The dawn of Donglibi Village awakened to the aroma of mystic tea and birdsong.
Lin Xiaofan yawned, flashing a row of pearly teeth, his eyes crinkling into crescents. He stretched, bones cracking like dry twigs, and instinctively reached for the cracked gourd at his waist—empty save for a few withered spirit grass leaves. "Hmph, Auntie Wang's enchanted rice cakes should be ready by now,"he muttered. His stomach growled in reply, startling a rooster into crowing from the next courtyard.
This was Donglibi, one of the most ordinary mortal villages on the continent of Lingyun. Nestled in the foothills of the Azure Peak Mountains, the village clung to a slender spiritual vein—a lifeline that pulsed with the "Spiritual Resonance," an invisible current nurturing all life here. To the villagers, the vein was everything: it plumped their rice grains, made their herbs glow, and even gave Auntie Wang's tea its extra zing.
Xiaofan had been found fifteen years ago as an infant in the woods by Old Zhou, a herb farmer who practiced rudimentary wooden resonance healing. Zhou's plot of spirit grass and calming flowers had made him a fixture in the village. Xiaofan's "job" was weeding and tending wounds with spirit-inked "Heal" runes—crude but oddly effective. Over time, his nickname—"Little Rice Bucket"—stuck, not just for his appetite but his knack for turning herbs into snacks: charred spirit sweet potatoes, honey-glazed fruits to coax extra rice cakes from Auntie Wang.
"Xiaofan! Stop daydreaming!" Auntie Wang's voice echoed from the alley, her basket stacked with steaming rice cakes. "Water Zhou's herbs! Don't let the spirit grass thirst!"
He grabbed a wooden ladle and bolted to the plot. Rows of herbs shimmered with morning dew, each droplet a tiny prism of resonance. As his fingers brushed a coagulation grass leaf, warmth surged through his veins, his thread-thin meridians tingling.
His "Hundred Meridians" physique made cultivation agonizingly slow, but this faint resonance felt... soothing. Humming a tuneless melody, he dug at the roots, daydreaming of selling the herbs to buy "Bursting Fruit Pills" from the market. Last time, that braggart Chen Dazu swore they tasted like three days of sunshine.
Donglibi's peace hung on that single vein. Villagers didn't speak of "Resonance Domains" or "Convergence Realms"—they just knew: no vein, no harvest, no future. Old Zhou often warned, "The vein's the village's eye. Lose it, and our rice withers, our tea turns bitter, even the spirit beasts flee."Xiaofan didn't grasp it then. He only remembered: Lose the Eye, lose home.
Then the stench hit.
Closer to the gate, the reek intensified—a metallic tang mingling with screams. Villagers' panicked cries stabbed Xiaofan's heart as he sprinted to the village's ancient locust tree.
There, he froze.
Six black-robed figures, their masks twisted like demons, danced through the carnage. Their blades glowed icy blue, each swing carving through farmers and guards. Blood pooled on cobblestones, the air thick with copper.
At the rear stood Old Zhou, hunched but unbroken, shielding a cluster of villagers. His white beard streaked with blood, his robes torn, yet his back remained rigid—a mountain against the storm.
"Who dares slaughter Donglibi?!"Zhou's roar shook leaves.
The leader laughed, a sound like grinding bones. "Spare yourself, old fool. Hand over the Eye. We'll grant you a swift death."
"Never!" Zhou's defiance rang clear. "The Eye is Donglibi's soul! You'll have to kill us all!"
The leader's boot struck the ground. Dark tendrils erupted, morphing into snarling specters.
"Zhou—watch out!" Xiaofan lunged—
A bony hand seized his shoulder, pinning him. Ghosthand Elder, the village's disheveled scavenger, his milky eyes blazing. "Run, boy! They'll gut you!"
Xiaofan watched helplessly as specters shredded Zhou's aura. The old man's body crumpled like parchment, crashing into the locust tree.
"NOOO!"
The leader kicked Zhou's corpse. "Fetch the Eye's seal. Burn it."
As minions smashed runes at the tree's base, Xiaofan felt the land shudder. The warmth that once breathed through the soil vanished. Grass withered mid-leaf. The scent of life dissolved into decay.
The vein was dead.
Desperation swallowed him whole. Without the Eye, Donglibi would become a graveyard.
Then—laughter. The leader turned, spotting Xiaofan. "Well, well. The coward's still breathing. Take him. Maybe he'll talk."
Two thugs lunged—
A silver streak sliced through them.
Sword flowers bloomed in the air.
Su Qinglian.
The Azure Peak Sect's icy inner disciple stood silhouetted against the carnage, her blade humming. Months ago, she'd bought herbs here—aloof, untouchable. Now her eyes burned with a hunter's fire.
"Follow me!" she barked.
Xiaofan gaped. "But—"
"Move!"
Her blade clashed with the leader's, silver against black. The fight was brutal. Su's strikes were swift, precise—but the specters were endless.
"Take this!" She hurled a scroll and obsidian bead at Xiaofan.
The Longevity Manual... Absorption Bead...Her voice echoed faintly, "Go to Azure Peak... Find Master Qingxu... Tell him... the prophecy's fulfilled..."
A spectral blade pierced her heart.
She crumpled, blood staining her white robes.
"SU—!"
Xiaofan clutched the artifacts. His world shattered.
"Get him!"
He ran.
Blindly.
The villagers' wails faded as he plunged into the wilderness. The bead pulsed, absorbing their grief—raw, searing energy flooding his brittle veins.
When he woke, he lay in a ditch, a shattered carriage wheel above him. Distant hoofbeats faded.
The bead's glow had dimmed.
But deep inside, something stirred.