Together, they stepped through the shimmering gate, and with a soft whisper, the portal sealed itself, leaving behind only the cold, indifferent stars.
A shaft of golden sunlight cut across the inn room and fell upon Mu Yan's face. He stirred, the deep exhaustion of the previous day slowly receding like a low tide. A sense of profound emptiness greeted him, a stillness that felt unnatural. He sat up, his back stiff from sleeping on the hard wooden floor.
"Qin Ying?" he called out, his voice still rough with sleep.
The silence that answered was his only reply. He looked at the bed she had occupied. The covers were smooth, untouched, cold. Mu Rou still slept soundly on the other bed, her breathing even and deep, a faint, almost imperceptible aura of frost hanging in the air around her. A quick scan of the room confirmed his growing suspicion. She was gone.
A knot of disappointment and something sharper, an ache of loss, tightened in his chest. He had known on some level that she would soon be leaving him. Her power, her background—they all belonged to a world far removed from this place. Still, the reality of her departure was a cold splash of water.
His eyes scanned the room again, searching for any sign, any message. There, affixed to the wooden wall near the window she had exited, was a small, neatly folded piece of paper. He crossed the room in two strides and carefully plucked it from the wall. Her handwriting was as elegant and controlled as she was, each stroke a work of art.
Mu Yan,
Forgive my sudden departure. My path calls me home, and I cannot delay. Know that I leave not because I wish to, but because I must. What you have started in Patliputra is but the first step on a journey Do not falter. Grow strong, stronger than anyone can imagine, for the world is far vaster and more dangerous than this small corner of the Ancient Spirit World.
I will be waiting. When you are powerful enough to stand on your own, our paths will cross again. Until then, protect Rou'er. She is now your family, and her strength will one day be your support.
Take care.
Qin Ying.
He read the letter twice, his thumb tracing her name at the bottom. The paper held the faintest scent of her, like cold plums and distant snow. A wave of melancholy washed over him, a hollow feeling that echoed in the quiet room. But beneath it, her words ignited a familiar fire. The ember of his ambition, the one that had driven him as Lin Wei of the Ancestral World, blazed anew, stoked by her belief in him. He would not disappoint her. He would not disappoint himself. He folded the letter carefully and tucked it inside his robes, placing it over his heart. It was a promise.
His gaze fell on Mu Rou. The fatigue of a lifetime of hardship seemed to have melted away, replaced by the nascent power that now flowed through her veins. He felt a surge of protectiveness, a new responsibility settling on his shoulders. Qin Ying was right. They were family now. He would forge a place for them in this city.
Letting her rest, he quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door with a soft click. The morning air of the city was crisp, carrying the scent of steaming buns, damp stone, and the distant tang of the Azure Ocean. The city was already alive, a vibrant tapestry of sound and motion. Merchants hawked their wares, their voices a melodic cacophony. Guards in the livery of the Chen Empire patrolled the streets, their armored boots ringing on the cobblestones. Cultivators, identifiable by their distinct robes and the subtle hum of Qi that clung to them, moved with a purpose that set them apart from the common populace.
Mu Yan walked through the throng, his destination clear in his mind. He needed a foothold, an identity that would provide not just income, but a shield. In a world governed by strength and influence, anonymity was a liability sometimes for one still weak. He navigated the winding streets, his steps sure, until a grand structure came into view, dominating the entire street. It was a simple, yet colossal building, constructed from polished dark red wood that seemed to glow in the morning sun. Its towering gates were unadorned, save for a single, massive bronze ding, a cauldron, intricately carved with the image of a coiling dragon. This was the Patliputra branch of the Alchemist Association.
[ Author Note : Alchemists: The Art of Concoction - Alchemists are revered for their ability to refine spiritual herbs and beast parts into potent pills, elixirs, and concoctions that can heal, enhance cultivation, or even break through bottlenecks. Their rank is determined by the complexity, purity, and spiritual grade of the pills they can successfully concoct.
Apprentice Alchemist (Low-level Foundation Establishment): The entry-level. Apprentices learn basic identification of common spiritual herbs, fundamental fire control, and the simplest pill formulas (e.g., Qi Replenishing Pills, Basic Healing Salves). Success rates are low, and pills are often impure, primarily useful for early Foundation establishment cultivators or minor injuries. ]
Two guards flanked the entrance. Their posture was ramrod straight, their armor gleaming. Mu Yan could feel the steady thrum of their cultivation; both were in the early stages of Foundation Establishment. As he approached, one of the guards stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his movement a fluid, practiced motion.