The world returned in layers.
First came breath — deep and untroubled. Then warmth — sunlight brushing his skin through the paper-thin window panels. Then sensation — the dull ache in his limbs reduced to a whisper, his meridians humming low and steady beneath the surface.
Chen Yun opened his eyes.
No pain.
No resistance.
He sat up, letting the quiet clarity wash over him. His Qi moved with him — smooth, obedient, no longer fragmented. Not whole, not yet. But returning.
He inhaled.
The air carried plum blossoms, roasted yam, smoke, and iron — a mix only found in cities where cultivators and commoners lived elbow-to-elbow.
He rose and dressed without urgency, strapping his inner robes tight, cloak falling over his shoulders like mist over stone. The old wooden floor creaked beneath his feet — the only sound that belonged to stillness.
Outside, the world roared.
The city had woken.
Shanliu screamed with life.
The main avenue outside the inn had transformed into a river of noise and motion. Street vendors thumped ladles against woks, frying taro buns and fire-lotus dumplings in sizzling oil. Porters shouted over one another, their carts groaning with sacks of grain and barrels of bitterroot wine. A merchant cursed the heavens as his alchemy gourd exploded in smoke, dyeing his beard orange.
Drunken cultivators sang from rooftops. A storyteller roared out the tale of "The Severed Mountain Monk" to a gathering of children. Two rival blacksmiths banged hammers in rhythmic competition, their anvils creating dueling percussions.
Every corner seethed with trade, quarrel, laughter, and ambition.
Chen Yun stepped into it as one steps into a storm — untouched.
He took a simple meal in silence at a streetside stall: steamed meat rolls, dried plum tea, and a boiled egg cracked open against the edge of his bowl. He ate slowly, eyes half-lidded, listening more than watching.
Then he stood, paid in silence, and turned to walk —
When a blur Collided with him, half-tripped, all panic.
The impact wasn't heavy, but desperate. A youth stumbled backward, eyes wide, clothes torn.He was young. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. Wiry. Barefoot. His robes were frayed past the point of shame. A Beggar Sect token, chipped and half-scorched, hung around his neck ,his hair was tied in a rushed knot, and his lip bled where someone had struck him.
Chen Yun didn't move.
The boy looked up — panic in his eyes, a faint glimmer of hope replacing it as he caught Chen Yun's calm stare.
Then: "Please don't let them take me!"
The words barely left his lips when three men rounded the corner — burly, dressed in mercenary leathers, their qi flaring with crude aggression. One held a chain, another a curved short-blade, and the third had a metal ring around each wrist.
They slowed when they saw Chen Yun.
One of them barked, "That brat's a thief. Hand him over. Not your concern."
Chen Yun didn't speak.
The boy clung to his cloak, whispering, "I didn't steal. I swear. They're bounty hounds. I just saw something I shouldn't have…"
"Get away from him!" the ring-wearer snarled. "Last warning, stranger."
The air around Chen Yun shifted.
Subtle, but undeniable.
He lifted a single hand — fingers loose, palm open. A tiny ripple danced around it — Qi. Not shouted, not flared. Controlled. Weighted. Condensed. Like the tremor before a quake. The lantern beside him flickered, dimming under unseen pressure.
The bounty hunters froze.
The leader's breath caught. His eyes widened. That kind of restraint… only a peak-stage cultivator could wield Qi like a blade still sheathed.
They stepped back.
One whispered, "He's… he's a peak master."
"Forget it. Not worth it."
"Shit," the leader hissed. "That's… peak stage. Let's go."
They backed off fast, cursing under their breath, melting into the alleys like scorpions retreating from fire.
Chen Yun lowered his hand.
The boy was still on the ground, staring.
"You going to lie there all day?" Chen Yun asked.
The boy scrambled up. "N-No, senior. I'm—uh—Jie Lun. Of the Beggar Sect. Thank you, I…"
Chen Yun looked him over. "You've got the stink of the back alleys. But your steps were light. You trained?"
"A little," Jie Lun said, scratching his neck. "Mostly in running."
Chen Yun snorted. "That's a useful art."
He turned to leave.
"I can pay you in information!" Jie Lun called. "That's how we work! I saw something. Something I shouldn't have!"
Chen Yun stopped.
Jie Lun ran to catch up. "I was delivering a message scroll near the Stone Heart Hall. Quiet job. In and out. But I saw these three men — rogue cultivators, cloaked, masked — hand over jade coins and a sealed beast core to an elder. They weren't bargaining. They were offering tribute."
Chen Yun narrowed his eyes. "Stone Heart doesn't take tribute."
"Exactly," Jie Lun said. "And I kicked over a brass incense pot trying to sneak out. They heard it. Chased me all the way here."
"Why not run to your sect?"
"I didn't want to lead trouble to them. One of our elders just entered Qi Sealing Retreat. They can't move the entire quarter just for me."
Chen Yun studied him in silence.
A rat. Smart enough to know when to run. Brave enough to offer intel instead of begging.
That had value.
"Fine," Chen Yun said. "You're coming with me."
Jie Lun blinked. "W-Where?"
"To finish your delivery."
"And after?"
Chen Yun's eyes were cold as frost.
"You'll tell me everything else you know about Stone Heart."