The sunlight fell fiercely over the village, illuminating every corner with a warm and intense glow. The birds' song blended with the bustle of voices: nervous laughter, hurried farewells, advice repeated again and again by parents and grandparents.
Young, adults, elderly.
The entire village was awake.
Jin and Wei stood side by side, silently observing the scene. In front of them, several boys and girls had gathered; some had eyes full of excitement, others barely managed to conceal their fear. For all of them, that day marked a turning point. After all, it was the moment they would set out on a journey in hopes of becoming cultivators.
Jin narrowed his eyes slightly, letting himself be carried by the atmosphere. Wei, with his arms relaxed at his sides, maintained a calm, almost indifferent expression.
Even so, both of them stood out among the crowd.
Not only because they were slightly taller than most of the children present, but because their clothing was different. During the days they had spent in the village, they had worn borrowed garments—simple and discreet. But that morning, without saying a word, both chose to wear the robes they had arrived in when they first came to this world.
The fabrics were clean and well-tailored, modest in cut yet elegant. They were not ostentatious, but they conveyed a natural dignity that was difficult to ignore. Compared to the other children, Jin and Wei looked like young masters from some important family who had descended into the mortal world on a whim.
Several curious gazes settled on them.
Jin noticed and smiled naturally, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Wei, on the other hand, did not react at all; his attention was fixed on the center of the village.
As Jin swept his gaze over the gathered children, he clearly perceived the tension that gripped them. Clenched hands, held breaths, eyes shifting from the road to their families and back again. For many, that journey meant leaving behind everything they knew… perhaps forever.
He recognized some faces: the quiet boy who helped in the fields, the girl who always ran after her mother, another who had watched him train with admiration. They weren't friends, but they were no longer strangers.
At his side, Wei Han also observed in silence. At one point, he gave a slight nod toward one of the boys—the blacksmith's son, the same one who had looked at his wooden sword with reverent respect. The boy startled when he noticed the gesture… and then straightened his back, as if he had received courage.
Jin raised an amused eyebrow.
So do the same…
Then he felt a light tug on his sleeve.
Xiao Lian stood beside him, too still for her age. Her hands clutched the edge of her dress, and her gaze did not leave Elder He, who was speaking in a low voice with other village elders.
She seemed calm.
But she wasn't.
There was a silent tension in her posture, a mixture of fear and determination improper for an ordinary child. Jin tilted his head slightly to meet her at eye level.
"Don't worry," he said softly. "Your grandfather is fine."
She didn't respond; she only nodded gently without taking her eyes off the old man.
Amid the nerves, the farewells, and the emotion-laden silences, Jin understood something clearly: for those children, it wasn't just a journey. It was the beginning of an entirely different life.
High above the ground, a flying vessel advanced through the sky with a low, steady hum. It had no sails or visible wings; instead, a spiritual formation surrounded it—lines of light intertwined in complex symbols that kept it suspended as if defying all logic.
On board were several young people around twenty years old, dressed in similar robes worn from use. Some remained standing; others sat in silence, their expressions shifting between anticipation and fatigue.
At the bow stood an old man.
His black robe was simple yet imposing, adorned with subtle cloud embroidery. On his chest he wore a silver insignia that reflected the sunlight. His posture was straight, his expression serene as he observed the forest stretching below them.
"Elder Zhao, we're almost at the next village," a voice said behind him.
He did not turn immediately. He kept his gaze on the horizon for a few more seconds before releasing a barely perceptible sigh.
"At last… The final village."
After that stop, they would return to the sect.
His gaze shifted toward the interior of the vessel, pausing on the children already on board. There were about twenty. Some looked healthy; others, fragile. Some stared at the sky in wonder; others avoided meeting anyone's eyes.
With a single glance, Elder Zhao formed an impression.
Nothing remarkable.
No notable aura. No outstanding presence.
I hope this last village is different…
When the vessel descended over the village, raising dust with perfectly controlled softness, the atmosphere quieted almost immediately. Elder Zhao disembarked calmly; he did not need to release pressure or utter a single word—his mere presence was enough to impose silence.
Elder He hurried forward and performed a deep bow.
"Oh, great immortal, we welcome you to our humble village."
Elder Zhao sighed inwardly, accustomed to that kind of greeting. Without correcting him or showing displeasure, he simply nodded and said in a plain tone:
"Bring me the examined children."
This time he did not delegate the task; he wanted to see them personally.
When the small group approached, he analyzed them with a single glance. He needed no more. Common bodies, breathing unsettled by nerves, auras barely formed. Nothing remarkable. He was about to lose interest when his gaze paused slightly at the back of the group.
Two children walked behind.
He frowned almost imperceptibly. They did not carry the residual Qi of the testing crystal, and yet, within their bodies he perceived a persistent current—faint but clear—as if the Qi had accumulated naturally rather than being forced. It was not abundant, but neither was it ordinary.
The first held his back straight and his gaze cold, sharp like a freshly unsheathed sword. The second walked with apparent nonchalance, almost relaxed, but in his golden eyes shone an unsettling vitality that did not match his age.
Anomalous.
Meanwhile, Jin observed everything with concealed attentiveness: the structure of the vessel, the lines of the spiritual formation that held it aloft. He murmured faintly, analyzing possible energy sources, low enough that only he could hear himself. Wei turned his head slightly.
"How much are you muttering?"
Jin smiled without taking his eyes off their surroundings.
"Nothing important. You'll know soon enough."
Then he lowered his voice even further.
"Besides, talking too much could be dangerous. That old man hasn't stopped looking at us."
Wei did not respond, but his posture grew subtly firmer.
When Elder Zhao noticed that there were seven children instead of the expected five, the atmosphere tightened slightly, like a string pulled just a bit too far. Elder He firmly explained the story they had prepared, without hesitation.
Elder Zhao remained silent for a few moments, evaluating both the words and the expressions. His gaze returned to Jin and Wei, lingering long enough for several villagers to hold their breath. Finally, he nodded.
"I see."
He asked no further questions. With a simple gesture of his hand, he indicated:
"Board."
It worked, Jin thought, feeling the accumulated tension slowly dissipate.
The farewells began immediately. Suppressed sobs that finally broke free, promises spoken in urgency, advice repeated as if it could be forcibly engraved into memory. Even Xiao Lian clung to Elder He with all her strength, crying uncontrollably.
Jin felt an uncomfortable knot tighten in his chest. The old man lifted his gaze and their eyes met; no words were exchanged, but the plea and the trust were evident. Jin sighed softly, crouched in front of the girl, and spoke in a calm voice.
"Little Lotus… Grandfather will be fine. And I'll be with you, remember?"
Carefully, he helped her loosen her grip and took her small trembling hand.
"Come on. We can't keep the immortals waiting."
She nodded through tears, trying to stifle her sobs.
Wei followed them in silence, expressionless as always. Jin glanced at him from the corner of his eye and couldn't help thinking that sometimes Wei truly unsettled him; there were moments when he seemed more like a machine than a human. He said nothing.
One by one, the children boarded the vessel. The noise of the village was left behind, replaced by a dense, expectant silence. The spiritual formation began to glow more intensely, and the air vibrated softly around the structure.
From below, the families looked up with tearful eyes. From above, the children understood there was no turning back.
The vessel prepared to depart.