Han Li felt the heat rise to his cheeks, a warm, unfamiliar flush that had nothing to do with his injuries. He lowered his head slightly, a gesture of humility that came naturally. "Senior must be joking," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "I think the most beautiful sight here was you, appearing to help the weak without even knowing them, without weighing the power arrayed against you."
The girl—Sister Xu—let out a short, incredulous laugh. It was a bright, clear sound, like water over stones. "You brat, stop flattering me. And what I said wasn't a joke." She stepped closer, her head tilting as she studied his face with an artist's critical eye. "You really are… stunning. But don't get it twisted," she added, her tone shifting to one of blunt practicality. "I didn't save you because I felt bad for a pretty face. I save annoying little brothers who can't defend themselves. It's a principle. Now, tell me honestly, what are you really doing out here alone?"
"Honestly, Senior, I was just picking herbs," Han Li replied, meeting her gaze. "My master is away. These are for practical study and replenishing our stores."
"Senior, Senior," she mimicked, waving a dismissive hand. "You make me sound like a wrinkled granny. Call me Sister Xu. Everyone does."
Han Li paused, then gave a small, formal nod. "As you wish. Sister Xu."
A satisfied smile touched her lips. "That's more like it. Less stiff."
Then, moving carefully due to his bruised ribs, Han Li reached into his inner robe. His fingers brushed against the cool surface of the cloud-carved jade before closing around a small, simple ceramic vial beside it. He drew it out and offered it to her. "Sister Xu, this is an Energy-Recovering Pill. It's not much, but it will help restore your strength and… marginally enhance your combat power for a short time. A token of thanks."
Sister Xu stared at the vial as if he'd just offered her a live scorpion. Her eyebrows shot up. "You brat," she said, her voice a mix of awe and exasperation. "Look at you! You were just getting beaten to pulp over a basket of common weeds, and you're handing out a pill like this? Do you have any idea what this is worth on the market in the capital? A lord's ransom! More silver than you've probably ever seen!"
Han Li blinked, genuinely puzzled by her intensity. "You misunderstand, Sister Xu. I came out today for field identification and to gather common variants. My master, Physician Xiao, has stores of the rarer herbs. As for this pill…" He shrugged one shoulder, a gesture that made her eyes widen further. "I take one or two like it most days. It's part of my foundational regimen."
The forest silence seemed to deepen around them. Sister Xu's mouth opened, then closed. She took the vial slowly, her earlier bravado replaced by stunned calculation. "A pill worth a thousand silver coins… and you take one or two daily." She looked from the vial to his face, her expression shifting from shock to a dawning, intense curiosity. "Just who is your master, little brother? And just what are you?"
"I'm his disciple," Han Li said simply, as if that explained everything. He bent, wincing, to gather his scattered herbs back into the basket. The coin pouches she'd retrieved for him went into his robe. "I must return now. The light is fading. Please, take care, Sister Xu."
She was still staring at the vial. "Wait," she said, as he began to turn. Her voice had lost its teasing edge. "This clearing… I pass through it sometimes. If you're gathering here… will you come again?"
Han Li considered. The herbs here were of good quality, and the location, while now marked by conflict, was productive. "Perhaps in one month's time. My master will have returned, and my tasks may change."
"One month, then," she said, her gaze lingering on him with that same unnerving blend of amazement and appraisal. "Don't get killed before then, okay, brat?"
"I will endeavor not to," he replied with perfect seriousness, which made her snort another laugh.
He bowed once more, then turned and made his way back down the game trail, feeling the weight of her gaze on his back until the trees swallowed him.
---
The return to Green Valley was a slow, aching journey. Every bruise announced itself with a throb in time with his heartbeat. The solitude of the valley, usually so peaceful, now felt stark and exposing as he crossed the final arched bridge.
He went straight to the kitchen courtyard. The evening was drawing in, painting the sky in washes of violet and orange. On a worn stone table, he laid out his basket. The herbs were rumpled, some crushed, but mostly salvageable. He fetched a small, sharp knife from the kitchen block—a simple tool for processing, its edge kept razor-sharp by Xiao's exacting standards.
He took a bushy stalk of Spirit Nettle, its leaves faintly silver-edged even in the dimming light. The first step was to trim the root cluster, removing the dead, fibrous mass. He focused on the methodical work, letting the routine calm his racing mind. Slice. Pare. Discard.
His thoughts were a tangled thicket. The viciousness of the five disciples. The cold kiss of the blade. The impossible, weightless grace of Sister Xu's intervention. The way she had looked at him…
His focus wavered for a single, critical second.
The knife, slicing through a tough root knot, skidded. Instead of biting into plant matter, it glanced off and traced a shallow, burning line across the pad of his left index finger.
"Ah." He dropped the knife with a clatter, sucking in a sharp breath. A bright bead of blood welled up instantly, followed by another. It was a clean cut, not deep, but messy.
Annoyed at his own carelessness, he reached into his inner robe with his right hand. His fingers sought the familiar vial of wound-binding paste. They brushed against the other vials—the few remaining foundational pills—and against the smooth, perpetually cool surface of the white jade.
He pulled out the paste vial, along with a clean strip of linen bandage he kept for such purposes. The jade, dislodged, tumbled out onto the stone table beside the herbs with a soft clack.
He paid it little mind. He was focused on applying the dark, pungent paste to the cut, the herbal astringency making him hiss. As he worked, a single, fat drop of blood escaped, falling from his finger.
It landed not on the stone, nor on the herbs.
It struck the surface of the cloud-carved jade.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The dark red droplet sat on the milky white surface, a stark, perfect jewel.
Then, it was gone. Not wiped away. Not dried. It was absorbed. The jade drank the blood in the space of a blink, leaving no stain behind.
Han Li, finishing his bandaging with a tight, efficient knot, noticed nothing. He picked up the jade, intending to return it to his robe. It felt… different. Not cold. Warm. A gentle, living warmth pulsed within it, like a sleeping creature's heart.
Puzzled, he held it up in the last light of day.
The intricate cloud carvings began to glow.
Not a reflection. A deep, internal luminescence, a white so pure it was almost blue at its heart. It lit up the courtyard, casting sharp, dancing shadows from the herb baskets and the trees. Han Li stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat, the pain of his cuts and bruises forgotten.
The light intensified. It wasn't just glowing; it was emitting. Thin, coherent beams of white radiation lanced out from the carvings, slicing through the twilight air. They formed a shifting, complex pattern around him—a silent, luminous mandala.
Instinct screamed at him to drop it, to run. But a deeper, more profound pull held him fast. This was his inheritance. The mystery his parents had left him. His fingers tightened around the warming stone.
One of the beams of light, perhaps seeking the nearest source of life, of qi, brushed against the back of his bandaged hand.
The effect was instantaneous and absolute.
It was not an attack. It was an invitation. A summons.
The world did not explode. It unraveled.
The luminous mandala collapsed inward, the beams of light whirling into a vortex centered on the jade. A force unlike any he had known—not pushing, but pulling with the gravity of a collapsing star—seized him. It did not touch his body; it touched his very being.
He had a fleeting sensation of being inverted, of falling upward.
Then, the stone courtyard, the herb baskets, the violet sky, and the towering cliffs of Green Valley were ripped away into a streak of meaningless color and sound.
There was only the radiant white.
And then, there was nothing.
A profound, absolute, and hungry dark.
Han Li's consciousness, untethered, spun into the void.