The ruins grew denser as Li Chen and the others moved deeper into the Realm of Hidden Origins. Cracked pillars leaned at precarious angles, their surfaces carved with sigils so worn they were almost indistinguishable from natural stone. The mist thickened, carrying with it the faint metallic scent of old blood and ancient qi.
Li Chen walked at the rear.
Not because he was slow—but because rear positions survived the longest.
Ahead of him, Zhao Feng strode with impatient confidence, fiery qi faintly licking the edges of his sleeves. Han Yu moved more carefully, steps measured, spiritual sense constantly brushing the surroundings like a net cast into dark waters. The remaining two sword sect disciples flanked them, quiet and alert, their hands never straying far from their hilts.
They had not spoken much since forming their temporary alliance.
Words were unnecessary here.
Suddenly, Han Yu raised a hand.
"Stop."
Everyone froze.
Li Chen halted instantly, his foot suspended mid-step before settling back down without a sound. He narrowed his senses, feeling it a moment later—an irregular pulse beneath the stone floor ahead. Not aggressive. Not hostile.
Resonance, Li Chen realized. Something is responding to us.
Zhao Feng frowned. "Treasure?"
"Likely," Han Yu replied. "But not unguarded."
They exchanged glances, tension tightening the group.
Treasure in a secret realm was never free.
Han Yu knelt, pressing two fingers to the ground. A wave of water-aspected qi flowed outward, sinking into the stone. The pulse intensified, responding like a heartbeat.
"There's a chamber beneath us," Han Yu said quietly. "Old. The formation is damaged—but still active."
Zhao Feng cracked his knuckles. "Then let's break it open."
Li Chen spoke before he could act.
"Breaking damaged formations is how people disappear," he said calmly.
All eyes turned to him.
Zhao Feng scoffed. "And you're the expert?"
Li Chen lowered his gaze slightly, maintaining his unassuming posture. "No. I just prefer not to die."
Han Yu studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. "He's right. We disarm it."
They worked together.
The sword sect disciples stabilized the surrounding area, embedding their swords into specific nodes to anchor the formation. Han Yu adjusted the flow of qi, soothing the erratic pulses. Zhao Feng suppressed the violent fluctuations with controlled bursts of fire-aspected energy—reluctantly precise for someone so hot-blooded.
Li Chen contributed quietly.
He did not take control.
He did not stand out.
Instead, he pointed out flaws—small misalignments, weakened joints, hidden backlash routes. Each suggestion was subtle, phrased as uncertainty rather than authority.
"Maybe… if we adjust this rune slightly?"
"Could that crack be a release channel?"
Each time, he was right.
Minutes stretched into nearly an hour before the stone floor finally parted, revealing a narrow stairwell descending into darkness.
The air below was ancient.
They descended cautiously.
At the bottom lay a circular chamber, its walls lined with broken shelves and shattered jade containers. At its center rested a stone pedestal, intact despite the ruin around it.
Upon it sat three objects.
A jade bottle, faintly glowing.
A bronze medallion, etched with unreadable characters.
And a tattered manual, its pages preserved by lingering spiritual energy.
Zhao Feng's eyes lit up. "Jackpot."
"Careful," Han Yu warned.
Li Chen said nothing—but his gaze fixed on the manual.
Old… very old, he thought. But incomplete.
Han Yu approached the pedestal slowly, scanning for traps. When none triggered, he exhaled.
"Let's divide fairly," he said. "We all contributed."
The sword sect disciples nodded.
Zhao Feng grinned. "I'll take the bottle."
Han Yu frowned. "You don't even know what—"
Zhao Feng uncorked it slightly.
A surge of pure, blazing qi spilled into the air, sharp and potent.
"A Fire-Origin Spirit Elixir," Han Yu said, surprised. "High-grade."
Zhao Feng laughed triumphantly. "Perfect."
Han Yu took the bronze medallion next, examining it carefully. "This… seems tied to water-aspected cultivation. Possibly a key or inheritance token."
Then all eyes turned to the manual.
Li Chen hesitated.
"I don't need it," he said quietly.
The others stared.
"You're joking," Zhao Feng said.
Li Chen shook his head. "I wouldn't survive cultivating unknown techniques in this realm. It's better if someone else takes it."
Han Yu studied him carefully—really looked at him for the first time.
"You're strange," Han Yu said slowly. "But… honest."
He handed the manual to one of the sword sect disciples, who accepted it solemnly.
No one objected.
That, more than anything, surprised Li Chen.
As they left the chamber, something subtle shifted.
The tension between them eased—not completely, but enough.
Shared danger.
Shared gains.
Bonds formed fastest under those conditions.
Later, as they made camp within a ring of broken pillars, Zhao Feng tossed Li Chen a small object.
Li Chen caught it reflexively.
A low-grade defensive talisman.
"I had extras," Zhao Feng said gruffly, not meeting his eyes. "And you're… not useless."
Li Chen blinked.
"…Thank you."
Han Yu watched the exchange with a faint smile.
That night, as the realm's strange sky dimmed and unfamiliar stars appeared overhead, Li Chen sat slightly apart from the group, maintaining watch.
For the first time since entering the secret realm, he felt something unfamiliar.
Not safety.
But companionship.
He did not trust them.
He would never rely on them completely.
But for now—
They walked the same path.
And in a realm that devoured the solitary and the reckless alike, that fragile bond might be the difference between surviving two long months…
Or becoming another silent lesson etched into the land.