Mu Yuan's days became quiet and steady after he realized where he had been reborn.
Ancient Wood Village woke early. Before sunrise, smoke rose from chimneys, and villagers walked into herb fields with baskets and tools. Leaves were dried on bamboo racks. Roots were washed in cold well water. The air always smelled of earth and medicine.
Mu Yuan liked this life.
His grandmother Lin Yaozhi began teaching him to read when he was four and a half. The first books were simple herb guides—names of leaves, shapes of roots, ways to dry flowers without losing their strength. Mu Yuan listened carefully, asking small questions in his childish voice.
Their house had many books. Some were old family records written by ancestors. Others were gifts from Spirit Hall scholars who traded knowledge for rare herbs. Lin Yaozhi explained patiently which books were real medicine and which were only stories.
Mu Yuan loved them all.
Sometimes he saw strange drawings in those books—ancient spirit herbs that glowed, plants that lived for ten thousand years, trees said to connect heaven and earth. His grandmother smiled and called them legends, but Mu Yuan remembered every picture.
In the courtyard, his grandfather Mu Qingshan worked with villagers. Every winter, he prepared herbal baths for children who had not yet awakened their martial souls. Warm water mixed with crushed leaves and roots filled large wooden tubs.
"These baths strengthen the body," his grandfather explained. "Healthy bodies give better chances when martial souls awaken."
Mu Yuan watched quietly.
He knew this family was not ordinary.
One afternoon, Mu Yuan heard his parents speaking softly inside the house. He did not mean to listen, but their voices carried through the door.
"Father's injury still hurts in winter," Su Wanqing said gently.
Mu Qinglin sighed. "Mother's too. Clear Sky Sect and Blue Lightning Sect went too far back then."
Mu Yuan did not understand everything, but he remembered the names.
His grandparents had been strong once.
Now they lived quietly in the village.
Mu Yuan clenched his small hands.
He would grow strong enough to protect them one day.
Outside, he returned to the herb garden and lay beneath the old willow tree. Sunlight moved through the leaves. Wind carried the smell of mint and dried bark.
Mu Yuan felt calm there.
He liked listening to insects, watching clouds, and falling asleep among the plants. Sometimes his mother laughed and said he was more plant than child.
Maybe she was right.
Because every day, Mu Yuan felt his roots sinking deeper into this world.
And slowly, he was learning everything he could about it.