Smoke still lingered in the mountain air—faint tendrils curling between scorched leaves and broken roots. The forest behind them smouldered from yesterday's chaos, and the ground crackled underfoot with the memory of falling lightning.
Li Meixiu skipped lightly ahead, twirling once as her strange, silken robes—the colour of twilight—fluttered like whispers of dusk. In her arms, she cradled a faded blue rabbit plushie with button eyes that gleamed faintly under the sun. Mr. Bunbun's head lolled sideways as if he, too, were trying to understand what the hell happened to their lives.
Lin Feng walked beside her, silent and sharp. His plain black shirt fit close enough to show the coiled strength beneath, while his jeans—scuffed and still smelling faintly of ozone—brushed against his boots with each measured step. He hadn't spoken since they left the battlefield, but his dark-black eyes scanned everything: terrain, shadows, the slope of hills like a tactician planning ambushes.
Ahead of them trudged the old man—their unexpected saviour, helping them reach a nearby village. His beard was patchy, and his robe looked like it had lost a war with moths, but the way he held his crooked sword suggested he'd seen blood.
"This way," the man said, not looking back. "Mistvale village is just over the next ridge. Safe enough for now. Qi beasts don't like getting their paws muddy."
"Qi beasts," Lin Feng muttered. "Because just 'beasts' wasn't dramatic enough?"
Li Meixiu grinned. "Maybe they sparkle. Like Pokémon."
He shot her a flat look. "Mom."
The old man chuckled. "Haven't seen folks quite like you before. And even though you're not cultivators, your aura isn't like that of mortals either."
Li Meixiu rocked on her heels. "We're… new in town."
"And possibly the universe," Lin Feng added under his breath.
She hugged Mr. Bunbun tighter, whispering something to his plush ear. The rabbit, worn from years of affection, sagged softly in her arms like a relic of warmth in a world growing colder.
Then she turned to Lin Feng with a sly smile. "If we get thrown into a sect, A-Li, I'm choosing the one with the cutest uniforms."
He groaned under his breath. "That is not a criterion."
"I think it is," she said sweetly. "And if they have tea breaks, even better."
---
By the time the trees parted, even Lin Feng slowed.
The scent of wet soil and incense teased the edge of the wind. It was like walking out of a storm and finding yourself in a dream that forgot how to end.
As they reached the hill's crest, the forest fell away to reveal a quaint valley. Mistvale shimmered like a lost brushstroke in a forgotten painting—copper rooftops, curving smoke trails, and tiny footpaths weaving between rice paddies and herb gardens. Children ran barefoot, chasing after a cloud-puff dog that barked steam instead of sound. Qi lingered here too, faint but warm—like a hearth fire.
"Welcome to Mistvale," the man said, finally glancing back with a weary smile. "You won't find cities or sects here. Just farmers, brewers, and one cursed goose."
Lin Feng raised a brow. "What happened to the goose?"
The man shuddered. "Your killing intent knocked it out cold."
Li Meixiu gasped. "A-Li! Apologize to the goose spirit!"
"It's not dead," the man grumbled. "Just dramatic."
They passed between two leaning gateposts strung with prayer charms. Curious eyes watched them. One child pointed and whispered, "Look! She's holding a spirit doll!"
"That's Mr. Bunbun," Meixiu said proudly, raising the plushie like a sacred relic. "He's travelled realms and witnessed calamities."
"...Looks really soft," a girl whispered. "Like grandpa's pillow."
Mr. Bunbun, noble and silent, merely flopped sideways in her arms as if humbly accepting the compliment.
Then, as Meixiu knelt to offer the plushie for inspection, one of the children tripped on a root and scraped his knee. Before anyone could gasp, Meixiu reached out absently—fingers glowing faintly with pale gold—and brushed over the wound. The blood vanished. Skin stitched itself smooth like time rewinding.
The villagers fell silent.
She blinked, confused. "Oh. Did I do something?"
