That night, Arin sat by a small fire outside the village, the journal open in his lap. Naya had offered him a place to stay—a modest hut with a thatched roof, its walls etched with faded lotus carvings. The village was quiet, save for the occasional cry of a night bird and the murmur of qi in the air. He'd spent the evening speaking with the villagers, their stories painting a picture of a valley once brimming with life. They spoke of fields that glowed with qi, of crops that healed wounds and strengthened the body, of a time before the sects turned the land into a battlefield. Kael, an elder with gnarled hands and a voice like gravel, had shared tales of Soma Lotuses—flowers that could mend broken bones—and Vajra Roots that fortified the body against qi attacks. But those days were long gone, replaced by hunger and fear. The Iron Fang Sect had claimed the valley as their territory, demanding tribute and punishing defiance with fire and steel.
Arin turned the journal's pages, his eyes lingering on Naya's mother's words. The prophecy of the Jade Farmer was vague but stirring—a figure who would restore the land and bring peace to the sects. He wasn't sure he believed in prophecies, but the land's pulse beneath his hands had been real. He thought of the rice stalk, of the girl's smile, of the way the soil had responded to his qi. It was different here, this energy called qi, but it felt like an extension of the earth's heartbeat—a force he could nurture, just as he'd nurtured crops on Earth. The journal also contained sketches of plants he didn't recognize, their names written in a flowing script: Amrita Grain, Lotus of the Dawn, Whispering Vines. Each entry was accompanied by notes on their qi properties—some healed, others protected, a few even enhanced cultivation. Arin's mind buzzed with possibilities. Could he grow these? Could he bring them back?
Naya emerged from the hut, carrying a clay cup of steaming tea. She sat beside him, her presence a quiet comfort. "You're thinking too hard," she said, her tone teasing but gentle. "The land speaks to you. Listen to it." Arin took the cup, its warmth grounding him. The tea smelled of lotus and something sharp, like ginger but softer. "I don't understand this world," he admitted, his voice low. "Qi, sects, prophecies—it's all new. But the land… I understand that." Naya smiled, her eyes reflecting the firelight. "That's enough for now. My mother always said the land chooses its guardians. I think it chose you."
She paused, her gaze distant. "My mother… she died when I was young, during a raid by the Iron Fang. She was trying to protect the fields, to save what little we had left. She always believed the valley could be restored. That's why she wrote that journal—for the one who would come after her." Arin looked at Naya, seeing the weight of her words in the set of her shoulders, the flicker of grief in her eyes. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'll do what I can." Naya nodded, her smile returning, though it was tinged with sadness. "I know you will."
Their conversation was cut short by a rustling in the fields. Shadows crept through the darkness, their blades glinting under the moon. Arin's heart raced as he stood, Naya at his side, her expression grim. "They're back," she whispered, clutching a staff that pulsed with qi, its wood carved with lotus runes. The Iron Fang warriors moved silently, their intent clear: a raid to punish Arin's defiance. There were five of them, their faces obscured by masks shaped like snarling fangs, their movements swift and coordinated. Arin had no weapon, no training, but he felt the land's pulse beneath his feet, stronger now, as if it sensed the threat.
He knelt, pressing his hands into the soil, murmuring the mantra again. Golden qi flowed from him, weaving into the earth like threads of light. Vines erupted from the ground, thick and thornless, their stems glowing with a soft golden hue. They wrapped around the warriors' legs—not to harm, but to hold—their movements gentle but unyielding. The warriors cursed, slashing at the plants with their swords, but the vines regrew, their qi stronger than steel. One warrior lunged at Arin, his blade aimed for his chest, but a vine shot up, coiling around his arm and pulling him back. The others struggled, their movements growing frantic as the vines tightened their grip.
"Leave," Arin said, his voice quiet but resolute, rising to his feet. The elder, caught in the vines' grasp, glared, his sword useless against the living barrier. His mask had fallen, revealing a scarred face, his eyes burning with rage. The vines tightened, forcing his men back, their blades dropping to the ground as they stumbled. With a final snarl, the elder barked an order, and they retreated into the night, their footsteps fading into the darkness. Arin exhaled, his hands trembling as he brushed dirt from his palms. The vines receded, sinking back into the earth, leaving the field untouched but alive with qi.
Naya lowered her staff, her breath coming in short gasps. "You didn't fight," she said, a note of wonder in her voice. "You defended." Arin nodded, his gaze fixed on the field. "Fighting breaks the land. I want to heal it." She looked at him, her expression softening. "You're different, Arin Jinhwan. This valley hasn't seen someone like you in a long time." There was a warmth in her eyes, a flicker of something that made Arin's heart stir, though he pushed the feeling aside. There was work to be done.