Beyond Shattered Stone Ridge, dawn slowly broke.
The night rain had just ceased. A damp, chilling wind swept across the scorched slopes, carrying with it the faint stench of blood. Diluted by rain yet never fully washed away, the smell had sunk deep into the soil.
The Yun clan's settlement was no longer recognizable.
There had once been stone walls, courtyards, lantern light—voices and laughter. Now, only a stretch of ashen ruins remained, veiled in morning mist like a wound that had yet to cool.
Yun Zhan did not look back.
Carrying his younger sister on his back, he descended the ridge step by step.
The shattered stones beneath his feet were slick with rain, slipping slightly underfoot. He walked slowly, yet steadily, placing each step with care before moving on.
His left shoulder was wrapped tightly in layers of torn cloth.
The severed arm no longer bled, but the exposed flesh bore an unnatural dark red hue. It was not rotting, yet neither was it healing—as though something had sealed it in place, suspended between decay and recovery.
With every breath, as his chest rose and fell, a dull pain tugged at the wound. It was no longer sharp, but deep and lingering, like a blunt blade grinding slowly against bone.
An ordinary man would have long since fainted from such pain.
Yun Zhan, however, showed no expression at all.
The burns covering half his face had already scabbed over, the skin stretched taut. Whenever the wind brushed past, a faint sting crept across his flesh.
Lowering his head, Yun Zhan picked up an old bamboo hat from the roadside.
Its edges were frayed, several strips broken and stained with mud. He placed it over his head and pulled the brim low, hiding his face in shadow.
He did not want to be seen.
Nor did he want to be recognized.
His sister lay unconscious against him.
Her body was frighteningly light. Her breathing was weak and uneven, her forehead burning hot as it pressed against his neck—like a flickering ember, a life on the verge of being extinguished.
Yun Zhan glanced down, his throat tightening.
"Just hold on a little longer…"
He spoke softly.
The words were carried away by the mountain wind, vanishing almost at once.
He did not know whether he was speaking to her—or merely forcing himself to keep moving.
The mountain path was long.
As daylight strengthened, the mist gradually dispersed. Yun Zhan's clothes, soaked through with rain and blood, clung stiffly to his body, cold to the touch.
Halfway down the ridge, he stopped.
Not because he was tired, but because his sister suddenly stirred.
Her brows furrowed as if trapped in a nightmare. Her lips trembled, yet no sound emerged.
Yun Zhan froze for a moment, then slowed his breathing and gently patted her back with his only remaining hand.
The motion was awkward, unfamiliar.
A distant memory surfaced.
When she was younger, thunderstorms often frightened her awake at night. Crying, she would run to him. He would carry her back to bed, patting her back again and again.
"Don't be afraid."
"Brother's here."
Back then, those words had been enough.
Now, he no longer dared to say them.
Because he was no longer certain he could always be there.
He exhaled softly, adjusted his grip, and continued on.
By midday, the outline of a small town finally appeared in the distance.
The city walls were low and weathered, patches of stone crumbling away and crudely reinforced with wooden planks. The gates stood open, guarded by two soldiers with spears planted lazily at their feet.
This was a town of mortals.
There were no protective formations, no sects stationed here—only farmers carrying loads and merchants entering to trade goods.
Yun Zhan stopped outside the gates.
Reaching into his clothes, he found only a few cold copper coins. Their edges were worn smooth, stained by sweat and blood. They were all he had left.
"Three copper coins per person to enter."
The guard's voice was indifferent, bordering on impatient.
Yun Zhan stepped forward and handed over the coins.
The guard counted them casually, but his gaze lingered, sliding beneath the shadow of the bamboo hat and settling on the little girl on Yun Zhan's back.
"Two people," the guard said.
Yun Zhan paused.
"She's still young," he replied.
His voice was quiet, yet steady.
The guard sneered and tapped his spear against the ground. "Young or not, she counts. Rules are rules."
Yun Zhan fell silent.
He glanced at his sister, then at the coins already offered. The amount had been exact.
After a brief hesitation, he reached in again and produced three more copper coins, placing them on the table.
The guard finally nodded and waved him through.
"Go on. Don't block the way."
Yun Zhan murmured his thanks and entered the city.
Behind him, the gates slowly closed with a heavy, drawn-out sound.
In that moment, his chest felt strangely hollow—as if something had been shut outside forever.
The city was not lively.
The streets were narrow, the ground uneven. Vendors called out mechanically, their voices weary. People hurried past with lowered heads, rarely sparing others more than a glance.
Yun Zhan moved quietly among them.
He was not conspicuous, yet he did not truly belong.
Some people instinctively kept their distance as they passed. Others briefly glanced at the child on his back before quickly looking away.
There was no pity in their eyes.
Nor was there hostility.
Only indifference.
He found himself thinking of the past.
Back in the Yun clan, whenever there was a market day, people greeted one another. Even those who mocked him would at least speak to his face.
"A Stone Meridian, and he still dreams of cultivation?"
He had heard such words for over a decade.
They once felt unbearable.
Now, recalling them, he realized—at least back then, he had been treated as a person.
Here, it was as though he did not exist at all.
Stopping before a small apothecary, Yun Zhan spoke.
"Medicine to reduce a fever."
The shopkeeper looked him over, then glanced at the girl.
"Twenty copper coins."
Yun Zhan placed his remaining coins on the counter.
The shopkeeper glanced down and shook his head.
"Not enough."
The wooden door was pushed shut without hesitation.
Bang.
The sound was not loud, but final.
Yun Zhan remained where he stood.
A memory surfaced unbidden.
When his sister fell ill in the past, he would carry her to the clan's alchemy hall. The old alchemist would frown, complain under his breath, yet still hand over a bowl of medicine.
"You may not protect yourself," the man would say,"but at least you protect her."
Night fell.
In the western part of the city, Yun Zhan found an abandoned house. The roof leaked, mold crept along the walls, and the floor was icy cold—but it offered shelter from the rain.
He laid his sister gently on a pile of dry grass and used the last of his water to wipe the sweat from her brow. Her breathing slowly steadied, though she remained frail.
Leaning against the wall, Yun Zhan finally let the exhaustion wash over him.
A dull ache pulsed from the severed arm, as if reminding him that that night was never far away.
He looked down at his right hand, then at the empty space on his left.
Since that night, he had heard nothing.
No voice. No guidance.
It was as if that path had appeared only once—only at the moment of his deepest despair.
The night wind slipped through the broken house, gently rocking his bamboo hat.
Yun Zhan reached up to steady it, his gaze sinking into the darkness.
He knew that, for now, he had no right to think too far ahead.
Survival was the only thing he could afford.