The morning mist hung low over Stone Brook Village, cloaking the narrow dirt paths in a soft, silvery veil. a small gathering had formed just outside the baker's hut. Among them stood a young man clad in a modest blue martial robe, the kind worn by those who walked the martial path. A white cloth mask veiled his eyes, tied neatly behind his head; a detail that had become a strange but familiar part of his presence here.
He carried nothing but a travel pack slung over his shoulder and a long wooden staff strapped across his back. This youth was Qin Feng.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay one more night?" old Granny Mei asked, wringing her hands nervously. Her voice trembled, not from age alone, but from worry. "The skies might rain later, and you know these roads..."
"I have to leave now, Granny Mei," the young man said with a gentle nod. His voice was soft, but resolute.
They didn't know his real name. They only called him Lan Mu — "Silent Wood", a name they gave him on a whim, because he never spoke much when he first arrived and seemed to drift through the forest like a wisp of fog.
But over time, he had changed.
Children had started waving when he passed. Old Nan, who once avoided him, now insisted he take dried fruits on each visit. Even the gruff fisherman Uncle Yao, who distrusted anything strange, once laughed and said, "Blind? My ass. He hears the fish breathing."
He had become more than a stranger. In a village of less than thirty souls, he had become... one of them.
"Here," said a younger voice — Ping'er, the baker's daughter, holding out a satchel. "There's bread, some dried meat... and the tea leaves you liked."
Qin Feng paused, taking the satchel with both hands. "Thank you."
"I still think it's crazy," muttered Uncle Yao, folding his arms. "A blind lad, heading to the capital alone, and for the sect trials no less."
"He's not blind," Ping'er whispered with a small smile, nudging him gently. "Not really. He sees more than most of us ever will."
There was a short silence. Qin Feng bowed his head slightly, not in denial, not in pride, just... acknowledgment.
He'd trained alone, but he never felt alone. Every few days, he returned to the village, sometimes to trade for food, other times to listen. He never explained why he trained. But the villagers saw it in his posture, his aura, the steadiness in his step.
"He needs the mask," Granny Mei had once declared "Your eyes… they confuse people," she'd said. "They search for your gaze and don't understand when they can't find it."
That was months ago. Now, the mask had become a symbol — a quiet reminder that not all blindness was weakness, and not all sight was with the eyes.
Qin Feng turned to face them all. He couldn't see their faces, but in his mind, each voice had shape, each presence had color.
"Thank you... for everything," he said quietly.
A breeze swept through the village, rustling the trees, tugging at his robe like a child unwilling to let go.
"Come back one day, alright?" Ping'er said, her voice softer now.
He gave a small smile.
Without another word, Qin Feng turned and began to walk. His steps were quiet, but confident.
The path ahead twisted toward the capital of North Ember City, where the Azure Sky Sect's selection would be held in less than a week. Many would travel from afar for this. Young warriors. Heirs of noble clans. Talents born and bred for greatness.
And amidst them all, walked a blind youth dressed in blue — unknown, unnamed in the world beyond this village, but carrying with him the echoes of a small place that had become his first home.
As he passed beyond the edge of Stone Brook, the villagers remained, watching until he vanished behind the trees.
"Do you think he'll make it?" Granny Mei asked softly.
Uncle Yao grunted. "Who Knows."