Ling Chen tried to sleep that night.
He failed.
The hut was silent except for Old Yu's steady breathing from the next room, yet Ling Chen could not find rest. Every time he closed his eyes, sensations pulled at his mind.
At first he thought he was imagining things.
Then he realized he wasn't.
He reached out and touched the wooden wall beside his bed.
Immediately, exhaustion flooded him.
His shoulders sagged as if he had carried heavy buckets for hours under the sun. His arms ached. His back felt sore.
He jerked his hand away.
The feeling vanished.
Ling Chen stared at his palm.
"That wasn't mine…"
He stood and stepped outside.
The night air was cold and clear. Stars covered the sky in countless points of light. Normally he liked the quiet of the burial hill — it comforted him.
Tonight it overwhelmed him.
He walked toward the well and touched the rope.
Instantly—
Panic.
A child's terror.
Cold water.
Falling.
He gasped and stumbled backward, heart racing.
He had not lived that moment.
Yet he remembered it as if he had.
Ren Tianhe was already awake, seated on a flat stone near the graves, drinking from his gourd.
"I was wondering when it would begin," the old man said.
Ling Chen hurried toward him.
"Master Ren… I feel things that aren't mine."
Ren Tianhe nodded calmly.
"You are sensing imprints."
"Imprints?"
"The world remembers," Ren Tianhe said. "Every action leaves a mark. Most people never notice. Cultivators sense energy. But you…"
He looked directly at Ling Chen.
"You sense meaning."
Ling Chen didn't understand.
Ren Tianhe picked up a fallen leaf and handed it to him.
"Hold it."
Ling Chen hesitated, then obeyed.
The moment his fingers touched the leaf—
Warmth spread into his chest.
Sunlight.
Spring breeze.
Rainfall.
Time passing.
Not memories of a person.
Memories of existence itself.
He dropped it, breathing unevenly.
"That… wasn't human."
Ren Tianhe smiled slightly.
"No. It was life."
Ling Chen stared at his hands.
"Why me?"
For the first time, Ren Tianhe's expression was serious.
"Because," he said quietly, "the Heavenly Dao does not recognize you as something separate from the world."
Ling Chen swallowed.
"…Is that bad?"
Ren Tianhe looked toward the nameless tomb at the hill's peak.
"…I do not yet know," he answered honestly.
But inside, the wandering cultivator felt unease growing.
Because Ling Chen was not merely learning cultivation.
The world itself was beginning to respond to him.