The journey to Shifeng Village took Xuhen just a couple of minutes. The new body he had inherited was surprisingly fit—wiry and tough from years of physical labor. The old Xuhen might not have known martial arts, but his life on the village outskirts had kept his body in solid shape.
He carried a clay pot in one hand, the same one the old Xuhen used to fetch water, and walked down the muddy trail. The morning sun had risen high enough to warm the earth, casting long shadows beneath the tall grasses lining the road. His boots squelched with every step, the muddy path soft from recent rains. Insects buzzed lazily in the thick air, and somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed. Yet even this mundane journey filled him with quiet awe.
Shifeng Village rose before him like something pulled straight from a historical drama. Dozens of squat mud-brick homes dotted the landscape, their thatched roofs sloping gently. Wooden carts rattled along the main road, pulled by lean oxen. The villagers bustled about in simple coarse tunics, many with sleeves rolled up as they labored. Most wore straw or bamboo hats to guard against the sun. The air smelled faintly of smoke, livestock, and wet earth.
Compared to the world Xuhen had come from—one of sterile concrete, digital screens, and ceaseless noise—this was... real. Raw. The people here were lean, their skin weathered and darkened by the sun, hands calloused from years of toil. Their coarse clothes hung loose, patched up in places. Teeth were yellowed or decayed, and faces bore the unmistakable marks of hard living.
As he neared the entrance, a voice called out.
"Oi, Xuhen! Thought you vanished into the woods or somethin'."
Xuhen turned to see a tall man leaning against a crude wooden spear. He wore a patched-up leather vest and a bored expression. His skin was tanned almost to the color of bark, and his uneven grin showed a few missing teeth.
"Hey, Lin Bao," Xuhen replied with a faint nod, keeping his tone calm. The name had surfaced from memory just in time. "Just needed some air."
"Heh. Thought maybe you'd run off to join one of them big sects in the mountains," Lin Bao joked, giving him a once-over. "You don't look too different, though you're awful quiet today."
Xuhen offered a small shrug. "Didn't sleep well." The previous Xuhen had been aspiring to join a Martial Art Sect but never had the chance since those sects never came to recruit in these small villages. So, his aspiration had remained just that.
Lin Bao's comment was a jab. But Xuhen didn't mind since it wasn't technically aimed at him.
"Hmph. Guess that's fair. Go on in.."
Xuhen stepped past the guard, entering the heart of the village. The main road was no more than packed dirt with deep grooves carved by wheels and footsteps. He passed homes with open windows, old women shelling beans on wooden stools, and barefoot children chasing one another through puddles. The clamor of village life buzzed around him, a rhythm both alien and oddly comforting.
Soon, he arrived at a familiar spot—the herb shop. A narrow wooden sign hung overhead, swaying slightly in the breeze. Inside, the shop was cramped but neat, the air thick with the scent of dried leaves and roots. Wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with bundles of herbs tied in twine. Large clay jars sat along the floor, labeled in smudged ink. Dust hung lazily in the warm light spilling in through the small windows.
Behind the counter stood a short, wiry man with a long beard and sharp eyes. "Well, if it ain't Xuhen," the man said, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't expect you back so soon."
"Morning, Uncle Wen," Xuhen replied, summoning the name from the fragments in his head. "Just... looking around today."
Wen grunted, leaning on the counter. "Looking, eh? You're not usually the buying type. Got a new recipe or somethin'?"
Xuhen smiled faintly. "Something like that."
Wen didn't press. He returned to sorting through a tray of dried stems, letting Xuhen browse. Xuhen took his time, walking past the shelves slowly. He examined each herb, waiting.
"System," he whispered in his mind. "Let me know when I find something."
That was the response he received again and again. His hands brushed over dried ginseng, curled mushroom stems, stalks of goldengrass—but nothing. Minutes passed. Wen occasionally glanced at him, brow furrowing. The old Xuhen had never been this curious, or thorough.
Still, Xuhen continued, unaware of the suspicion building in the shopkeeper's mind.
Then, in the far corner of the shop, half-buried beneath an old cloth, he spotted a small wooden box. It looked forgotten, maybe even discarded. He crouched and opened it carefully.
A faint shimmer passed through his vision.
A translucent prompt floated in front of his eyes, glowing faintly in midair:
Xuhen's breath caught.
He had found it.
End of Chapter.