The pre-dawn mist clung to Lu Chenyuan like breath made flesh as he slipped beyond the protective boundary of the Azurewood Lin Clan courtyard. Shen Yue's parting words—soft and startling—echoed in his chest: "my husband." That unexpected tenderness stayed with him, a fragile warmth against the chill that gripped both the hills and his thoughts. In his hand, the small woven pouch she had pressed into his palm—containing potent Green Dew Grass leaves and a single, carefully saved wild spirit fruit—felt heavier than it should. It carried her trust. Her belief. Her quiet, desperate hope.
This wasn't a simple foraging run. It was a serpent's gambit—risky, winding, and dangerous. A solitary venture into the wilderness to pluck a future from the jaws of dwindling time and growing threats. The Moonpetal Leaf's hunger was only growing. So was Shadow Hand Xue's scrutiny.
Chenyuan moved with the honed caution of a man who had lived too long on the edge. His Fifth Layer Qi Refinement senses extended outward in subtle pulses, alert to every disturbance. Birdsong. Dripping water. The furtive rustle of something small and quick darting through the underbrush. He skirted the main trails and well-trodden routes, navigating instead by game trails and faint impressions in mossy stone—paths only used by beasts or those with no better options.
His destination wasn't the heart of danger but its quieter cousin: the chaotic folds of the Serpent's Coil Hills within a half-day's reach—regions where geomantic energy tangled into knots and eddies, sometimes birthing rare pockets of elemental concentration. Most clans overlooked them. Lu Chenyuan, guided by the Azurewood Art and his system-enhanced insights into Wood Element geomancy, did not.
He didn't just look—he listened. Felt. He extended his spiritual sense like roots, seeking the unseen veins of Wood Qi hidden in the land. Ancient trees with deep roots. Outcroppings where the stone whispered secrets. Damp hollows where vitality pooled. He searched for subtle anomalies—plants a shade too vibrant, air that hummed just slightly off-key, moss that yielded underfoot with unnatural softness.
The morning unfolded in fragments. The mist thinned, then lifted, revealing a harsh, rugged world. Thorn-laced brush clawed at his robes. Slippery scree betrayed his footing more than once. A pack of lean Ridge Wolves shadowed him briefly, eyes gleaming with feral hunger. He met their gaze, flared his aura just enough to assert his place in the food chain, and hurled a stone into their midst. They vanished into the underbrush with yelps of frustration.
More worrisome than beasts was the thought of men. The Li Clan patrolled these hills at random. And if Shadow Hand Xue was extending his net beyond the markets… Chenyuan didn't let the thought root too deep. It was enough to stay alert.
Noon found him bone-tired and no closer to his goal. Several promising sites had proved useless—a cluster of hardy ferns that absorbed Qi without storing it, a hollow tree whose vibrant bark masked nothing but rot. The sweet, cooling energy of the wild spirit fruit Shen Yue had given him was a balm to his flagging spirit, but even that boost couldn't quiet the low thrum of desperation rising in his chest.
The Moonpetal Leaf sprout was counting on him. Shen Yue was draining her own cultivation to keep it alive. He could not return empty-handed.
He pushed deeper, past weariness, past caution. His mind turned over old lessons, system-noted clues, fragments of lore made clear through hardship. One verse in particular stood out—cryptic, once dismissed, now sharp with meaning: "Where the ancient wood sleeps beneath the stone, and the water weeps without a source, there the earth oft cradles a green tear." He saw it now not as metaphor, but geomantic instruction.
Old wood beneath rock—petrified trees, perhaps. Water weeping without a source—a spring, or seepage from the earth where no stream should exist. If both could be found together…
He began to search with narrowed focus. The hills opened into a series of linked ravines, shadowed and tangled, their walls carved by wind and time. In one, the air thickened with moisture. The temperature dropped. Moss grew in patches of uncharacteristic vibrancy. He found petrified wood fragments—hard, ancient, deeply embedded in stone. Then, deeper still, he heard it.
A whisper of water, where no water should be.
He parted a curtain of hanging vines. A small grotto lay beyond, no larger than his alchemy hut. Water welled from a fissure in the stone, forming a pristine pool before vanishing into the mossy earth. The Wood Qi here was dense, potent, almost humming. The vibrant green moss clinging to the rocks glowed faintly in the gloom.
He dropped to one knee, breathing carefully, centering himself. He extended his spiritual sense into the damp soil—not violently probing, but gently brushing, feeling. Minutes passed. Just soil. Common roots. Damp loam. Frustration began to flicker at the edge of his control.
Then—there.
A pulse. Faint. Small. But pure. A knot of vitality nestled beneath the moss, buried under six inches of earth.
Hands trembling, he drew his utility knife and began to dig. Slowly. Respectfully. The soil gave way easily. His blade struck something solid with a muted thunk.
He cleared it with his fingers.
The nodule he unearthed was the size of a thumb-joint, dark green veined with black, cool to the touch, dense with life. It pulsed softly in his palm like a heartbeat.
A Heartwood Nodule.
Low-grade. Natural. Vital.
Exactly what the Moonpetal Leaf needed.
[System Notification: Host has successfully located and identified a Grade One Heartwood Nodule (Low Purity, High Vitality). Geomantic understanding +10. Resourcefulness +5. Clan Resources (Potential) +20. Clan Prosperity Meter: 31/100.]
A thrill surged through him—not joy, but fierce, vindicated relief. Against all odds, he had found what they needed. It might only buy them a few weeks, but that time could be decisive. It could mean Shen Yue's cultivation would catch up. It could mean survival.
He wrapped the Heartwood Nodule in a strip of cloth and slipped it into Shen Yue's pouch. Every movement was careful, reverent.
He stood, exhaling slowly.
Then froze.
On the ridge above the grotto, half-shrouded in shadow, stood a figure.
Not beast. Man.
Dressed in dark robes, face hidden beneath the brim of a wide conical hat. He stood perfectly still. Watching.
Lu Chenyuan's breath caught. He hadn't heard a sound. Hadn't felt a ripple in Qi. Whoever this was, their aura was suppressed to the point of vanishing.
A chill worse than the morning mist lanced down his spine.
How long had he been there?
Had he seen the discovery? Was he friend, foe… or something more inscrutable?
Was this Shadow Hand Xue himself? A Li Clan scout? Or some other predator drawn by the same whispers that had driven the rogues to their gate?
Chenyuan didn't flinch. Didn't run. He knew how prey acted. Instead, he offered a slow, subtle nod—wary, respectful. A silent forager's greeting. Neither submissive nor hostile.
Then he turned, his steps measured and unhurried, and began the long, quiet walk out of the grotto. The eyes followed him—he could feel them, heavy as stone—but no move was made to stop him.
The serpent's gambit had paid off. But it had also drawn blood. Something had noticed. And whatever it was, it was still watching.