Morning in the town did not arrive with urgency.
Chen Yu noticed this as he stepped out of the inn just after dawn. The sky was pale, streaked with thin clouds that drifted lazily, unhurried by purpose. Shops opened one by one. Brooms scraped stone. Steam rose from cooking pots in steady columns.
No bells announced the hour.
People simply began.
He stood near the doorway for a long moment, observing. On Earth, efficiency had ruled everything—time sliced into units, movement optimised, silence treated as waste. Here, time felt thicker, layered. Nothing was rushed, yet nothing was idle.
Yan's words from the previous night echoed faintly in his memory, though he did not know their literal meaning. Forbidden land. Trouble follows.
Chen Yu exhaled slowly and stepped into the street.
Shen Lu found him before midday.
The younger man waved from across the square, motioning for Chen Yu to follow. They walked together toward a cluster of low buildings near the inner wall of the town. Along the way, Shen Lu spoke deliberately, choosing simple words Chen Yu could piece together.
"You stay," Shen Lu said, pointing at Chen Yu, then at the ground beneath their feet. "Work. Learn."
Chen Yu nodded. "Yes."
They stopped at a storage yard where bundles of firewood were stacked unevenly. An older woman supervised several youths as they sorted and tied them.
Shen Lu spoke briefly with her.
She glanced at Chen Yu, then tossed him a length of rope.
Work.
Chen Yu caught it and bowed slightly.
The woman snorted, then gestured sharply at the woodpile.
Chen Yu set to work.
The labour was simple but steady. Lift. Stack. Bind. Carry.
His body moved efficiently, distributing weight without strain. He noticed it only when the youths around him began to slow, hands trembling, breath growing shallow.
Chen Yu was not tireless.
But fatigue came differently now—measured, distant.
He adjusted his pace, deliberately slowing so as not to draw attention.
Observation mattered.
During a break, one of the youths offered him water, speaking quickly and pointing at the sky as if complaining about the heat.
Chen Yu smiled and responded with the few words he knew. "Hot. Yes."
Laughter followed.
Barriers thinned.
Over the next several days, routine settled in.
Chen Yu helped where he was needed—loading carts, repairing fences, sweeping courtyards. In return, he was given food, a place to sleep, and occasional instruction in language.
Each evening, he practised writing characters in charcoal on scrap wood, copying what he had seen on signs and doorframes. Some strokes felt natural. Others resisted, as if the symbols themselves demanded precision.
The elder from the courtyard observed him once, correcting a single line with a sharp tap of his stick.
That was enough.
At night, Chen Yu listened.
Not inwardly.
Outwardly.
Stories were told quietly in inns and courtyards, passed between bites of food or sips of drink. He did not understand most of them, but certain words were repeated often.
Forbidden.
Ruins.
Road.
Above.
Below.
Once, he heard a phrase spoken with particular care. Shen Lu noticed his attention and leaned closer.
"Those who touch… change," Shen Lu said slowly, choosing each word. He gestured vaguely toward the distant direction of the ruins. "Not always bad. Not always good."
Chen Yu considered this.
"Why… no one goes?" he asked.
Shen Lu hesitated. "Because… town still here."
The answer carried weight beyond its simplicity.
On the seventh day, the disturbance came from within the town.
Chen Yu was carrying grain sacks near the market when a sudden hush spread outward like ripples in water. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Merchants straightened. Guards near the inner gate adjusted their posture.
A group was approaching.
They wore long robes of muted colour, their fabric marked with subtle patterns that caught the light differently from ordinary cloth. At their waists hung simple tokens—not weapons, yet treated with similar respect.
Cultivators.
Chen Yu did not know the word.
But he felt the difference immediately.
It was not pressure.
It was present.
The townspeople bowed slightly as the group passed. No fear. No worship.
Acknowledgment.
Chen Yu stepped aside with the others, lowering his gaze.
As the group passed, one of them paused.
Chen Yu felt it before he saw it—the faint sense of something turning its attention toward him. He did not flinch. He did not look up.
After a brief moment, the presence moved on.
Only then did Chen Yu release the breath he had been holding.
Later, Shen Lu found him again.
"You felt?" Shen Lu asked quietly, eyes wide.
Chen Yu nodded. "Yes."
Shen Lu studied him for a long moment, then spoke in a low voice. "They come from the sect."
He hesitated, then added, "They take people. Sometimes."
Chen Yu's heart beat once, heavy and slow.
"People… like me?"
Shen Lu did not answer immediately.
Finally, he said, "People who endure."
Chen Yu looked toward the inner gate where the robed figures had disappeared.
Within him, something shifted—not opening, not awakening.
Aligning.
For the first time since crossing worlds, a direction sharpened.
He did not yet seek power.
He did not yet seek answers.
But he understood this much:
If there was a path forward in this world—
It would not reveal itself to those who reached for it too quickly.
And when the time came to step onto it—
He would do so on his own feet.
End of Chapter 9