Fifteen days passed quietly atop Yinlu Mountain.
Each morning, Ren Xuyan would sit on the edge of the cliff near the sect gate, watching the mist rise from the valley below. The wind was cold but clean. Peaceful. Yet beneath the silence, something stirred. A beginning.
And on the fifteenth morning—it arrived.
From far below, the faint sound of footsteps and wheels echoed up the mountain path. Ren didn't move. He just listened.
Soon, Yun Shan appeared through the mist, leading a group of one hundred boys and girls. Some were ten. Some nearly twenty. All of them wore simple clothes and carried small bags—some tied with string, some patched with old cloth. Their eyes were wide. Nervous. Some excited. Some afraid.
They had come from villages, from broken towns, from homes where the word "cultivation" had always belonged to someone else.
Now, they had been chosen.
Ren stepped back into the shadows of the sect gate. He didn't speak. He didn't reveal himself. He simply watched.
The disciples didn't notice him. Why would they? In their eyes, he was just another man in plain robes, standing a little apart.
Their attention was on Yun Shan.
And Yun Shan… he stood tall before them, voice steady, robes clean despite the long journey.
"You have climbed high," he said. "You have left everything familiar behind. From this moment on, you are no longer farmers' children. No longer servants' sons or wandering daughters. You are disciples of the Ashen Vow Sect."
Some of the children stood straighter. Some blinked, trying to hold back emotion.
"But before you take your first step inside," Yun Shan continued, turning slightly, "you must greet the one who made this possible."
He turned fully, gesturing to the quiet man near the arch.
"This," he said with a bow, "is Ren Xuyan, founder and master of the Ashen Vow Sect. Without him, none of this would exist."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then, one by one, the children bowed.
Some clumsily. Some deeply, until their foreheads nearly touched the ground. No one spoke. They didn't dare.
Ren stepped forward slowly. He didn't smile, but his eyes were calm.
"You don't need to be afraid," he said quietly. "You've already shown courage by coming here. That's enough for now."
He paused, looking at their faces. "There's no need to call me anything yet. Just remember why you're here—and what this place is meant to be."
With that, he stepped aside and let them pass through the gate.
One by one, they entered. Some looked back. Most looked up. The sect was still small. Just a courtyard, some halls, quiet homes waiting to be filled. But to them, it might as well have been a palace.
Yun Shan led them toward the disciple quarters. Ren stayed behind.
Only when the last child had passed through did he turn and look down the path again.
What he saw surprised him.
At the base of the mountain, barely visible through the morning mist, people had begun to gather.
Men with hammers. Women with baskets. Old carpenters and young boys carrying wood on their shoulders. Small families, pushing carts filled with pots, tools, and rolled-up blankets.
They weren't here to cultivate.
They were building homes.
Simple ones—just stone and wood and canvas. But they had already begun forming a small village at the base of Yinlu Mountain. Right where the mountain path began.
Ren watched quietly.
No one looked up. No one saw him standing high above. To them, he was just part of the wind.
And even if they had seen him… they would not have dared speak to him casually.
He was an immortal now. Or at least close enough. And in this world, mortals did not speak to cultivators unless spoken to first.
They honored them from afar. Lowered their heads. Bowed, even if they didn't understand why.
And that was fine.
Ren wasn't here to be thanked.
He was here to watch.
To make sure the path remained open.
The village at the base would grow, slowly. Those who had once lived in fear would start planting, cooking, trading. And for the first time, they would live in the shadow of a sect that promised protection—not taxes, not conscription, not silence.
Just safety.
It wasn't the grand revolution he dreamed of.
Not yet.
But it was something real.
And real things lasted.
Back inside the sect, Yun Shan began assigning rooms. Some children paired up with friends they had made on the journey. Others sat alone, quiet and overwhelmed.
Ren walked past them without a word.
To most, he was just another elder. A figure to be respected, not approached.
That was fine too.
Let them build their own understanding.
Let them grow without pressure.
Only one thing mattered now—that they felt safe. That they had a place to begin.
Ren paused beside the three graves behind the Main Hall. His father. His mother. His sister.
They had not lived to see this.
But their ashes had shaped it.
He knelt.
"They've come," he whispered. "And more will follow."
He stood again and looked toward the courtyard, where Yun Shan now began his first lesson—explaining sect rules, where to eat, how to maintain the training fields.
There were no golden robes.
No shining banners.
Just quiet discipline.
And the beginning of something that would change the world.
Ren didn't need applause.
He didn't need recognition.
He only needed time.
And for now—that was enough.