Yi Lian moved through the dense forest, his steps steady, unhurried. The soft crunch of fallen leaves merged with the distant calls of birds, the occasional rustling of unseen creatures threading through the underbrush. He had been walking for hours, letting the land guide him, each step a quiet acceptance of this unfamiliar world.
The mortal realm was unlike anything he had known. No towering sects, no cultivators soaring through the skies. Just the unshaken rhythm of nature, untouched by ambition. Here, life moved at its own pace, simple and self-sustaining. The absence of struggle, of the ceaseless hunger for power, should have been comforting.
Yet, beneath that tranquility, an emptiness gnawed at him.
What was he now, without the title of a cultivator? Without the battles, the purpose that had once driven him forward? Had he truly chosen this path, or was he merely drifting, lost in the currents of fate? These thoughts followed him like silent specters, unanswered yet persistent.
A sound, distant yet distinct, stirred him from his thoughts.
Laughter. Voices carried by the wind.
Yi Lian paused, turning his gaze toward the direction of the noise. It was faint, but unmistakable—the bright chatter of children, the rhythmic pounding of tools, the murmur of conversations weaving through the air.
A village.
His steps quickened, curiosity tugging at him. The world of mortals—how did they live, how did they thrive without the crutch of cultivation? He had never questioned it before. But now, stripped of the strength he once sought, he found himself drawn to the answers.
Emerging from the trees, he reached the village's outskirts. A towering tree stood at the entrance, its sprawling canopy casting wide pools of shade where elderly men sat in quiet conversation. Beyond them, children dashed through the dirt paths, their laughter ringing through the air. Women leaned over wooden balconies, exchanging stories, while men, clad in simple work clothes, moved toward the fields and workshops, their hands calloused from honest labor.
Life. Uncomplicated, unburdened, yet thriving.
But the moment Yi Lian stepped forward, the atmosphere shifted.
The laughter faded. The chatter stilled.
The children, sensing the sudden tension, hesitated before scampering back toward their mothers. The elders lifted their gazes, their quiet conversations forgotten, while the working men and women exchanged uneasy glances.
Yi Lian understood their reaction instantly.
To a cultivator's eye, his robes were plain. To these villagers, they were anything but. An outsider. Perhaps a noble, perhaps a wandering cultivator. Either way, a force beyond their control.
And in their world, such forces seldom brought good.
He had seen it before—the way mortals cowered in the presence of power, not out of respect, but out of fear. Too often had they suffered under the whims of those stronger than them. Some cultivators viewed them as pawns, others as mere background to their grand ambitions. The worst among them saw mortals as nothing more than tools, to be used or discarded.
An elderly man stepped forward, his frame lean but steady, his steps hesitant yet firm. His gaze, though cautious, held no immediate hostility—only the quiet wariness of one who had seen too much.
"May I ask, young nobleman," the elder's voice carried the weight of experience, measured yet steady, "what brings you to our humble village?"
Yi Lian studied him. There was more than just fear in the man's stance. There was knowledge, a quiet wisdom carved by time and hardship. This village had suffered before.
He let his expression soften, his voice calm, deliberate—a stark contrast to their unease. "I am merely a traveler," he said. "I go where the roads take me, seeking to understand the world. I came across your village and thought to rest before continuing my journey."
A flicker of surprise crossed the elder's face, but only for a moment. Then, slowly, his shoulders eased. A traveler. Not a noble demanding hospitality, not a cultivator enforcing his will. Just a man passing through.
A silent wave of relief swept through the villagers.
"I see," the elder finally nodded. His voice, though still careful, carried a touch more warmth. "If that is the case, then you are welcome to stay as long as you need. We do not have much, but our village is peaceful. We only ask that you bring no trouble upon us."
Yi Lian inclined his head. "I understand. I will bring no harm to your people."
The elder held his gaze for a moment longer before nodding, seeming to accept his words. "Then, I shall have someone arrange a place for you."
As the tension slowly faded, Yi Lian's gaze drifted over the villagers once more. This place held a history, one that had taught them caution in the face of outsiders. He would not pry today.
But he would come to understand it in time.
"Forgive me for troubling you," the elder said, his tone still respectful.
"There is no trouble," Yi Lian replied. "I am grateful for your kindness."
Soon, he was led to a small wooden house on the edge of the village. Modest, yet sturdy, it bore the marks of careful craftsmanship. No embellishments, no excess—only what was needed, nothing more.
He stepped inside, the wooden floor creaking faintly beneath his feet. The space was simple—just a bed, a table, and a small shelf. Yet, standing within it, he felt something unfamiliar settle over him.
It was not luxury. Not power.
But a quiet belonging.
Behind him, the elder hesitated before speaking. "I apologize, sir. This is the only house available at the moment. If you find it unsatisfactory, you may stay in my home instead."
Yi Lian shook his head, a small smile touching his lips. "I am not dissatisfied. I was merely observing. This is more than enough."
The elder exhaled, relief evident in his posture. "I see. Then, I will leave you to rest." He offered a respectful bow before turning away.
As the door closed behind him, Yi Lian sat on the bed, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. The journey had been long, his body weary. For the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed himself to simply exist.
No battles. No cultivation. No purpose but to witness, to learn.
For now, he was not a warrior. Not a seeker of strength.
He was just a man, stepping into a world beyond the one he had known.
I would walk the mortal realm, not as a cultivator chasing strength, but as a seeker of purpose. For the first time, the path ahead was uncertain—and I welcomed it.