The valley opened into a wide plain.
Lin Chen squinted at the horizon, where a cluster of buildings rose like jagged teeth against the sky. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and banners fluttered in the morning breeze. Beyond the town of memories and mist, this city felt alive—vivid, bustling, and unafraid of the world.
Yun Qiao's eyes lit up. "A city… so big."
The group of wandering cultivators ahead of them slowed their pace. One of them—a lean man with a saber strapped to his back—pointed. "That's the city. Haven't heard much about it, but the minor sects here are organized enough to keep wandering monsters out. For now."
Lin Chen's chest tightened. Minor sects…
organized… monsters…
He realized for the first time how small his life had been. The village. The river. The forgotten valley. He had never seen streets like these, filled with people moving with purpose, merchants calling their wares, cultivators practicing openly in courtyards.
And yet, despite the liveliness, a strange tension lingered in the air.
The spearman walking ahead of him—a tall, calm man—stopped suddenly. Lin Chen almost ran into him.
"Look," the man said quietly, pointing toward a training yard.
A dozen cultivators were sparring. Some wielded swords, some sabers, others staffs.
Each move was precise, flowing, yet dangerous. The air around their weapons seemed heavier, resonating with energy that Lin Chen could feel pressing faintly against his chest.
He felt the mark there pulse, a reminder that he didn't belong.
Yun Qiao whispered, "They're… cultivating?"
Lin Chen nodded. "I think that's what I just realized."
A young cultivator leapt high into the air, a blade flashing, leaving a faint trail of light behind. Another struck the ground with a staff, sending a shockwave that rattled the nearby walls. Even from a distance, the raw power made Lin Chen's knees weak.
I've never seen anything like this.
The spearman glanced back at him. "This is what I was talking about. The world isn't just villages and roads. It's people like this, and powers like that. You can survive without cultivating in a small village, but out here… only strength matters."
Lin Chen's eyes fell to the weapon in the spearman's hands. The familiar long spear felt… right. Warm, almost as if it were acknowledging him from afar.
I don't even know why… but I think I want to learn to wield a spear.
The thought shocked him. He had never held one in earnest, yet something deep inside his chest responded to it. A current, faint and fleeting, like a whisper through his blood.
"Look alive," the saber wielder said, noticing the stir in Lin Chen's gaze. "Beginners shouldn't be staring too long. Could be dangerous."
Lin Chen swallowed and forced his attention back to the streets. He had survived the river, the town, and the shadowed creatures. He could survive this too.
But something in the pit of his stomach told him that this city—bright and bustling as it seemed—was only the beginning.
Far beyond the walls, he glimpsed distant peaks where faint clouds swirled unnaturally, like fingers pointing toward the sky. Legends said the mountains hid cultivators who were stronger than most could imagine. And if those stories were true… then he had entered a world much larger and more dangerous than he could ever have imagined.
The spearman glanced back one last time. "If you're truly stepping onto the path, kid… keep your eyes open. Every step, every choice, every breath… it will matter."
Lin Chen nodded. He didn't yet understand what that meant. But as he walked into the city, past the merchants and the training cultivators, past the lanterns and the echoing sounds of a world alive, he felt something stir within him.
Something waiting.
And the faint warmth in his chest—the mark—pulsed once, as if confirming the beginning of a new path.
The path of the spear.
And, eventually, the path of all weapons.