his curved blade toward the cart."Old man, boy—step aside. We only want the valuables. And your… strange friend."
Another laughed. "What is he, some kind of mute monk? Fancy robes for someone too dumb to run."
The leader stepped forward—broad-shouldered, cruel-eyed. His name was hila rius, a former First-Rate martial artist turned rogue. Beside him stood Deu el, his thin, silent right hand; As ung, thick as a boulder; and Wo so, a flanker known for carving throats before being seen.
The old man raised a trembling hand. "Sirs, please—"
"Silence," Hei San growled.
Chen Yun raised his eyes.
No killing intent. No power flare.
Just a glance.
Then he stepped forward.
The bandits froze. Something in that movement—too casual, too silent—unnerved them.
The Qi around them thickened.
Space distorted.
Chen Yun looked up at the sky for a heartbeat, as if measuring time.
Then he moved.
Not a step.
Just a breath.
His fingers curled.
A ripple of compressed Qi—no larger than a plum—formed at the center of his palm. Silent. Blurred. Contained.
He flicked it forward like one might toss a stone.
The ripple expanded invisibly—through pressure, not light.
It struck Hila rius's chest.
And stopped.
No sound. No gust. No fire.
Just a pause.
Then Hila rius's chest caved in like paper under a hammer.
The others screamed.
De uel's blade flicked up in eerie silence, fast as a blink—only to meet empty air. Chen Yun had already moved.
Chen Yun vanished.
Void Step.
He reappeared behind Deu el and struck—a single flick of Qi to the dantian.
Deu el collapsed, spine bent, eyes wide in death.
Wo so spun, blade drawn.
Chen Yun was already beside him.
Another flick.
A pulse of Qi pierced the air like a silent nail.
Wo so fell, his throat untouched—but the inside shredded by internal force.
As ung charged, roaring.
Chen Yun moved through the air like a shadow cast by lightning.
He struck low—barely a tap—just beneath the ribs.
The Qi surged into the man's organs.
As ung dropped like a statue pushed from its base.
The silence returned.
Only the wind remained.
The old man stared, breath shallow.The boy gripped the cart, pale.A green butterfly flitted lazily past the corpses as if nothing had happened.
From their eyes, it had taken less than a heartbeat.
"…W-was that a technique?" the boy whispered.
The old man spoke slowly, reverently.
"No. That wasn't a technique, child. That was will. Pure, focused will."
Chen Yun said nothing.
He turned and kept walking.
As if nothing had happened.
By dusk, the path widened. The city gates appeared—tall and proud, nestled between two cliffs.
Shanliu City.
Built into rising stone, its crimson lanterns swayed in the wind. High walls bore carvings of tigers and storms. Watchtowers rose like teeth, guards in silver armor pacing their edges.
Smoke from food stalls curled into the amber sky. The sound of life—monks debating, merchants haggling, steel clashing—drifted down the road.
The mountain had been silent.
The city was alive.
Chen Yun passed through the gates without a word.