After reporting their mission findings and giving the spirit horses back to the beast keepers at Spirit Beast Pavilion.
Yan Mu spoke, his voice was softer than usual, the sharp coldness tempered.
"We part here," he said. "You fought well, Brother Li ."
Li Yao inclined his head. "As did you."
A moment passed between them—an understanding forged in shared danger.
"Perhaps we'll meet again soon," Yan Mu said before turning, his long cloak trailing behind him as he strode toward the towering silhouette of Swordwind Peak.
Li Yao watched him go. Then, turning toward the quiet solitude of the herbal gardens, he made his way back to his small, humble cottage. His limbs ached from the journey, but it was his mind that felt truly weary. Memories weighed on him: the desperate prisoners, the dark cavern, the laughter of the demonic cultivator. He needed time to think before reporting everything to Master Bai.
The following days passed in outward normalcy. Li Yao fulfilled his duties as an outer disciple- tending the herbal gardens, practicing the Nature Severance technique, refining his qi with deliberate precision. To others, he seemed unchanged: a quiet, disciplined young cultivator. But within him, something had shifted.
At night, faces haunted his dreams. The dead villagers' hollow eyes, the cold laughter of their tormentor, the suffocating helplessness—each scene replayed in the silence of his mind. Even the Heavenly Observation System's calm, analytical reports felt empty against the raw weight of reality. He began to question the path he walked, the cultivation he pursued. What did it all mean when lives were lost in an instant, beyond his power to save?
On the fourth day, as Li Yao practiced the Nature Severance technique in a secluded clearing near the garden's edge, a familiar presence approached.
"Your form has improved," said a voice from the shadows.
Li Yao turned and bowed low. Master Bai Renshu stepped from beneath the trees, his gaze calm, piercing. Today, he seemed as he always did, but something in his eyes held an understanding beyond words.
"Master," Li Yao murmured.
"You completed your mission," Bai said quietly. "Yet you return diminished, rather than strengthened."
Li Yao hesitated. "The mission… was not what I expected."
"Few things in this world are," Bai replied, settling onto a moss-covered stone. His expression softened. "Tell me what troubles you."
Li Yao's words came hesitantly at first, but soon spilled out in a rush: the cult's lair, the helpless captives, the frantic digging of graves, the laughter that echoed long after. He spoke of the numbness that clung to him, a shadow in his soul.
Bai listened in silence, then spoke softly. "You've seen cruelty. Now you wonder if cultivation has meaning—if all our power serves a purpose in the face of the world's darkness."
Li Yao's breath caught. His master's words echoed his own unspoken fears.
"All that strength," he murmured. "And we couldn't save them. Not a single one."
Bai's voice dropped to a whisper. "And now you walk among your fellow disciples, but your mind is trapped in that cave."
Li Yao looked up sharply, then nodded.
"This disconnection is natural," Bai said gently. "It is the price of growth." He stood slowly, brushing invisible dust from his robe. "Perhaps it's time you see more of the world you claim to protect. Meet me at my residence tomorrow at dawn. Bring only what you can carry."
Before Li Yao could speak, Bai turned and disappeared into the trees, leaving behind only the rustle of falling dusk.
The next day, Li Yao arrived at his master's residence just as the first light broke over the mountains. A small traveling pack hung over his shoulder. Master Bai was already waiting.
"You're punctual," Bai said with a faint smile.
"Where are we going, Master?" Li Yao asked.
"To remember why we cultivate," Bai replied simply, leading him down a narrow forest path veiled by towering trees and dense undergrowth.They walked in silence until they reached a hidden clearing beneath ancient pines.
Master Bai stopped, raising a hand. Li Yao felt a subtle pressure—a ripple of spiritual energy brushing against his senses. It was faint, yet unmistakable: the touch of divine sense, that elusive perception possessed only by those who had reached the Nascent Soul realm.
With a graceful motion, Bai extended his hand, a ring visible on his index finger.
A storage ring. Li Yao had heard of them—rare treasures capable of holding objects within a separate dimensional space, accessible only through the divine sense of the Nascent Soul Cultivators.
"Stand back," Master Bai murmured.
A ripple of energy stirred the air as Bai activated the ring. Slowly, impossibly, something emerged: first the prow of a polished wooden vessel, then an elegantly curved hull inscribed with delicate formations. Within moments, a small flying ship hovered before them, no larger than a fishing boat yet radiating undeniable spiritual power.
Li Yao could only stare, astonishment rendering him speechless.
"The Leaf Upon the Wind," Bai said softly. "She has carried me through five centuries."
Li Yao's breath caught. "She's… magnificent."
"She will carry us where we need to go," Bai replied.
Li Yao stepped aboard the deck, feeling the gentle hum of formation arrays beneath his feet. Master Bai took his place at the stern, where a simple control array pulsed with soft green light.
With a final gesture, he activated the controls. The ship rose smoothly into the air, climbing above the treetops. Below them, the Embercloud Mountains spread out like a painted tapestry. Li Yao gripped the railing, heart racing with a mixture of fear and exhilaration.
Already, he could see disciples far below, pointing upward in astonishment. Only core formation or higher cultivators could command such a vessel.
"Where are we going?" Li Yao asked, voice almost lost in the wind.
"To the mortal villages," Bai answered. "To see those who live and die without spiritual roots. To remember those you could not save."
