Redleaf Town had always felt like a place caught between worlds.
Too small to be a true city, too large to be called a village, it straddled the border of mountain and plain—where the fog from the Cloudfang peaks rolled down like silent rivers and tangled with the dry winds of the lowlands. The roads here were wide enough for carts, but worn in that lazy way that told of infrequent use. Traders came. Stayed a day. Then vanished with the mist.
Li Yao walked through the southern gate without challenge. No guards. No walls to speak of—just a pair of leaning pillars carved with faded characters that had once marked the domain of some forgotten noble line. He'd passed through them before. Twice, maybe three times in his life. Redleaf Town hadn't changed much.
But this time, the eyes that watched him weren't just those of peasants and merchants.
Cultivators had come.
They stood near the markets in dark robes with cloud-gray sashes, resting long sabers against their shoulders or crouched on rooftops like watching hawks. Their faces were young, proud, bored—or worse, hungry. He recognized the emblem stitched over their hearts: a brush-stroke crescent over layered peaks.
The Chasing Clouds Sect. From high in Cloudfang Mountain.
They weren't hiding. Why would they? This town belonged to them in spirit, if not in name. One of hundreds under their eye. One of thousands if you counted the villages like Green Pine scattered through the foothills and lowlands.
Li Yao kept his gaze lowered and his steps slow. His blade stayed wrapped and tied across his back, plain as firewood. No one stopped him. No one cared.
He was just another survivor.
There were many now.
Every street he passed had people sleeping in corners or pressed into alleys. Families who had run from places just like his. Children with wild eyes. Men without limbs. There was a smell to it—smoke, rot, fear—that hung above Redleaf Town like a second sky.
The inn he remembered still stood.
The Fox and Lantern, tucked just off the main square, crooked and cramped but warm enough. He stepped inside and found that it, too, was full. Voices layered over one another—some local, some foreign. When he gave the innkeeper coin for a night's stay, the man looked too tired to haggle.
"You're lucky," he muttered, handing over a heavy iron key. "Last room, the place has been filling up quickly. Too quickly to be happy about it."
Li Yao didn't ask what he meant. It was all too obvious just looking around at the broken people sitting around rough-hewn tables, eyes downcast, bodies weary. He climbed to the second floor and found the room small but serviceable—straw mattress, warped desk, a window facing a tiled roof.
He sat for a long while without unpacking. Just listening.
Outside, the voices shifted. A group passed by speaking of the sect. Of trials. Of beasts. The words weren't clear, but the shape of them was familiar.
The Chasing Clouds Sect hadn't come just to help.
They'd come because Redleaf Town was one of their "roots"—a place to rest, recover, and recruit. And now, with the beast tide drawing blood in the surrounding regions, the sect had declared Redleaf their temporary base.
And while they were here... they might as well look for talent.
It was a familiar rhythm. Every few years, a sect would descend from the mountains or ride in from distant cities, sweeping through the countryside with standards high and eyes higher. They'd gather servants first—the strong-armed, the obedient, the dull-eyed—and sometimes, rarely, a real candidate. A child with promising spirit roots. A farmer's son with fire in his breath.
This time, though, it wasn't just servants they were hunting.
He'd heard the word whispered already in the streets.
Examination.
An open one. For anyone brave—or foolish—enough to step forward.
Li Yao turned to the window. From here he could see the edge of the square. A man was demonstrating sword forms while a circle of children watched. Nearby, a woman in white was selling folded paper charms meant to "draw qi into the bones," though her posture said she knew they did nothing of the sort.
He wondered if the silver-eyed woman was still here.
He had seen her last in this town, not long before the world had cracked open. On a quiet evening in the shadow of the old shrine wall, she had looked at him like she knew something he did not. Then disappeared.
He hadn't seen her since.
Li Yao palmed the small jade token she'd given him, the material warm in his hands, edges soft like the cut of her pale-sky robe she'd worn.
He'd never got her name.
That night, sleep came slowly.
The walls of the room seemed to press inward with each breath. The warmth of the blade near his pack was faint, but ever present. Not a weight. Not quite. More like a pulse. He could feel it now, sometimes, in the base of his spine—like a thread drawn tight through his blood.
He dreamed not of Green Pine Village, but of the shrine, and of the fire that refused to die.
The next morning, Redleaf Town buzzed louder.
Li Yao stepped out early and passed through streets that felt subtly changed. Signs posted. More cultivators in the open. One stood on a fruit cart, reciting the names of sect elders and describing the different branches of The Chasing Clouds Sect. Another offered "pre-exam training" for silver coin.
He listened quietly. Learned what he could.
The sect had descended from Cloudfang Mountain only a week ago. Originally to investigate the source of the beast tide. But with so many villages destroyed and the regional flow of talent disrupted, the elders had agreed to conduct a local assessment while stationed here.
An opportunity, they called it.
A rare chance for backwater places like Redleaf Town to contribute something more than miners, servants, and couriers.
That was the official story, anyway.
Li Yao wasn't sure what he believed.
The cultivation world he'd begun to glimpse was layered. Broad. Territorially sliced. Redleaf Town was part of the western reach of the Yuanfang Prefecture, which itself belonged to the Jinzhou Dominion—one of eight dominions under the Heavenly Court of Xuanlu. He'd heard of cities like Ironvale, Mistpetal, and Wutong's Hollow, each ruled or influenced by rival sects, clans, or cultivator families.
In this region, two sects cast the longest shadows.
The Chasing Clouds Sect, nestled in Cloudfang Mountain. And the Emerald Flame Pavilion, perched somewhere beyond the Jade Crescent Valley.
Some said the two were rivals. Others, allies. Li Yao suspected it didn't matter. They operated like empires with invisible borders, collecting tribute, talent, and power wherever they roamed.
And Redleaf Town? Just a single node in a vast and uncaring network.
He watched the activity continue from the doorway of the inn. At some point, he realized he was being watched himself.
Not by the sect.
By a boy—thin, rag-wrapped, wide-eyed—staring at him from behind a bakery stall. Li Yao looked back. The boy flinched, then darted away into the crowd.
He adjusted the straps on his pack, checked the blade's weight against his back.
The examination was a few days away, if the rumours were true.
He had time. Not much.
But enough.
Enough to decide whether to step forward.
Or walk away.