The sunlight fell heavily over the village, illuminating every corner with a warm and intense glow. The birds’ singing blended with the bustle of voices: nervous laughter, hurried farewells, advice repeated over and over by parents and grandparents.

  Young, adults, elders.

  The entire village was awake.

  Jin and Wei stood side by side, observing the scene in silence. In front of them, several boys and girls had gathered; some had eyes filled with excitement, others could barely 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 with the hope of becoming cultivators.

  Jin slightly narrowed his eyes, letting himself be carried by the atmosphere. Wei, with his arms relaxed at his sides, maintained a calm, almost indifferent expression.

  Even so, both stood out among the crowd.

  Not only because they were a little 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 finely made, sober yet elegant in cut. They were not ostentatious, but they conveyed a natural dignity that was hard 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 fell upon 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 dominating them. Clenched hands, held breaths, eyes shifting from the road to their families and back again. For many, this journey meant leaving behind everything they knew… perhaps forever.

  He recognized a few 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 were not 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 eyebrow, amused.

  So you can be friendly…

  Then he felt a light tug at his sleeve.

  Xiao Lian stood beside him, too still for someone 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 looked calm.

  But she was not.

  There was a silent tension in her posture, a mixture of fear and determination unbefitting an ordinary child. Jin slightly inclined his head to be at her level.

  “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “Your grandfather is fine.”

  She did not reply; she simply nodded gently without taking her eyes off the old man.

  Amid nerves, farewells, and emotion-laden silences, Jin understood something clearly: for these children, it was not just a journey. It was the beginning of a completely different life.

  High above the ground, a flying vessel cut through the sky with a low, constant hum. It had no sails or visible wings; instead, a spiritual formation surrounded it—lines of light intertwined into complex symbols that kept it suspended as if defying all logic.

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  Several youths around twenty years old traveled aboard, dressed in similar robes worn from use. Some stood; others sat in silence, their expressions wavering between anticipation and fatigue.

  At the bow stood an elder.

  His black robe was simple yet imposing, adorned with subtle cloud embroidery. On his chest rested a silver insignia reflecting the sunlight. His posture was straight, his expression serene as he observed the forest stretching below.

  “Elder Zhao, we are 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 seconds more before releasing an almost imperceptible sigh.

  “At last… The final village.”

  After this stop, they would return to the sect.

  His gaze drifted toward the interior of the vessel, settling on the children already aboard. There were about twenty. Some appeared 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 gentleness, the atmosphere quieted almost immediately. Elder Zhao disembarked calmly; he did not need to release pressure or utter a 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 such greetings. Without correcting him or showing displeasure, he simply nodded and said plainly:

  “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. Ordinary bodies, breathing disturbed by nerves, barely formed auras. Nothing remarkable. He was about to lose interest when his gaze paused slightly at the back of the group.

  Two children walked behind the others.

  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 Qi had accumulated naturally rather than being forcibly induced. It was not abundant, but neither was it ordinary.

  The first kept his back straight and his gaze cold, sharp as a freshly unsheathed sword. The second walked with apparent nonchalance, almost relaxed, yet in his golden eyes shone a disturbing vitality that did not match his age.

  Anomalous.

  Meanwhile, Jin observed everything with concealed attention.

  “Mmm… a vessel moved by spiritual formations,” he murmured without moving his lips. “It could use spirit stones as fuel… or perhaps absorb energy directly from the surroundings. And that elder…” His gaze slid toward the black-robed figure. “Without a doubt, some kind of sect elder.”

  “How much are you muttering?”

  Jin smiled without taking his eyes off the surroundings.

  “Nothing important. You’ll find out.”

  Then he lowered his voice even more.

  “Besides, talking too much could be dangerous. That old man hasn’t stopped looking at us.”

  Wei did not reply, but his posture subtly grew firmer.

  When Elder Zhao noticed there were seven children instead of the expected five, the atmosphere tightened slightly, like a string pulled just a little 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 wave 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 in his chest. The old man lifted his gaze and their eyes met; no words were exchanged, but the plea and trust were evident. Jin sighed softly, crouched in front of the girl, and spoke in a calm voice.

  “Little lotus… Grandpa will be fine. And I’ll be with you, remember?”

  Carefully, he helped her loosen her grip and took her small trembling hand.

  “Come. 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 sideways and could not help thinking that, at times, Wei was truly unsettling; there were moments when he seemed more like a machine than a child. He said nothing.

  One by one, the children boarded the vessel. The noise of the village was left behind, replaced by a dense and expectant silence. The spiritual formation began to glow more intensely, and the air vibrated softly around the structure.

  From below, families looked up with moist eyes. From above, the children understood there was no turning back.