Word traveled slowly from the Restart Sect's mountain, but it traveled all the same. Li An's carefully carved wooden notice—passed to a sympathetic salt trader in the valley village—made its quiet rounds through teahouses and market stalls, drawing skeptical glances and hushed whispers. "Troublesome welcome," the elders scoffed. "A fool's refuge," the ambitious disciples sneered. But to a certain kind of ear, it sounded like a door cracking open.
The first to answer its call arrived on a gray afternoon, limping up the main path with the determination of someone who'd already walked away from worse.
Chen Yuan spotted the figure from the courtyard overlook, the new Whisperwind Rod in Li An's hand humming faintly—a soft, warning chime that made all three disciples pause their training.
"Someone's coming," Li An said, eyes narrowing at the rod's glowing tip. "Not hostile. Tired. Alone."
Zhang Wei set down his Burdenbinder Sash, the boulder it had held thudding softly. "Iron Fist?"
"No." Li An shook his head. "The mountain doesn't bristle."
Lin Mei gripped her Earthturner's Spade, soil still clinging to its qi-infused blade. "We meet them at the gate?"
Chen Yuan nodded, pride flickering in his chest at how naturally they'd fallen into roles. "Together. Like always."
The wanderer was a young woman in her late teens, clothes ragged from long travel, a patched cloak drawn tight against the chill. Her hair was cropped short, practical, and a faint scar traced her left cheek like a poorly healed burn. She carried no weapon beyond a sturdy walking staff, but her eyes—sharp, wary, assessing—spoke of someone who'd learned to fight with wits long before fists.
She stopped at the edge of the inner path, where the "petty inconveniences" of thorns and uneven stones began, and raised her voice without fear. "I seek the Restart Sect. The one that takes the discarded."
Chen Yuan stepped forward, his three disciples arrayed behind him like roots supporting a trunk. "You've found it. I'm Chen Yuan, Sect Master. What do they call you?"
She studied them all—the old man with grandfatherly eyes, the sturdy boy with scarred hands, the girl clutching a spade like a sword, the quiet one with a whispering rod. No arrogance, no posturing. Just quiet readiness.
"Song Yu," she said. "From the Whispering Blade Pavilion. Or... was."
Lin Mei's eyes widened slightly. "The pavilion? They're known for assassins."
Song Yu's mouth twisted. "And spies. Thieves. Anything that pays. I was good at information. Too good. Overheard an elder plotting against their own allies for profit. Reported it." She shrugged, scar pulling tight. "They called it betrayal. Branded me a loose end. Left me for dead in a ditch with my meridians half-sealed by poison."
Zhang Wei's jaw clenched in recognition. "They discard what doesn't fit their... investments."
"Something like that." Song Yu's gaze flicked to the sprout sigil on their robes. "Your notice said 'troublesome welcome.' I'm that. Trouble follows me. Secrets I shouldn't know. Enemies who think I'm dead but might not stay that way."
Chen Yuan regarded her steadily. "Trouble's part of the package here. Question is, what do you bring besides it?"
She hesitated, then tapped her staff against the ground. A faint ripple spread—qi threads invisible to most, but Li An's rod hummed in response, mapping faint distortions in the air.
"I see things others miss," she said. "Paths. Weaknesses. Lies in a man's smile. Poison qi signatures before they kill. And I move quiet. Always have."
Chen Yuan glanced at Li An, who gave a subtle nod—the rod approved. "The Four Foundations. You willing to learn them our way? No shortcuts, no secrets hoarded."?
Song Yu's laugh was short, bitter. "After what I ran from? Teach me something that builds instead of cuts. I'll swear your oaths."
He extended a hand. "Welcome to the Restart Sect, Song Yu. Mei, show her the garden. Wei, help with food. An, map her paths up here—see what the mountain tells you."
As the group dispersed, Song Yu paused, glancing back. "You really take anyone?"
Chen Yuan smiled faintly. "Anyone willing to try again. The rest sorts itself."
## The Fourth Root
That evening, in the main hall now feeling less empty, Song Yu received her token. The four sat in Symbiotic Growth formation, breaths syncing as qi motes swirled thicker than before.
Her token dissolved into shadow-silk threads, reforming as a slim *Veilwalk Cloak*—light as mist, edges fraying into illusionary wisps. *Properties: Muffles steps, bends light for partial invisibility, reveals hidden qi traces, reinforces Flowing Water evasion.* She draped it over her shoulders; her form blurred at the edges, scar fading into shadow.
**[Fourth Disciple Accepted: Song Yu]**
**[Sect Harmony: 92/100]**
**[New Formation Unlocked: "Four Roots Entwine" - Group techniques gain 20% synergy]**
Song Yu flexed her fingers under the cloak, eyes wide. "This... grows with me?"
"Everything here does," Chen Yuan said. "Now eat. Train tomorrow."
## Echoes of Growth
Word of the new disciple spread no further than the mountain itself that night, but the Restart Sect felt the shift. Four voices in the hall, four tools humming in harmony, four roots intertwining beneath the soil.
Chen Yuan watched from the doorway as Song Yu shared quiet stories of shadowed paths with Li An, while Lin Mei demonstrated her spade's earth-mounding to wide-eyed fascination, and Zhang Wei portioned millet with steady hands.
The Iron Fist loomed distant, but here—in the warm glow of firelight and shared bowls—the sect grew not by conquest, but by quiet accumulation. One wanderer at a time.
Outside, the mountain sighed contentedly, its paths a little more watchful, its garden a little brighter. The Restart Sect was no longer three against the world.
It was four. And counting.