The road out of Clear Creek Village was narrow and uneven, a scar of packed earth worn smooth by generations of ox carts and bare feet.
Chu Feng walked it alone.
A rough cloth bundle was slung over his shoulder. The morning mist still clung to the fields on either side, turning the world into a soft, gray wash of color.
He had been walking for more than an hour when the memory finally caught up to him.
It wasn't the fight.
The fight came back only in jagged fragments—Sun Hao's shout, the rush of displaced air, the strange, frictionless sensation of not falling—but those memories slid away easily. They were loud, messy things. Easy to dismiss.
What lingered was the silence afterward.
He remembered standing in the road, dust suspended in the golden afternoon light, the villagers whispering behind him. Sun Hao had been dragged away, shouting curses that lost their strength with every step. Elder Qiao had looked shaken, more tired than angry, muttering the same phrase over and over: "Enough. That's enough."
Chu Feng had thought that was the end of it.
Then the stranger had spoken.
"I saw your fight yesterday."
The voice hadn't come from the crowd. It hadn't been loud, either. But it had cut cleanly through the murmurs, sharp and distinct.
Chu Feng remembered turning.
A man stood at the edge of the road, dressed in robes so simple they seemed to repel attention. His hands were folded behind his back.
No pressure.
No intimidation.
Just presence.
"I didn't fight very well," Chu Feng had said immediately, the defensive reflex kicking in before he could stop it. "He slipped. I was lucky."
The man hadn't corrected him. He hadn't smiled.
"I wasn't watching the outcome," the stranger had replied, his voice dry as old parchment. "I was watching how you stood."
That sentence had stayed with him.
Even now, walking the road with nothing but the rhythmic crunch of his own footsteps, Chu Feng felt the weight of those words settle in his chest. Heavy. Unexplained.
The road bent gently to the east. As he followed it, his thoughts drifted, as they often did, to his name.
Chu Feng.
He had never questioned it when he was younger. Names were given. That was that. But as he grew older, he noticed the gaps.
There were no stories attached to his name.
No proud ancestor mentioned in passing.
No tragic parents who died in a bandit raid.
No drunk uncle who talked too much at festivals.
Just a single line on a registry board in the village square:
Chu Feng — Distant Branch.
That was it.
The Chu Family was known for such things. Paper. Stamps. Seals. They handled registrations, marriages, land records. They were never the strongest family in any region, but they were always present.
If someone appeared without a past, the Chu Family could provide one.
Not a convincing one.
Just enough to pass inspection.
Chu Feng remembered asking Elder Qiao once, when he was still small.
"Why don't I have parents listed?"
The old man had paused for a long time, looking at the boy with a complicated expression.
"Because some people survive better without a story," he'd said at last.
Chu Feng hadn't understood then.
He wasn't sure he understood now—but walking away from the village, with the memory of that stranger's gaze still fresh, the answer felt uncomfortably close.
The stranger hadn't stayed long.
After speaking, he had taken a small wooden token from his sleeve and placed it on a rotting fence post nearby. He hadn't pressed it into Chu Feng's hand. He hadn't insisted.
"Whether you come or not is your choice," he had said.
That was all.
No explanation of where.
No promise of glory.
No warning of danger.
Then he had turned and walked away, vanishing into the crowd as if he were made of smoke.
The token had been light. Unremarkable. No obvious Qi fluctuation. Just a mark burned into the wood—simple, flowing lines that suggested water and clouds.
Chu Feng had picked it up only after everyone else had gone.
He still had it now, wrapped carefully in cloth inside his pocket.
A breeze moved through the fields, bending the young shoots of wheat in a wave of green. Chu Feng adjusted the bundle on his shoulder and kept walking.
He didn't feel chosen.
He didn't feel special.
What he felt was unease.
For three years, he had been invisible. Weak, leaking, safely beneath notice. Yesterday, for a handful of breaths, something about him had been seen.
Not by the villagers.
Not by Sun Hao.
By someone who knew what to look for.
Chu Feng exhaled slowly, watching his breath mist in the cool air.
"Maybe," he muttered to himself, "this is just another coincidence."
He had told himself that before. It had worked, more or less.
The road stretched on ahead, disappearing into the low hills beyond the fields. The silhouette of the mountains loomed large and indifferent. Chu Feng did not know what waited at the end of the path. He only knew that turning back felt wrong.
So he kept walking.
Behind him, Clear Creek Village grew smaller, a cluster of brown roofs and cooking smoke, until it vanished entirely around a bend in the road.
For the first time, Chu Feng did not look back.