When the group of battered martial artists finally reached the village at the foot of the Sky Fall Mountain Range, they looked like survivors, not nobles.
Their robes were torn and stained from travel. Their feet dragged with exhaustion. A few of the guards were still bandaged from the fight in the woods. Their carriages had been abandoned halfway through the rocky trails, and all that remained was a half-broken litter used to carry the injured Protector Zhou.
Still, they were cultivators. Even if tired and wounded, they weren't ordinary. Their backs were straight, and their gazes sharp. The scent of Qi still hung faintly around them like the last embers of a burned-out fire.
But this time, there was no arrogance.
No banners. No declarations.
Even Su Zheyan kept his mouth shut.
Not because he had learned humility—he hadn't.
But because this time... they didn't know what they were walking into.
A healer who could save lives that even Grandmaster physicians couldn't? A "shrine" built atop a mountain in just two months? A boy with so-called immortal techniques?
They didn't know if it was a fraud, a trap, or an ancient inheritance fallen into the wrong hands.
So for now—they watched.
However, What they saw left them even more silent.
The village was massive—far bigger than anything that should exist in a place like this. No dusty backwater farming town. This was a proper settlement.
There were over five hundred houses, many still under construction. The roads weren't paved, but they were solid, packed with fresh gravel and dried straw. Sheds had tiled roofs. Wooden fences stood in clean rows. Every few steps, there was someone working—hauling lumber, drying herbs, sharpening tools, hauling carts.
The people weren't rich. You could tell by their patched robes and worn shoes.
But they weren't sick.
There were beggars on the corners but no sick. No crippled men sitting with bowls. No coughing old women hacking into cloth. Everyone moved cleanly, spoke clearly. Even the old had strength in their backs.
That was what struck them.
No grievously injured. No rotting wounds. No lingering disease.
In a village that size, that was impossible.
Unless the rumors... were true.
They soon stopped at the village's only inn—an old wooden building with a cracked sign hanging overhead. The sign simply read: "Sleep."
Inside, they asked around. Carefully.
One of the guards dropped silver into the hand of the wrinkled innkeeper.
"We're looking for the healer," he said. "The one who could even saved a dying man"
The old man was happy on seeing the silver did not hesitate to tell them.
"You'll want the shrine," he said after a pause. "Up on the high trail. Can't miss it."
"Who is he?"
"A boy. Ten years old."
The guard was stunned and asked again- "Come again.."
To which the old man then replied "He goes by the name of Lin-something, his master died a year ago, and became a healer, but these day you won't fine him anywhere, he passed on his skill to another kid who could also heal"
For a moment, no one moved.
Then the inn table snapped in half under Su Zheyan's palm.
...
A boy no more than ten years old dare to take what was his? Su Zheyan raged.
They then quickly moved-
The trail to the shrine wound up the side of the mountain, steep and full of switchbacks. A few makeshift prayer stones had been placed along the path—carved by hand, likely by pilgrims who came before them.
The closer they got, the stranger the air felt. Not heavy. Not threatening.
Just... unnaturally still.
Then they finally reach the peak.
unlike other mountains that peak the entire peak of the mountain caved in as if a giant star had fallen here a long time ago, the air was clear with beautiful trees and ponds and grass lining the ground, and the group was abit stunned that there was just a heaven in this backward place.
And on the very center of the crater was a shrine that looks grand and rather out of place.
At the shrine's outer gate—nothing but carved wood and stones—stood two children.
Barefoot. Unmoving.
They blocked the path without a word.
The boy had short black hair, messy and tied back with a cloth strip. His robes were rough spun brown, stained dark red at the cuffs and lower half—not from dye, but blood from days spent hunting. He looked calm, his hands folded behind his back.
The girl beside him was smaller, dressed the same, with cold eyes and pale skin. A white-bladed sword hung at her waist. The scabbard was simple, but the weapon had an unnatural glow to it—clean and sharp enough to cut spirit.
The two turned their heads toward the visitors, and one of them asked,"Visitors, what is your purpose in coming here?"
They were Yin Cheng and Yin Xue.
...
Two months ago, they had been starving orphans, begging for scraps. Now, they stood like trained disciples, hardened from hunting, fighting, surviving. Lin Haoran had treated them the same way he treated Mu Qinglan, and had given them both abilities to hunt and protect the villagers.
Yin cheng was given:
— Minor Strength (F)Grants +10 physique (passive) — enough to promote him to the 3rd rated Grand-master level.
— Iron Palm (F)Enhances palm strikes to deliver concussive blunt force equivalent to a 1000kg hammer, and makes his palms as tough as steel.
While yin xue was given:
— Windrazor Slash (F)Swift movement technique that delivers a horizontal slash of wind-based energy. cooldown on 2 minutes
— Stone Skin (F)skin becomes as hard as granite for 5 minutes. passively Blocks low-tier blades and dull strikes. Cooldown: 20 minutes.
After 2 months Lin Haoran had trained them, fed them, taught them to hunt, to kill, to protect the villagers. They had become entirely different people.
Su Zheyan stepped forward.
"I am Su Zheyan, heir of the Su Clan of Longyao. I demand to speak to the one in charge."
The two children looked at each other.
Their expressions didn't change. They weren't scared. But they were... confused.
Yin Xue leaned in and whispered, "What's a 'noble'?"
Yin Cheng blinked. "No idea."
"Is it food?"
"Doesn't sound like food."
"What's Longyao?"
"I think it's a place."
"Is it nearby?"
"No clue."
They both turned back to the group.
Their blank expressions had turned to bewildered curiosity, the kind only children could manage when the words spoken meant nothing.
Su Zheyan saw their reaction and smiled faintly. In his eyes, that was fear. Submission. Recognition.
"Good," he said. "You understand. Now fetch your master."
No answer.
Yin Cheng stepped forward. His posture remained polite. He even gave a small bow.
"I'm sorry," he said. "We know how to treat bleeding injuries. Broken bones too. Even some poisons."
He looked up, calm and honest.
"But we can't heal mental illness... You should go back down the mountain."
The silence that followed was so sharp it cracked.
Su Zheyan's face twisted.
"You little—"
His hand moved before his mouth did.