A Quiet Home, and the Weight of What Was Hidden**
Lu Chenyan grew up like any other child in the mountain village.
That, too, was deliberate.
From the day he could walk, he followed Lu Tianheng into the forest, learning how to gather herbs, how to recognize medicinal plants, how to move without startling wild beasts. Shen Yueyao taught him to read, to write, and to sit in silence for long periods of time without restlessness.
He was… calm.
Too calm for a child.
At the age of three, he could sit for hours watching clouds drift across the sky. At five, he could recite entire texts after hearing them once. At seven, he began asking questions that had no place in a mortal village.
"Mother," he asked one evening, watching Shen Yueyao grind herbs by lamplight, "why do people leave?"
Shen Yueyao paused, her fingers tightening slightly around the pestle.
"Leave where?"
"Home," Lu Chenyan said. "Why do people go far away, even when it's dangerous?"
Shen Yueyao looked at him for a long moment before answering.
"Because the world is bigger than where they were born," she said gently. "And some people… are meant to walk farther than others."
Lu Chenyan nodded, accepting the answer without further question.
Lu Tianheng watched this exchange from the doorway, his expression unreadable.
He had tested his son more than once.
No matter how he probed, no matter how carefully he observed, Lu Chenyan's bloodline appeared completely ordinary. His cultivation aptitude was average at best. Even his spiritual roots—when examined through mundane methods—were unremarkable.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
Only Lu Tianheng and Shen Yueyao knew the truth.
They never spoke of it aloud.
As years passed, rumors of cultivators passing through nearby regions occasionally reached the village. Tales of sects, immortal academies, and powerful figures who could shatter mountains with a gesture filtered in through traveling merchants.
Lu Chenyan listened.
And remembered.
One night, when Lu Chenyan was eight, Shen Yueyao fell ill.
It was not severe—at least, not on the surface. But Lu Tianheng knew better. He sat beside her bed in silence long after Lu Chenyan had fallen asleep.
"The seal is stable," Shen Yueyao whispered. "But time is moving."
Lu Tianheng's jaw tightened. "We still have years."
"Years are nothing," she replied softly. "Not when the world begins to notice absences."
Lu Tianheng said nothing.
Outside, Lu Chenyan lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
He did not know why, but his chest felt tight.
As if something important was being left unsaid.
The next morning, Shen Yueyao seemed perfectly fine. She smiled, cooked breakfast, and reminded Lu Chenyan to practice his breathing exercises.
Life continued.
Yet unseen currents were beginning to shift.
Far away—far beyond the mountains, far beyond this world—something ancient stirred.
Not because it sensed Lu Chenyan.
But because it sensed a void where something should have been.
And voids, in the vast cosmos, were dangerous things.
That night, as Lu Chenyan slept, the seal within his consciousness pulsed faintly.
For the first time since his birth—
It responded.
Not to danger.
But to attention.
Somewhere beyond the heavens, something had begun to look.
And though it could not find him…
It had not stopped searching.