As Kai entered Haebaek, the quiet hum of village life was replaced by the cheerful cries of children. A little girl, her face smudged with dirt from playing, spotted him first.

  “Look! It’s Uncle Kai!” she squealed, her voice carrying through the village.

  Within moments, a crowd of small children in simple, patched clothing swarmed around him, their faces lit with excitement. They tugged at his sleeves and jostled to get his attention.

  “Uncle Kai! Uncle Kai! Teach me how to be a cultivator!” a boy shouted, his round face flushed with enthusiasm.

  Kai chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Maybe another time,” he said gently.

  “You said that last time!” the boy protested, his lower lip jutting out in a pout.

  “Did I? Hm, it must have slipped my mind,” Kai replied with a teasing smile, feigning ignorance.

  In truth, Kai had no intention of teaching them how to cultivate. He had no desire to encourage them toward a path he viewed as hollow and isolating. To him, the life of a cultivator was a gilded cage, not the noble destiny the villagers imagined. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter their dreams. They wouldn’t understand his perspective, and he feared they might even resent him for voicing it.

  Besides, teaching them would be impossible. Cultivation wasn’t something anyone could simply learn; it required innate talent, the ability to gather qi. And given the proximity of Haebaek to the sect, recruiters had likely already passed through this village years ago. If the children remained here, it meant they hadn’t been chosen—a truth Kai had no heart to tell them.

  “Stop bothering Uncle Kai!” a clear, authoritative voice called out over the commotion.

  The children turned as a preteen girl stepped forward, her arms crossed and her expression stern. Ming Shui, the eldest of the group, acted as a kind of elder sister to the village’s younger children. She wore a simple yellow peasant dress that draped to her knees, her demeanor more mature than her years.

  “He’s not here to entertain you all,” Ming scolded. “He’s here for something serious.”

  Kai gave her an appreciative nod. “Your big sister Ming is right,” he said to the group with a faint smile. “I’ve got something very important to take care of.”

  Turning to Ming, his expression grew more serious. “How’s your father?”

  “Still injured,” Ming replied, her voice tinged with worry.

  Kai nodded again, his face softening. “Alright. Take me to him.”

  Ming gave a small, resolute nod and gestured for Kai to follow her. The children parted, their excitement replaced by quiet curiosity as they watched him go. As Kai walked behind Ming toward her family’s home, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders.

  The villagers looked up to him, not as a sect member, but as someone who cared enough to come back for them time and time again. It was a role he hadn’t chosen, but one he embraced with quiet pride.

  Ming guided Kai to her small home, entering inside he looked around and saw that the space was somehow even more spartan than the shack he called home with only a table and two chairs and a single bed that the whole family shared.

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  On the bed lay Ming’s father, Yan, his body battered and broken. Bandages were tightly wrapped around his head, left arm, and leg, each one stained faintly with blood that hadn’t yet dried. His face was drawn and pale, etched with the visible pain of his injuries, and his breaths came in shallow, uneven rhythms. The sight was heart-wrenching, a reminder of how vulnerable the villagers were to the harshness of their world.

  Beside him, one of the local women—a kind, elderly figure—sat attentively. She worked with care and composure, gently changing Yan’s bedding and applying a cold, damp towel to his fevered forehead. Her movements spoke of practiced experience, and though her face was calm, there was a quiet urgency in her actions.

  Kai’s gaze softened as he observed her. He recalled that Ming’s mother had passed away some years ago, leaving Ming and her father to fend for themselves. It seemed this women had stepped in to fill the void, offering their support in the ways she could.

  The old woman glanced up as she sensed Kai’s presence. “Kai,” she greeted, her voice warm but weary. “It’s good you’re here. Yan’s condition hasn’t improved. We’re doing what we can, but he’s still burning up, and we fear the fever might take him.”

  Ming, standing by the doorway, clenched her small hands into fists. Her lips trembled, but her expression was stoic. “Please, Uncle Kai,” she pleaded softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Help him.”

  Kai nodded solemnly, stepping closer to the bedside.

  Kai turned to the woman tending to Yan and asked gently, “Have you been looking after him since yesterday?”

  She shook her head, her lined face softening with a weary but warm smile. “No. Everyone in the village has been taking turns. We’ve all pitched in to care for Ming and Yan until you came back.”

  A quiet admiration stirred within Kai as he absorbed her words. The community here is good, he thought.

  Though they shared no blood ties, the villagers treated each other as family, stepping up to help in times of need without hesitation or expectation of reward. They were bound not by obligation but by genuine care and a sense of responsibility for one another’s well-being.

  Kai’s gaze swept the humble home, and he felt a pang of longing. If only the sect could be like this. Rarely, if ever, did people in the sect help others without calculating what they stood to gain. The contrast between the sect’s cold opportunism and the warm camaraderie of Haebaek’s villagers was stark.

  This realization deepened his belief that mortals had a richness of spirit that cultivators lacked. While cultivators chased immortality and power, mortals lived with compassion, connection, and love—the things that truly made life meaningful. Kai felt a bittersweet ache in his chest, wishing that the sect, and perhaps even his own life, could have been different.

  He turned back to the woman, his voice soft but firm. “Thank you. All of you. I’ll take care of him now.”

  The woman nodded, stepping aside as Kai knelt by Yan’s bedside. Determination flickered in his eyes. He couldn’t change the sect, but here, in this small village, he could make a difference. And for now, that was enough.

  ai’s gaze traveled over Yan’s battered and bruised body, a grim expression settling on his face. The sight was ghastly—Yan’s injuries were severe, and the bandages wrapped around his head, arm, and leg were already stained red from seeping blood. Each shallow breath the man took seemed to bring him fresh waves of agony.

  Yan groaned faintly, the sound raw and broken. He appeared too weak to form coherent words, his lips trembling as though he wanted to speak. Despite his obvious suffering, Yan’s half-lidded eyes flickered toward Kai. In that brief connection, there was a silent recognition of Kai’s presence.

  Kai clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the swirl of emotions rising within him. This wasn’t the worst thing he’d witnessed in his eighty years of servitude to the sect, but it still tugged at something deep in him. It wasn’t just Yan’s physical state that gnawed at him; it was the injustice of it all. A man like Yan, a kind-hearted mortal who worked hard and harmed no one, shouldn’t have to endure this.

  After a moment of silent contemplation, Kai reached into his pocket and retrieved the vial of medicine he had obtained earlier. He held it in his hand, staring at the green liquid inside for a heartbeat longer than necessary. It’s not ideal, he thought, recalling his original intent to procure a different remedy. But it’ll have to do.