The aftertaste of Star Dew lingered on Lin Che's tongue—cold, crisp, like biting into a frost-covered star—as he walked deeper into the Blackstone Grove. The silver glow of his star marrow birthmark had dimmed to a soft pulse, but he could feel its energy humming under his skin, more alive than ever before. Each step felt lighter, his senses sharper: he could hear the rustle of beetles in the soil, smell the faint pine scent of distant trees, and even see the faint luminescence of moss on the black stone pillars in the dark.
He found a small cave hidden behind a thicket of thorny vines to rest for the night. It was dry inside, with a smooth stone floor that still held the day's warmth. Lin Che lit his oil lamp (now running low on oil) and sat cross-legged, pulling out the ancient book to examine the spirit plant illustrations again. As his fingers brushed the page, the birthmark on his wrist warmed—and suddenly, a jolt of pain shot through his head.
It was different from the vague memory fragments he'd seen before. This time, the images were vivid, overwhelming—like he'd been thrown into someone else's life.
He was standing in a sunlit valley, surrounded by plants he'd only seen in the book: tall stalks with leaves that glowed like emeralds, flowers that opened and closed with a soft click, and vines that coiled around his ankles like gentle hands. He wore a plain linen robe, not the coarse work clothes of Rusty Iron Workshop, and in his hands was a wooden basket filled with herbs. A voice called his name—"Ling An"—and he turned to see a woman with long, dark hair standing by a stone well, smiling.
"Ling An, the Star Dew is almost ready," she said, holding up a clay jar. "The elders say this batch will be stronger than ever—enough to seal the rift in the west."
"Good," he heard himself reply. His voice was deeper, calmer, not the nervous tone he knew as Lin Che. "The mist has been spreading faster. Last night, it took three spirit plants to push it back from the village."
The woman's smile faded. "Do you think… do you think we'll be enough? The elders say the mist is getting smarter. It doesn't just destroy—it hunts."
Ling An walked to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We have to be enough. The star marrow chose us for a reason." He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the same pale silver birthmark on his wrist. "This isn't just a mark. It's a promise. We'll seal the mist, no matter what."
The memory shifted. Now, Ling An was standing in front of a gaping black rift in the ground, the mist pouring out in thick, writhing tendrils. The woman from the valley lay on the ground beside him, her chest still—gone. Rage and grief burned in his chest as he lifted a crystal vial filled with Star Dew, the same blue liquid Lin Che had drunk hours before.
"For her," he whispered, then poured the Star Dew into the rift. The mist screamed, shrinking back as the blue liquid hissed and smoked. But the rift was too big, the mist too strong. Ling An felt his energy fading, the star marrow in his wrist growing dim. He closed his eyes, focusing all his remaining power into the birthmark—then pushed it toward the rift.
The last thing he saw was the mist being pushed back, the rift narrowing. The last thing he felt was the star marrow's energy leaving him, carrying a single thought: "Next time… finish what I started."
The memory shattered, and Lin Che gasped, clutching his head. His forehead was covered in sweat, his heart racing. Ling An— that was his first past life, the herbalist from the Spirit Era. The woman… who was she? A friend? A lover? And the rift—was it where the Star Marrow Shadow had been sealed?
He looked down at his wrist. The birthmark was glowing faintly, as if mourning Ling An's loss. He now understood why the guardian had warned that unlocking memories would be painful—it wasn't just the physical ache, but the weight of someone else's grief, someone else's failure.
But there was more. As the pain faded, he felt something new: a knowledge of spirit plants, sharp and clear, in his mind. He knew which plants could heal, which could bind, which could even burn. He knew how to channel the star marrow's energy into them, how to make them grow faster, stronger. It was Ling An's gift—passed down through the cycle of reincarnation, now his to use.
Just as he was processing this, he heard a soft sniff from outside the cave.
Lin Che froze, grabbing the dagger from his belt. He blew out the oil lamp, then crept to the cave entrance, peeking through the thorny vines.
