Wu Zheng's feet connected with the uneven rock surface, each step a calculated move. His body moved with ease, but the cool mountain air brushed against his skin, carrying the sharp scent of pine and damp earth. The air was thin, and each breath filled his lungs with a slight burn, a reminder of the altitude. His muscles, honed from years of cultivation, worked effortlessly as he scaled the mountainside, yet there was a constant awareness of the terrain's demands.
The sun was setting fast, casting long shadows across the jagged peaks. The temperature had begun to drop, and a chill seeped into his bones as the light faded. His fingertips brushed the stone occasionally, feeling the rough texture of the rock as he balanced his weight. The wind picked up, cutting through his robes with a biting edge, carrying with it the faint sounds of distant creatures hidden in the mountains.
The last traces of sunlight disappeared, plunging the mountain into darkness. Wu Zheng's eyes adjusted quickly, but the shift in temperature was immediate. His breath came out in slow, visible puffs, the cool air prickling his skin beneath the fabric. The only sounds now were the soft crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional rustling of leaves in the distance.
He needed shelter. His sharp eyes scoured the rocky landscape, and soon, a small cave came into view. It wasn't much—barely enough space to sit upright—but it would do for the night. As he entered, the damp smell of moss and stale air greeted him, the interior cool and still. The faint trickle of water echoed somewhere deeper inside the cave, creating a soft, rhythmic background noise.
Wu Zheng did not light a fire. The night was cold, but he didn't need the warmth, and more importantly, he didn't want to attract attention. His body thrummed with energy, his spirit lens sharpening his vision, allowing him to see through the darkened cave. He settled into a seated position, feeling the hardness of the stone beneath him, the coolness of the ground rising through his robes.
He pulled out the food he had packed earlier—a simple meal of dried meat and bread. His teeth sank into the tough jerky, the taste rich and savory, though his need for sustenance was minimal. The act of eating grounded him, the sensations familiar. He felt the texture of the meat, the saltiness on his tongue, and the satisfying crunch as he chewed slowly, his mind wandering over the journey ahead. The cold air tugged at his exposed skin, but his body remained composed, the cultivation energy within him insulating him from the harshness of the night.
Hours passed quietly, his senses never fully relaxed despite his meditation. The constant drip of water from the cave's depths, the distant howl of the wind, and the faint rustling of leaves outside kept him on edge, alert to any sudden change. But the night remained uneventful.
At dawn, Wu Zheng rose from his position, his body feeling stiff but energized. He stretched, feeling the tightness in his shoulders and legs ease, the muscles loosening as he rolled his neck and took a deep breath of the crisp morning air. The sky was a pale gray, the first hints of sunlight barely visible on the horizon.
He resumed his journey. The air was colder now, the breeze sharper, cutting through his robes like a knife. Each step was deliberate, his senses heightened as he navigated the uneven path. The ground beneath his boots felt softer as he entered the forest surrounding Shan Mountain. The soil, damp from the morning dew, clung to his soles, leaving small impressions in the earth with each step. The branches overhead swayed gently in the wind, creating a soft rustling noise that echoed through the otherwise quiet forest.
The occasional first-tier beast crossed his path—creatures of muscle and fur, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. The sounds they made—a low growl or a snarl—barely caused him to pause. His sword moved quickly and decisively, the weight of the blade solid in his hand, the familiar resistance as it cut through flesh almost effortless. Each beast fell with a heavy thud, the ground absorbing the impact, leaving only the faint scent of blood in the air.
By midday, Wu Zheng stood at the base of Shan Mountain. The towering peak loomed before him, its summit lost in the swirling clouds above. His chest rose and fell with measured breaths, the cold air entering his lungs and leaving as mist. The ground beneath his feet was rough, the jagged rocks making every step a calculated effort. The air was charged with the distant hum of Qi, as if the mountain itself was alive, waiting for him to ascend.
Just as he prepared to continue, a rustle behind him shattered the silence.
His grip on his sword tightened, the leather-bound hilt familiar against his palm. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his pulse quickened slightly, though his expression remained calm. He could feel the subtle shift in the air, the presence of another.
Before he could turn, a figure darted from the bushes, landing lightly before him. The woman stood with a natural grace, her every movement fluid and deliberate. The scent of wildflowers lingered faintly around her, mixing with the earthy aroma of the forest. Her long brown hair shimmered in the light, cascading over her shoulders, and her blue eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and arrogance. Her lips curved into a slight smile, as if she had been expecting him.
"Out here all alone?" she asked, her voice low, almost playful. Her eyes flicked over him, assessing, teasing.
Wu Zheng's pulse steadied, his hand still resting on his sword's hilt. His gaze met hers, unwavering.
"Just passing through," he replied, his voice calm despite the tension in the air.
The woman's smile widened, a flash of teeth showing. "Funny. So am I. But it seems our paths have crossed for a reason."