The old man from earlier—people called him 'Old Wu'—cleared his throat, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "No. Nothing at all."
Lin Feng's gaze flicked between them. He didn't say anything—just stayed beside her—but deep in his bones, he felt it. The ache in his shoulders from yesterday's madness had lessened. The bruises on his knuckles from punching that demon-beast? Fading.
This place heals. Or… Mom does, he thought.
---
Later that afternoon, with bellies full and shadows growing long, the trio ducked into the crooked little tea house that served as the village's gossip hub.
Inside the village's tea house—its walls leaning slightly eastward as if drunk—the old man, who introduced himself as Old Wu/Uncle Wu, poured steaming cups into chipped porcelain. The tea smelled faintly of mountain plum and herbs.
"You two," Wu said, staring intently, "don't belong here. That's not an insult—it's a statement of fact. You walk like mortals, but... your presence is heavier than the mountain's root. Where are you really from?"
Meixiu smiled sweetly. "We're tourists."
Lin Feng leaned back, arms crossed. "Explain this world instead."
Wu raised a brow, then nodded slowly. "Alright. Listen well. In this world, qi is everything. It flows through the veins of the earth, the breath of the sky, the bones of beasts. Mortals like us have scraps of it. Cultivators refine it into power, into lifespan, into legends."
He drew lines on the dusty table—few peaks in a circle. "These are major sects. Celestial Sword Pavilion, Verdant Alchemy Peak, and Demonic Blood sect. There are other sects too, but... they pale in comparison to these three. Each with their own pride, their own monsters. Some are noble. Others... not so much. But they rule this realm with other powerful clans."
"And people just let them?" Lin Feng asked.
"Who can stop them? They're gods in everything but name. Most protect the land... but others? They care only for power. Yet—" He paused, eyes flickering with something like fear. "All of them tremble before one thing... The Royal Family."
Wu's gaze hardened. "You two are strong. That much is clear. You'll be hunted, or recruited. Either way, you'll lose freedom unless you claim a mask."
"Mask?" Meixiu echoed.
"Status. Sect robes. A name they can categorize. Otherwise... the unknown is too dangerous to be left unmarked."
He sipped his tea and added gently, "The Celestial Sword Pavilion is close by. They don't ask too many questions. If you keep your heads down... you might survive."
Meixiu tilted her head and smirked. "Sounds like high school politics but with swords. I could've ruled one of those."
Lin Feng muttered, "You ruled PTA meetings. Not the same."
She poked his cheek with one finger. "Jealous because I had more votes than you?"
"I didn't even run."
"Exactly. Loser."
---
Night fell gently, wrapping Mistvale in soft velvet hues and the scent of woodsmoke and lotus oil.
That night, the stars lay scattered like spilled pearls across a velvet sky.
They rested in the barn loft of Uncle Wu's home, the scent of hay and pine resin faint in the air. Below, the village was quiet—just the croak of frogs, the occasional bark of the smoke dog, and the soft creak of the wooden beams above them.
Li Meixiu curled beneath a quilt, her breathing slow and steady. Mr. Bunbun rested in the crook of her arms, his ears drooping gently against her chest. She looked so at peace, Lin Feng didn't have the heart to speak.
But she stirred anyway.
"You've been staring at the ceiling for hours," she murmured sleepily. "Thinking?"
He didn't move. "I don't trust anyone in this world. But hiding behind a banner... might buy us time."
She blinked at him, the flicker of lantern-light catching the softness in her eyes. "Then?"
"We'll join the sword sect."
She blinked. "Not martial? Not alchemy?"
"They all have titles and poetry. I want to learn how to fight in this world." His eyes flashed with determination. "So I can protect you, Mom."
There was a long pause.
Then she reached over and pulled him into a sudden, sleepy hug—pulling him closer against the warmth of her blanket and Mr. Bunbun's fuzzy glare.
"You're a good boy," she whispered. "Even if you growl all the time."
"I don't growl."
Mr. Bunbun growled for him.
---