Lao Wen gazed into the campfire that night, the small flame flickering gently without disturbing the vast emptiness around them. Behind him sat Lu Wen, San Lie, and Li Rou, each wrapped in their own silence.
Lao Wen spoke without turning his eyes from the fire.
"I used to have many faces."
San Lie looked over. "What do you mean?"
"The face of a teacher," Lao Wen continued, "a hunter, a father, a husband, a man who hated. But the one face I never showed... was my own."
No one replied. The night wind moved slowly between the rocks.
Lu Wen, who had always listened more than he spoke, finally broke the silence. "Does Yuanqi... know our true face?"
Lao Wen nodded slowly. "Yuanqi needs no name. No title. It only appears when we remove the masks we've long believed were our faces."
Li Rou lowered her head. Her eyes closed for a moment.
"I... don't think I know my own face," she whispered.
San Lie gently held her hand. "I once wore the face of strength. I believed the world would submit if I became powerful enough. But standing before Yuanqi... all I saw was my own fragility."
Lao Wen added, "We all hide because we're afraid the world will reject us. But Yuanqi does not judge. It simply touches the deepest part... the real one."
Some of those gathered around the fire listened quietly. The ones who had spoken loudly before now sat a little more still. Stories of strength and the ambition to become the greatest cultivator began to fade.
Faces began to appear—not the ones they had built, but the ones slowly rising from within.
That night, it wasn't only Yuanqi that was born, but people who had begun to meet themselves for the first time.