The next morning dawned the same as every other — yellow dust swirling in the dry wind, the sun a pale coin behind thin clouds.
Xiao Chen woke before the roosters, his stomach still half-full from yesterday's roots and Old Lady Wang's sweet potatoes. The faint black rune over his heart no longer hurt, but he could feel it there — like a cold spot that refused to warm.
He sat up on his straw mat, staring at the cracked mud wall.
"Was it really just a dream?"
He pressed his fingers to the mark. Nothing responded.
With a sigh, he grabbed his basket and shovel and headed out once more.
As he passed the village well, a group of children were playing with wooden sticks, pretending to be immortal cultivators they had heard about from traveling merchants.
One boy, the village head's eldest son, Zhao Hu — sixteen and already broad-shouldered — noticed Xiao Chen and shouted loudly.
"Hey, trash orphan! Still digging dirt like a mole? When are you going to fly on a sword like the immortals, huh?"
The other children laughed.
Xiao Chen lowered his eyes and kept walking, saying nothing.
Zhao Hu wasn't done. He blocked the path, stick pointed like a sword.
"Bow to this young master, and I'll let you pass. Maybe I'll even give you a spirit stone!" He waved a smooth pebble painted silver.
More laughter.
Xiao Chen stopped. His voice was quiet, but clear.
"Move aside, Brother Zhao."
Zhao Hu's face darkened. "What did you say, jinx? You think because Old Lady Wang pities you, you can talk back?"
He swung the stick hard toward Xiao Chen's shoulder.
Xiao Chen stepped sideways — not fast, but just enough. The stick whistled past.
Zhao Hu stumbled forward from the momentum.
The laughter stopped.
Zhao Hu's face turned red with anger. "You dare dodge? I'll—"
"Enough."
A gentle but firm voice cut through.
Everyone turned.
Qing Lian stood at the edge of the group, carrying two buckets of water on a shoulder pole. She was fourteen, with simple clothes and hair tied in a plain cloth, but her eyes were bright and clear, like a lotus blooming in muddy water.
She set the buckets down and looked straight at Zhao Hu.
"Bullying someone weaker makes you strong? Your father is village head — is this how he teaches you?"
Zhao Hu's bravado faltered. Everyone knew Qing Lian's family was poor, but she was clever and never afraid to speak.
He spat on the ground. "Mind your own business, girl. This trash—"
"He's not trash," Qing Lian said calmly. "He's just quieter than you."
The children murmured.
Zhao Hu glared, then stormed off with his group, muttering curses.
Qing Lian turned to Xiao Chen.
"Are you all right?"
He nodded, surprised she had spoken up. They had seen each other around the village for years, but rarely talked.
"Thank you… Sister Qing."
She smiled softly — a smile that made the dusty morning feel a little less heavy.
"You don't need to thank me. I just don't like seeing unfair things."
She picked up her buckets again. "Are you going to the hill?"
"Yes."
"I'll walk with you partway. My family's herb patch is near the foot."
They walked in silence at first. Then Qing Lian spoke.
"I heard from a passing merchant last month… there really are immortals out there. They can fly, live hundreds of years, even shatter mountains with a palm."
Xiao Chen glanced at her. "Do you believe it?"
"I want to," she said, eyes looking toward the distant horizon. "This village… this star… it feels too small sometimes. Like we're all trapped in a dry well, staring up at a tiny circle of sky."
Xiao Chen's heart stirred. He had never heard anyone say it aloud before.
"I feel the same," he admitted quietly.
They reached the fork where her family's small herb patch lay.
Qing Lian set down the buckets and wiped her forehead.
"Chen-ge… if one day you really leave this place, will you take me to see the bigger world?"
The question was sudden, innocent.
Xiao Chen looked at her — really looked. Her cheeks were flushed from carrying water, her eyes earnest.
He smiled, the first real smile in a long time.
"If I ever get the chance… I will."
She laughed lightly, like wind chimes.
"Then it's a promise."
She turned to her herbs, humming an old village tune.
Xiao Chen continued up the hill alone, but his steps felt lighter.
He sat beneath the old willow again, basket beside him.
The mark on his chest pulsed once — faintly.
A strand of spiritual energy, thinner than spider silk, drifted from the distant sky and entered his body unnoticed.
He didn't feel it yet.
But deep inside the Primordial Chaos Bead, the first crack in the long-sealed Dual Paths began to open.
Far away, in the Azure Cloud Realm, a small immortal sect's recruitment elder opened his eyes from meditation.
"Hm? A faint chaos fluctuation from the lower mortal domains? Strange… probably nothing."
He closed his eyes again.
The wind blew through the willow branches, carrying tiny whispers that only the heavens could hear.
A new story was beginning.