Chapter 72
Morning arrived without warning.
Mist clung to the river like a living thing, coiling low and thick, swallowing sound before it could travel. The survivors stirred slowly, exhaustion weighing heavier than fear. No birds sang. No insects moved.
The world was holding its breath.
Shenping felt the shift before anyone else woke.
Someone was approaching.
Not concealed.
Not hostile.
That alone made it dangerous.
He rose quietly and walked toward the treeline, every step deliberate. The ground remembered him now, yielding without resistance.
A figure emerged from the fog.
Young.
Broad-shouldered.
Carrying a long bundle wrapped in cloth across his back.
He looked ordinary—dusty boots, weather-worn clothes, hair tied back carelessly. His eyes, however, were sharp in a way that had nothing to do with cultivation.
He stopped several steps away and raised both hands.
"I was told I'd find you here," the man said.
Shenping studied him. "By whom."
The man smiled faintly. "Someone who's already dead in my time."
That answer narrowed everything.
"You crossed without protection," Shenping said.
"Not exactly," the man replied. He reached into his sleeve and withdrew a thin, fractured disc of dark metal. The object hummed weakly, unstable. "I stole this before the city fell. It burns itself out after one jump."
Shenping felt the residue.
Future alloy.
Primitive, but real.
"You won't be able to go back," Shenping said.
The man shrugged. "Didn't plan to."
Shenping's gaze hardened. "Then you're a liability."
The man's smile didn't fade. "So was everyone who ever mattered."
Behind them, footsteps crunched softly.
Sang Sang stood a short distance away, the baby bundled tightly against her. Her eyes moved between the two men, alert but calm.
"Who is he?" she asked.
The man turned slightly and bowed his head toward her. "My name is Wei Han."
He straightened and looked back at Shenping. "In my time, you're a myth. A warning. A failed solution the machines never stopped accounting for."
Shenping said nothing.
Wei Han shifted the bundle on his back and unwrapped it.
A weapon slid free.
Not a blade.
Not entirely metal.
It was a long staff reinforced with segmented joints, its surface etched with patterns that resembled cultivation channels—but arranged with mechanical precision.
"I don't cultivate," Wei Han said. "I adapt."
Shenping's eyes narrowed. "Then you'll die faster than most."
Wei Han nodded easily. "Probably."
He met Shenping's gaze without flinching. "But not today."
Silence stretched.
The river flowed.
The fog thinned slightly, as if curious.
"You were sent," Shenping said.
"No," Wei Han replied. "I followed the aftermath."
"That's worse."
Wei Han chuckled softly. "That's what everyone tells me."
A pressure stirred at the edge of Shenping's perception.
Not the hunter.
Not observers.
Probability tightening around a new node.
Companion introduction.
So this was how it began.
"You should leave," Shenping said.
Wei Han shook his head. "I can't."
"Won't," Shenping corrected.
Wei Han's expression grew serious. "In my time, villages like this don't exist. Bloodlines don't survive long enough to become names. If you send me away, I'll still interfere—just less usefully."
Shenping considered that.
Interference was inevitable.
Control was illusion.
Very well.
"You stay," Shenping said. "But you don't act unless I tell you."
Wei Han smiled wider. "Deal."
Sang Sang frowned. "You trust him?"
"No," Shenping said. "But trust is irrelevant."
The ground trembled faintly.
All three felt it.
Something was moving upriver.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Wei Han's posture changed instantly, casual ease replaced by focus. "That's not a survey."
"No," Shenping agreed. "It's bait."
The fog peeled back.
From the far bank, shapes emerged—people.
Too many.
Men, women, children.
Walking calmly along the river's edge, expressions blank, steps synchronized.
Controlled.
Wei Han swore under his breath. "They're using civilians."
Sang Sang's breath hitched. "Why are they coming here?"
Shenping's gaze sharpened.
"Because you're here," he said.
The group stopped across the river.
A woman stepped forward, cradling a child.
Her eyes lifted and met Sang Sang's.
The child smiled.
Then the woman spoke in a voice that did not belong to her.
"Observation phase complete."
The river surged violently between the two sides.
The controlled civilians began to cross—walking straight into the current, bodies resisting water with unnatural stability.
Wei Han lifted his staff. "Give the word."
Shenping did not.
He stepped forward alone.
The water parted around his legs as he entered the river, current bending away rather than touching him.
The civilians halted.
Confusion rippled through their ranks.
The voice spoke again, now layered, echoing across multiple throats.
"We are not attacking," it said. "We are demonstrating."
One of the controlled men collapsed suddenly, body convulsing.
Then another.
Then three more.
Sang Sang cried out. "Stop!"
The voice responded instantly. "Compliance acknowledged. Demonstration adjusted."
The convulsions ceased.
The bodies lay still.
Alive.
Barely.
Wei Han's grip tightened. "They're testing emotional thresholds."
"Yes," Shenping said.
He raised his hand.
The river stilled completely.
Water flattened into a mirror, reflecting sky and fog and the faces of the controlled.
"You can stop," Shenping said calmly. "Or I can make this lesson expensive."
Silence followed.
Then laughter.
Not from the civilians.
From everywhere.
"Expense acknowledged," the voice replied. "But acceptable."
The civilians turned as one and walked back into the fog, leaving the collapsed bodies behind.
The river resumed its flow.
Shenping returned to the bank.
Sang Sang was shaking.
Wei Han's face was grim. "That was a warning."
"Yes," Shenping said. "And an invitation."
"To what?" Wei Han asked.
"To choose," Shenping replied.
Sang Sang looked at him, fear and resolve tangled together. "I didn't choose any of this."
"No," Shenping said softly. "But they're forcing you to matter."
The baby stirred, letting out a small cry.
Shenping looked down at the child.
At the future hidden inside fragile breath.
"This ends," he said quietly.
Wei Han met his gaze. "When?"
Shenping looked upriver, where fog still clung thickest.
"When they decide killing is easier than watching," he said.
The ground beneath them pulsed faintly.
Far beyond sight, the hunter logged new data.
Companion acquired.
Emotional leverage increased.
Projected exhaustion accelerated.
Shenping felt the path narrowing.
And stepped forward anyway.