Morning crept over Blackwood Forest slowly, like a hesitant hand peeling away the night. Pale gold light bled through the branches, illuminating the damp earth and the lingering mist. Birds began to stir, their calls thin and cold in the early hours.
Shen Qing lay awake in his bed.
He had slept, but lightly, waking again and again to the echo of that voice—calm, ancient, distant—reverberating in the hollow of his chest.
"If your heart still has a place in this world… then live."
Even now, the memory made his spine tingle. It had not felt like hearing, not really. More like the words were etched directly into the space where breath and thought met.
He turned his head and looked toward the door. His mother was cooking porridge, humming a tune she often used to calm herself. She thought he was asleep. She hadn't nagged him about the wound he no longer had. He was grateful; he wasn't ready to explain anything.
Not until he understood it himself.
He sat up slowly, pressing a palm to his chest.
The scars on his back felt faintly warm.
Like an ember buried beneath ash.
The Great One… He saved me.
But the question squeezed at his ribs: Why?
Shen Qing had grown up hearing elders say the gods had abandoned the world centuries ago. That rituals and offerings no longer brought rain or prosperity. That the heavens had gone silent.
So why would a god—real, ancient, powerful—save him? A simple hunter from a small village that didn't even believe anymore?
His breath thickened.
Because I begged? Because I prayed in desperation?
Or—
Because He chose me?
That thought settled heavily in his stomach.
Chosen. By a god.
He had to do something. Repay somehow.
But how did a mortal repay divine grace?
He clenched his fists beneath the blanket.
Whatever it took… he would find a way.
Even if the village mocked him.
Even if he had to carve an altar himself.
At the Shrine
Blackwood Forest greeted Li Wei with a different kind of silence.
A respectful silence.
Mist curled around the shrine stone like loyal servants. Light filtered through the canopy in gentle strands, brushing against the moss-covered steps. Li Wei sat before the shrine, one hand resting lightly on his knee, the other loosely at his side.
His face remained still, expression composed, eyes half-closed.
His divine core pulsed faintly—warm, steady—fueled by a single spark of faith that flickered like a candle against the vast emptiness within him.
A new system message floated into his awareness:
[Believer: Shen Qing — Daily Faith Received: 1][Stored Faith: 1][Next Conversion to Incense: 1st of the Month]
The faint wave of faith seeped into his core, subtle but real. He could feel the difference. He felt clearer, more grounded within the divine body he had awakened in.
But faith alone wasn't enough to sustain a god.
He needed incense.
Formal worship.
A shrine.
Offerings.
And Shen Qing… had nothing. No altar. No incense. No tradition. No permission to believe.
Li Wei opened his eyes. Sunlight caught the edges of his hair, outlining him in muted gold.
Mortals are fragile, he thought, and yet their hearts produce something so delicate… and so potent.
He remembered Shen Qing kneeling in that colorless void, forehead touching the cold surface, voice trembling with fear and devotion.
It had been sincere.
Pure.
And powerful enough to reach him.
"That sincerity alone…" Li Wei murmured softly to the empty shrine, "…may be worth nurturing."
But he could not simply appear again. Not yet. Too much presence would weaken the mystery. Mortals respected distance. They revered silence. A god too easily reached would be a god too easily doubted.
No, he would keep his distance.
But he would also watch.
And guide—quietly.
Without breaking the dignity a divine being should hold.
Shen Qing stepped out into the chilly morning air, greeted by the scent of damp wood and the faint smoke rising from chimneys. Villagers moved about their routines—mending nets, chopping wood, fetching water. Chickens scratched at dirt. Dogs barked lazily.
Everything looked the same.
Yet Shen Qing felt as though he walked through an entirely different world.
Every breath felt heavier, carrying a weight no one else could see.
He forced himself to walk normally—limp disguised, expression calm. His mother had insisted he rest, but he refused. He didn't know how to sit still anymore. His mind kept circling the same thoughts.
I must repay Him.
He found himself heading toward the back of the village where the forest line began. A small, quiet space where he often skinned game or carved tools.
Where no one would bother him.
He knelt on the dirt and took out a block of wood.
Not a tool this time.
A statue.
He closed his fingers around the carving knife and hesitated. His hands shook—not with fear, but with reverence.
He had seen only a glimpse of the deity's form—light, distance, flowing robes—but the feeling of divine presence still lingered in his chest. That was enough to guide his hands.