Li Yao's heart ached, but he nodded.
They flew in silence over forests, fields, and villages. At last, they descended near a modest town nestled by a river.
"Greenwater Town," Bai said. "Three thousand souls. No cultivators among them."
Li Yao studied the settlement with newfound interest. From this height, he could see the entire layout—the central market square, the winding streets, the fields surrounding the town where farmers worked under the morning sun.
"We will observe, but not interfere," Master Bai instructed as he guided the ship lower, activating a concealment formation that would make them invisible to mortal eyes. "These people live their lives untouched by cultivation wars and sect politics. Watch how they build meaning without the promise of immortality."
The ship settled in a wooded area just outside town. As they disembarked, Master Bai made another gesture with his divine sense, and the vessel shimmered before disappearing back into his storage ring.
"Come," he said simply, and led the way toward Greenwater Town.
They spent the day wandering the streets as ordinary travelers. Li Yao had disguised his cultivator's bearing, following his master's example of walking with a slight stoop, blending with the crowd. No one gave them a second glance—just another old man and his grandson, perhaps, or a teacher and his student.
In the market, they watched merchants haggle over copper coins with the same intensity that disciples negotiated for spirit stones. Children ran between stalls, playing games, and an old woman sold dumplings from a steaming cart.
"They know they will die," Li Yao observed quietly as they sat on a bench near the town square. "Yet they still build, still plan, still laugh."
Master Bai nodded. "A mortal life is brief, but not meaningless. Look there."
He pointed to a stonemason working on what appeared to be a new well. The man's muscles strained as he set each stone, and rechecked the alignment.
"He will not live to see that well serve a hundred generations," Master Bai said. "But he builds it as if he would. That is the mortal paradox—knowing their time is limited makes each action more significant, not less."
As evening approached, they found lodging at a small inn. The room was simple—straw mattresses, wooden furniture, a small window overlooking the street. Nothing like the jade-inlaid quarters of even the outer disciples.
Over a dinner of rice and river fish, Master Bai continued his lesson. "The Dusk Shadow Syndicate preys on these people because they see them as insignificant. Cultivators who lose sight of the mortal world often become its greatest threat."
Li Yao thought of the captives in the underground chamber. "We're supposed to protect them."
"That is the ideal," Master Bai agreed. "But power without perspective corrupts. That is why I brought you here—not just to see mortals, but to remember being one."
Later, as Li Yao lay on his straw mattress listening to the sounds of the town settling into night, he reflected on his master's words. Before the System, before the sect, he had been just like these people—vulnerable, mortal, living day to day. The memory felt distant now, like something read in a book rather than lived.
That night, for the first time since the mission, Li Yao slept without dreams of the dead.
They continued visiting villages, watching weddings, births, and funerals. In one village, they arrived after a bandit raid. Bai, without revealing his cultivation, used his herbal knowledge to save the wounded and help the survivors.
"Sometimes small actions have greater impact than grand gestures," he told Li Yao.
Li Yao noticed his master's movements becoming slower, his rest periods longer. Once, he saw Bai press a hand to his chest, his face tightening with pain.
As they prepared to visit yet another town, Li Yao finally gathered the courage to ask.
"Master, are you unwell?"
Bai Renshu paused in the act of summoning the flying ship. For a moment, he seemed to consider dismissing the question. Then he sighed.
"Your observation skills have improved," he said. "Yes, I carry an old injury. It troubles me at times, but it is nothing to concern yourself with."
"Forgive me, Master. I meant no disrespect."
The old man studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly.
High above the clouds, with only the wind to hear their words, Master Bai finally spoke of his past.
"Eight hundred years ago, I was much like you—talented, determined, perhaps too confident in my abilities. When I reached the Soul Turbulence Realm, I believed few mysteries remained beyond my grasp."
He traced a pattern on the ship's control array, his fingers leaving trails of green light. "The Primal Extremes Continent has always been dangerous—chaotic ley lines, unpredictable weather, ancient ruins filled with traps and treasures. But I had received information about a particular site—the remnants of a civilization."
Li Yao listened intently, aware that he was being granted knowledge few in the sect possessed.
"What I found there..." Master Bai paused, his gaze distant. "It was not a ruin, but a sealed dimensional pocket. Inside was a library of sorts, with cultivation methods unlike any I had seen."
"There I was betrayed by my companion."
"I had trusted him. We fought for seven days and seven nights." The old master's voice grew softer. "I prevailed, but not before he inflicted a wound."
Understanding dawned on Li Yao. "What happened to him, master?"
"I will tell you when you are ready. Not now—perhaps not for many years." Master Bai's hand trembled slightly as he adjusted their course.
They flew in silence for a time, each lost in thought. The Embercloud Mountains appeared on the horizon, their peaks catching the last light of day.
"This journey," Li Yao finally said. "Thank you, master, for resolving my problem."
They landed in the same clearing from which they had departed a week earlier. As the ship settled
The faces of the dead no longer haunted him as they had before. In their place was a new determination—to grow stronger not just for his own advancement, but for those who could not protect themselves. For the mortals in their fragile towns. And for his master, who had carried a terrible burden alone for centuries.
The hollow feeling that had plagued him since his return was gone. In its place was purpose, clear and sharp as a freshly forged blade.