By the next dawn, Heavenly Peak didn't feel like the same forgotten ruin Haoran had inherited. The sunlight hit the broken tiles a little differently, and the air carried an almost quiet hum—one he couldn't quite place. It wasn't more qi. Not exactly. More like a presence lingering at the edge of hearing.
Ruolan noticed it too. She kept glancing toward the treeline as she trained, as if expecting someone to step out of it. Zhang Iron-Eater didn't notice anything unusual, but that wasn't surprising. He was too busy trying to balance on one leg while chewing a bent metal ring.
Haoran didn't comment, but the feeling stayed with him.
Something… or someone… was here.
Not approaching.
Not hiding.
Just watching.
The dragon cub felt it too. Every now and then it lifted its head from his lap and stared toward the rice terrace slope below the peak, squinting like it could sense something the humans couldn't.
Haoran finally asked the System, Is someone on the mountain?
The System hesitated—rare for it.
[Not an enemy.]
That answer didn't make him feel any better.
[And not someone you should worry about. Yet.]
"Yet?" Haoran whispered under his breath.
Zhang stopped stretching. "Master, did you say something?"
"No," Haoran replied a bit too quickly.
Ruolan paused her sword form. "Master, you're… distracted today."
"I'm fine," Haoran said, a touch too sharp.
Ruolan tilted her head slightly, unconvinced, but she didn't push.
The mountain breeze swept through the courtyard, brushing over the cracked stone. It carried a faint note he hadn't felt before—a quietness that didn't belong to decay, but to someone who moved lightly, deliberately. Like footsteps on fallen leaves that didn't dare make a sound.
He shook the feeling off.
Late that morning, they were interrupted by the old merchant with the donkey. He brought supplies and news—rumors about Heavenly Peak.
But while Haoran talked with him, he felt the same subtle awareness again. The same soft pressure, like someone's gaze brushing his back. When he turned his head, there was only empty space and sunlight.
Ruolan seemed to catch it too. Her eyes narrowed slightly at the forest's edge. Her stance adjusted by instinct, a quiet readiness settling over her shoulders.
The old man didn't notice a thing.
"Strange," Ruolan murmured afterward.
"What is?" Haoran asked.
"Nothing," she said, though she glanced along the ridge one more time.
The dragon cub pressed close to Haoran's boot, fur puffed as if it sensed something more clearly than anyone else.
But nothing moved.
No figure appeared.
No sound broke the mountain's stillness.
It was almost as if Heavenly Peak had gained a silent resident who chose not to reveal themselves yet.
Haoran dismissed it as paranoia… but only barely.
By evening, the feeling faded. Or perhaps it simply withdrew further, settling somewhere higher in the mountain where none of them were strong enough to sense clearly.
Still, Haoran felt it in his bones:
Heavenly Peak wasn't empty anymore.
And whoever shared the mountain with them…
Was waiting for the right moment to step forward.