Days passed, seemingly calm. But something had changed in the air of the village.
Laughter had lost its brightness, quarrels their spontaneity. Glances became more cautious—sometimes even evasive. Disciples moved in groups, as if the shadow of an invisible danger wandered between the trees and stone walls. Even the loudest had grown wary with their words. The memory of the incident at the temple was not dead; it floated through the alleys, lingered in hushed conversations, lived in restrained gestures and heavy silences.
Hei Tian remained the same… on the surface. He still helped at the herb shop, still wandered the trails, still observed the falling leaves swirling in the warm breeze, the birds squabbling atop the roofs. He nodded in greeting, listened without replying, walked without sound. But within, a gentle tension had settled. Not anxiety—more like… anticipation. That dream, that vision of the black mountain, that sky of ashes... it had not been a mere dream. He was certain.
At times, his heart would beat faster without reason. When a strange wind passed over the fields. When a shadow slipped too swiftly through the bamboo. As if something were approaching. Or already watching.
One morning, while gathering medicinal leaves near the river, the dawn's silence was broken by the soft crack of dry wood.
Old Chen sat there, on a stump, a cold pipe between his teeth. He looked like he'd been waiting, as if he knew Hei Tian would come.
The boy didn't hesitate.
— Did you see the man in white? Hei Tian asked, straight to the point.
The old man slowly turned his head. His eyes, creased like slivers of moon, shone with a quiet gleam.
— I felt him, he replied. Like one feels winter coming. Cold, silent... inevitable. But my sight cannot reach what he is. He is… beyond.
— Beyond what? Hei Tian asked, voice taut.
The old man smiled—not to reassure, but like a mountain might smile. As if he had seen far more than he would ever say.
He rolled a small seed between his gnarled fingers. A slow, deliberate gesture. As if weighing centuries.
— Have you ever tried to explain fire to a seed? he finally asked, barely above a whisper.
Hei Tian narrowed his eyes, intrigued.
— It wouldn't understand, he said.
— Exactly. But it can grow. And one day, it'll see the sunlight. Then it will understand, by itself.
The boy looked down. He understood. It wasn't an answer meant to dismiss him. It was an invitation. A truth hidden in the image. A key.
— I must grow, he said under his breath.
— There you go, Chen answered, slowly rising. And you are already growing, even if you don't know it yet.
---
That day, a mission was posted in the village courtyard.
The parchment trembled gently in the morning wind. It announced that rare herbs, valuable for alchemy, had been spotted in the nearby mountains. A modest expedition was organized: a small group of young disciples would go to collect them. A simple, supervised task. A mere formality—officially.
But in whispered words, there was something more. A test. A first trial. A way to measure hearts… and ambition.
Hei Tian stepped silently toward the board. He read the notice without emotion. Then, without a word, he took a short brush and signed his name in dark ink.
The sound of the final stroke echoed louder than a shout.
Some stared. Others murmured among themselves. A few laughed—dry, mocking. But no one… no one stood in his way.
And when night fell, as torches flickered in the breeze, Hei Tian stood alone on the hilltop, eyes lifted to the dark sky. He didn't yet know what he was going to find out there. But he could feel that this journey would be more than just a simple task. He felt it deep in his bones.
He was still a seed.
But something, somewhere, had begun to grow.
Slowly. Silently.
And no soil remains untouched when a true seed decides to rise.
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