In the moonlight, he saw a small figure huddled against a stone pillar—a girl, no older than twelve, with matted brown hair and torn clothes. She was holding a dead rabbit in her hands, tears streaming down her face.
"Please… wake up," she whispered, gently shaking the rabbit. "I need you. I don't have any food left."
Lin Che hesitated. He didn't know if she was safe—could she be a decoy for the Zhao family? But her sobs sounded real, her fear palpable. He thought of Su Qing, of how she'd helped him when he was helpless. He couldn't leave her here.
He stepped out of the cave, keeping his dagger hidden behind his back. "Are you okay?"
The girl jumped, spinning around. She held the rabbit defensively, her eyes wide with fear. "Who are you? Stay away!"
"I'm not going to hurt you," Lin Che said, softening his voice. "My name is Lin Che. I'm just passing through. What's yours?"
The girl hesitated, then whispered, "Xiao Ya." She looked down at the rabbit, her lower lip trembling. "This is Thumper. I found him this morning… he was fine, but then he just… stopped breathing. I don't know why."
Lin Che walked closer, kneeling down beside her. He gently touched the rabbit's fur—it was still warm. He closed his eyes, focusing on the star marrow's energy in his wrist, then placed his hand on the rabbit's chest. He thought of Ling An's knowledge, of the healing plants he'd seen in the memory.
A faint silver light seeped from his palm into the rabbit. Xiao Ya gasped, watching as the rabbit's chest began to rise and fall—slowly at first, then faster. After a few seconds, it twitched, then opened its eyes, nuzzling Lin Che's hand.
"It's alive!" Xiao Ya exclaimed, tears of joy streaming down her face. She hugged the rabbit tightly, then looked up at Lin Che, her eyes filled with awe. "How did you do that? Are you a mage?"
Lin Che smiled faintly, pulling his hand back. The star marrow's energy felt a little drained, but it was worth it. "I… I have a special gift. But it's not something I can explain easily."
Just then, Xiao Ya's smile faded. She looked over Lin Che's shoulder, her face turning pale. "They're coming. The men in black. They've been chasing me for days."
Lin Che spun around. In the distance, he saw torches—at least five of them, moving quickly through the grove. The Zhao family's men. Had they found his trail again? Or were they chasing Xiao Ya?
"We need to run," Lin Che said, grabbing Xiao Ya's hand. "Do you know this grove? Anywhere we can hide?"
Xiao Ya nodded, jumping to her feet. "There's a hidden spring deep in the grove—surrounded by thorny vines that no one can get through. I can take you there!"
She pulled Lin Che forward, the rabbit tucked safely in her arms. The torches grew closer, their light flickering through the trees. Lin Che could hear the men's shouts now, harsh and angry.
As they ran, Lin Che felt the birthmark on his wrist warm again—not with the gentle glow of healing, but with a sharp, warning pulse. He looked ahead, and his heart dropped.
The path Xiao Ya was leading him down ended at a sheer cliff, with no sign of a hidden spring. And behind them, the men's torches were almost upon them.
Xiao Ya stopped, frozen in fear. "No… that's not right. The spring was here, I swear!"
Lin Che pulled her behind a stone pillar, his mind racing. They were trapped. The men were closing in, and he'd used too much of his energy healing the rabbit. He still had Ling An's knowledge of spirit plants—but would it be enough to fight five Spirit Rank warriors?
He looked down at his wrist, at the star marrow birthmark. Ling An had fought to seal the mist, even with nothing left. He couldn't give up now—not on himself, not on Xiao Ya.
The first of the men appeared around the corner, his torch held high. "There they are! Don't let them get away!"
Lin Che stepped in front of Xiao Ya, his hands glowing with a faint silver light. He thought of the thorny vines at the cave entrance, of Ling An's plants, of the power of the star marrow.
"Stay behind me," he said, his voice steady.
The men charged forward, their swords drawn. Lin Che closed his eyes, focusing—then pushed his hands toward the ground.
What happened next would change everything