With slow, deliberate cuts, he began to shape the wood.
Shavings fell softly around him, catching the morning sun like curling flakes of gold.
Hours passed. He barely noticed.
When he finally leaned back, his breath fogging in the cold air, a rough figure sat in his palm—small, incomplete, imperfect, but unmistakably carrying the silhouette he had seen in that void.
He bowed over it instinctively.
"Great One… it is humble, but it is the best I can offer for now."
Warmth filled his chest again—light, faint, like a candle flame.
He didn't know that Li Wei felt it too.
Li Wei stood at the edge of the shrine clearing, arms folded behind his back. The faintest breath of wind tugged at his sleeves. His eyes were closed, but his senses stretched far beyond the forest around him.
He felt it.
The flicker of faith being shaped.
Not incense. Not formal worship.
But an act of devotion.
A human carving his figure into wood.
Shen Qing.
Li Wei inhaled quietly.
He could choose to intervene. He could descend into another dream. He could whisper guidance.
But—
No. Not yet.
Mortals needed time to grow their faith. A god who appeared at every moment risked becoming too familiar, too approachable, too… small.
Li Wei let silence stretch.
Let Shen Qing find his own path.
He would watch from afar.
Silent.
Patient.
Like a true ancient deity.
Shen Qing hid the small statue in a cloth pouch and slung it over his shoulder before heading back to the village walkway. But as he approached, he sensed tension hanging in the air like a storm cloud.
A group of villagers had gathered near the central well. Their voices were sharp, uneasy. The village head, an older man with a wooden cane, was speaking loudly.
"A cougar attacked the sheep pen last night," he said grimly. "Tracks are fresh. It might return."
People murmured nervously. The village livestock was few this year. One attack could starve several families.
"We need someone to check the forest perimeter," the headman continued. "Someone experienced."
Dozens of eyes swung toward Shen Qing the moment he stepped into view.
He tensed.
The headman frowned. "Shen Qing? What happened to your leg? You limped."
Shen Qing tried to smile naturally. "It's nothing. Just slipped on wet stones."
A few villagers snorted softly. Everyone knew his pride kept him from admitting weakness. The explanation passed easily.
"Then go," the headman said. "Only you can confirm the predator's trail."
Shen Qing opened his mouth to protest. His back still ached faintly, and he wanted nothing more than to finish his carving and find a secluded place to pray properly.
But he couldn't refuse.
Not after a god had spared his life.
Not when the village depended on him.
He bowed his head. "I'll go."
As he prepared his bow and quiver, he slipped a hand into his pouch, touching the small wooden statue.
A silent vow formed in his heart.
Great One… please watch over me again.
He did not dare voice it aloud.
But sincerity didn't need sound.
Back at the shrine, Li Wei felt the faint tug of faith as Shen Qing whispered his unspoken prayer.
For a moment, he considered ignoring it.
A god did not answer every request.
A god allowed mortals to struggle, to suffer, to grow.
But the image of the hunter kneeling in the void flickered in Li Wei's memory, along with the weight of that small block of carved wood.
He exhaled.
"Very well."
He raised his hand and flicked a strand of divine qi into the air. It traveled silently through the forest, invisible to mortal eyes, settling around Shen Qing like a thin veil of protection.
Not enough to change fate.
Just enough to tilt danger a step to the side.
Then Li Wei lowered his hand again, posture returning to stillness.
A god's aid should be subtle.
A miracle should never feel cheap.
Into the Forest Again
Shen Qing moved through the underbrush, senses sharpened. Tracks led deeper into the forest—cougar prints, yes, but oddly scattered. The predator was nervous, agitated, not acting like a normal animal.
He crouched, examining claw marks on a tree trunk.
"That creature from last night…" he muttered. "Could it be driving others out of their territory?"
He shivered.
He had survived once. He doubted he would be so lucky again.
Then he felt it.
A faint warmth on his skin.
Like the forest air itself had softened.
He froze.
His breath caught in his throat.
That warmth—gentle, light—felt exactly like the radiance from the void.
His fingers trembled.
"…Great One?"
He whispered it unconsciously.
No answer came.
But the warmth lingered.
A reassurance.
A silent, distant promise.
Shen Qing bowed his head on instinct.
His voice shook.
"Thank You."