The old man sat comfortably in his chair, his aged fingers gently stroking the rim of his teacup as he observed the young man before him. The counselor, with a smile as sharp as it was confident, had just been asked a question that hung heavily in the air.
"What can you offer to this village," the elder had asked, "if I am to convince Yang Feng to join the spiritual academy and have him sent there by tomorrow?"
For a moment, the young man's smile did not falter, but the glint in his eyes deepened, as though he had anticipated this very question. He gave a slow nod of acknowledgment before speaking.
"Give me a minute, Elder," the young man said, his voice smooth and without a trace of hesitation. "I'll return with an answer."
Without waiting for the elder's reply, the counselor turned on his heel and made his way to the door, his movements fluid and confident. The elder watched him leave, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as the door creaked shut behind him. The atmosphere in the visitor's house shifted, the once warm and inviting space now feeling hollow, as if the counselor had taken all the energy with him. The red-draped furniture and finely decorated walls felt almost too quiet, too still.
Outside, the young man inhaled deeply, letting the crisp air of the village fill his lungs. His steps were measured as he walked down the stone path, his mind racing though his expression remained calm. He had something to offer, of course. He always did.
After a few moments of walking, he reached a secluded part of the garden near the edge of the village where the trees grew taller and the leaves thicker, their green hue darker in the mid-morning sun. There, under the shade of an ancient oak, the counselor slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his robe and pulled out a small glass jar.
Inside the jar, fluttering softly against the transparent walls, was a butterfly. Its wings were delicate, glowing faintly with a shimmering purple hue that seemed to catch the light in an unnatural way. The counselor smiled, pleased with the sight of it, before carefully unscrewing the top of the jar.
The butterfly, sensing its freedom, immediately flew up and out of the jar, but before it could escape into the sky, the young man held up his index finger. The butterfly, as if obeying an unspoken command, landed gracefully on his fingertip. He brought it closer to his face, his eyes narrowing as he whispered a few inaudible words, his lips moving rapidly in a strange language. The butterfly's wings flickered briefly, as though absorbing his words.
Satisfied, the counselor lowered his hand and flicked his finger gently, sending the butterfly into the air. It hovered for a moment before darting away, flying in the direction of the nearby mountains, where its destination lay hidden.
The young man watched it for a while, his smile returning as he brushed his hands together and turned back toward the village. He was confident that the butterfly would deliver its message, as it always had.
Back in Miss Xu's house, the air was filled with the soft scent of jasmine tea, the warmth of the drink comforting against the mild morning breeze. The village elder sat in the garden with Miss Xu, sipping slowly from his teacup, the lines on his face deepening with age but also with experience. His eyes, though weathered, were sharp with thought.
"It went well," the elder repeated, his voice steady, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. The memory of his conversation with the counselor still played in his mind. He knew that negotiations had begun, but there was more at stake than just words.
Miss Xu, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly grew serious. Her brow furrowed slightly as she set her cup down on the wooden table, the clink of porcelain breaking the peaceful silence. She turned her gaze to the elder, her expression one of concern.
"Are you going to force Yang Feng to join the school?" she asked, her voice low but steady, the worry in her tone unmistakable.
The elder didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took another sip of tea, his gaze distant as if contemplating the question. The silence stretched between them, the birds in the distance chirping cheerfully, unaware of the weight of the conversation.
After what felt like an eternity, the elder finally spoke, his voice calm but resolute. "No. It is Yang Feng's choice whether he joins the academy or not."
Miss Xu exhaled slightly, as if relieved by the answer. But the elder wasn't finished.
"However," he continued, his eyes turning to meet hers, "you and I both know that in the history of spiritual masters, there has never been a Sun ranker who has refused to go to the spiritual academy."
The words hung in the air like a heavy cloud, their meaning clear. While it was technically Yang Feng's choice, the pressure of destiny and tradition bore down on him from all sides. To be a Sun ranker was to be destined for greatness, and the academy was the only place for someone of his caliber.
Miss Xu's face fell slightly, disappointment and concern battling within her. She sighed softly, her fingers gripping the edges of her teacup. "But Elder, Yang Feng is just a child. He hasn't even hit puberty yet. If he goes to that academy, he'll be subjected to harsh training, possibly beyond what he can handle."
Her voice was filled with genuine worry. She had watched over Yang Feng for years, seeing him grow from a boy into the beginnings of a young man. Sending him off to the academy, where the trials would be brutal, felt like sending him to the wolves.
The elder's gaze softened as he looked at Miss Xu. He respected her concern—she had always been protective of Yang Feng, even if she tried to hide it. But the elder had lived long enough to know that Yang Feng's path was different from others.
"I understand your concern, Miss Xu," he said gently, setting his cup down and looking up at the sky. The soft rays of sunlight filtered through the garden, casting shadows on the ground. "But Yang Feng is not a normal child. He never was. Especially if his father is Bai Feng."
At the mention of Bai Feng's name, Miss Xu tensed, her grip on the teacup tightening slightly. She hadn't known Bai Feng well, but his presence loomed large in the village's history, a figure shrouded in mystery and whispers. His reputation was one of strength and power, though few knew the full truth of who he really was.
She let out a small sigh, barely audible, as she looked down at the cup in her hands. "I suppose that's true," she murmured, though there was a trace of sadness in her voice. She had hoped that Yang Feng could have a more ordinary life, free from the burdens of destiny and the harshness of the spiritual world. But it seemed that fate had other plans for him.
The elder nodded, understanding her feelings but knowing that they had little power over what was to come. Yang Feng's future was already being shaped, and there was little they could do to stop it. Whether or not the boy was ready, the world would soon be calling for him.
The two sat in silence for a while, sipping their tea and watching the world move around them. The wind rustled the leaves in the trees, and the distant sounds of the village carried on the breeze, a reminder that life continued, even in the face of uncertainty.