Old Man Wang scraped a withered root with a blunt knife at his doorstep. His gaze darted toward the path disappearing into the familiar grey haze of the swamp.
"Seen Guo Zhang?" he rasped at Xi Ran, who was passing by with a half-empty basket.
Xi Ran shook his head. Guo Zhang, the local bully with an earthy skin tone (a trace of his "breathing technique"), often disappeared chasing swamp creatures far from the village.
"Saw him near the reeds this morning," Xi Ran replied curtly. "Chasing a Lepidodendron. He'll be back."
Old Man Wang grunted, but the worry in his eyes didn't fade. Guo Zhang, rough as he was, was still some protection for Misty Shoal against minor spirits.
Xi Ran moved toward his shack. The air, as always, was damp and heavy, smelling of rot and some sickly-sweet pollen mixed with the scent of slime. *Deception*, flashed through his mind, but he brushed it aside. What did it matter? He needed to brew a decoction for his father; his breathing was wheezing again.
Before he could step inside, he heard an unusual buzz of voices near the village spirit idol – a gnarled effigy covered in moss. Three strangers in faded grey robes. On their chests – an embroidered sharp leaf, resembling a falling blade. **The Falling Leaf Sect.**
One of them, an old man with piercing eyes – Elder Ji – was addressing the gathered teenagers. About "the Path," about "Strength," about opportunities for those who would leave this backwater. Xi Ran paused in the shadows, listening. Strength? Like Guo Zhang's? A dubious prospect.
Elder Ji's gaze locked onto Xi Ran like a vise. The old man stepped toward him. In his hand – a dry, strangely light leaf, almost translucent, of a yellow hue.
"Hold this," the old man tossed, thrusting the leaf into Xi Ran's palm.
Xi Ran almost dropped it. Cold! Piercing to the bone. And a feeling… of emptiness. But then – a faint *tremor* somewhere inside the leaf. And a vague sensation – as if something whispered: *Look. See*. He blinked. The leaf in his hand was once again just dry and dead.
"What did you feel?" asked Elder Ji, his gaze unwavering.
Xi Ran swallowed. "Cold. Empty. And… it trembled. As if alive for a second."
The corners of the old man's mouth twitched. "Your eyes work. Here, you'll wither. Like your parents. Want to know what this place *truly* hides? Come with us. To the Sect."
Xi Ran glanced at his shack. At the curtain behind which his father's wheezing could be heard. A chance. The only one. Sect or not, the old man's look was strange. *See*. That word lodged itself in his mind.
"Alright," he exhaled. "I'll go."
Elder Ji nodded. "Gather your things. We leave before dark. It's not safe here at night."
***
The Falling Leaf Sect appeared before Xi Ran as a cluster of dilapidated buildings nestled among hills. It smelled of old wood, dust, and… damp foliage. He was assigned to the novices' barracks – a cold room with plank beds.
Morning brought work. Xi Ran and a couple of other novices were given baskets and led to the **Whispering Willow Grove**. The trees grew densely here, their long branches hanging low, covered in ordinary green leaves, some already yellowing. The ground was carpeted with a layer of last year's and freshly fallen leaves.
"Collect 'Willow Tears'," the overseer, a sturdy man with an unkind gaze, said curtly. He jabbed a finger at the clear droplets of resin oozing from cracks in the willow bark. "Carefully. A drop into each vial. A full basket by noon."
Xi Ran set to work. The resin was sticky and smelled pungent. His hands quickly became slippery. Other novices bustled nearby. Farther off, under a large willow, sat two senior disciples in grey robes with two embroidered leaves on their chests. They were meditating.
As soon as they closed their eyes, the air around them *rippled*. A faint, yet noticeable stream of misty air flowed from the ground, from the trees, toward them. **Spiritual Qi?** Xi Ran thought, watching out of the corner of his eye. So this was strength. Clumsy, like Guo Zhang's, but… controlled.
He focused back on the resin. Squeezed a drop from a crack, caught it in a vial. *Sight*, suddenly echoed in his head, a remnant of that leaf. Xi Ran blinked. For a moment, it seemed like a *pure, emerald* light flashed within the clear resin. He shook his head – must have been the sun in his eyes. Or fatigue.
He placed the vial in the basket and reached for the next resinous bump. Work was work. He needed to meet the quota. And figure out how to get something useful here for his father. As for the trembling leaf and the emerald flashes… best keep quiet. It sounded strange.
***
The days flowed monotonously: collecting "Willow Tears," then – "lesson." Senior Disciple Lin Feng, tall and perpetually displeased, put them into the **"Stance of the Sleeping Heron"**.
"Feet wider! Knees bent! Back straight!" Lin Feng commanded, slapping the laggards' legs with a thin cane. "Feel the earth! Breathe deeper! Concentrate!"
Xi Ran stood, feeling his muscles go numb. He felt the earth under his feet just fine – hard and bumpy. He breathed. Concentrated… on his fatigue. He felt no strength. He glanced sideways at Lin Feng. The senior disciple stood in the same pose, but the air around him seemed slightly denser, more fluid. *A vortex of Qi*. So it worked. He, Xi Ran, must just have a weak "spiritual root." Or none at all.
In the evening, back in the barracks, novices groaned, rubbing their stiff legs. Xi Ran sat on the hard plank bed, examining the skin on his palms, cracked from the resin. *Spiritual Root Perception*, he thought. That's what he lacked. Lin Feng had it. Those meditating disciples had it. He… just had eyes that saw strange flashes in the resin. And trembling in leaves. Utterly useless.
He closed his eyes, trying to recall that emerald light, glimpsed in the swamp lily and the "Willow Tears." Bright. Pure. Nothing like the misty Qi of the sect disciples. *Maybe that's the sign?* flashed through his mind. But he dismissed the thought. Nonsense. Here, everyone talked about Qi, concentration, stances. No one mentioned emerald flashes.
He needed to endure. Collect the resin. Hold the stance. Wait. Wait for a chance to show something normal. Or at least gather enough "Tears" to barter with the overseer for healing herbs for his father. The rest could wait.
He lay on his back, staring at the barrack ceiling. Tomorrow, back to the Grove. Back to the resin. Back to Lin Feng and his cane. And once again, he'd find himself unconsciously searching the clear droplets for that elusive, useless emerald glimmer.