Seasons came and went, flowing quietly like a river that never stops. Two years had passed in this small, remote village where she slowly grew—both in body and understanding—though the pain inside him never fully faded.
She could now walk on her own, wobbling at first, but gaining balance with each step. Speaking was still limited; she could manage simple phrases here and there, enough to express needs or curiosity. Yet the sharp, burning pain remained whenever he moved too much, like a silent warning buried deep inside.
The pain was unlike any sickness he had known before. The village doctors and herbalists—mortals like everyone else—did their best with herbs and traditional medicine, but none could explain why she was like this. From their perspective, she was just a sick child with an unknown illness that refused to heal.
Su Yi, the hunter who had found her, tried many treatments. He gave her all sorts of mortal medicines, simple herbs and tonics. But nothing worked. It was clear to Ren that his pain wasn't something fleshly, but he didn't know why.
He was left with questions and doubts.
During these quiet years, something else had changed too. Su Yi did what he could, even marrying a calm, dutiful woman named Chen Yu, so someone could care for Ren while he hunted. Chen Yu's gentle care was needed to help look after her since Su Yi's life was busy with hunting and survival. Chen Yu's patience and kindness filled some of the emptiness around Ren, though he still kept his distance. He wasn't sure what to make of either of them yet. He was grateful, yes, but trust was a different matter.
In the village, word of cultivators floated in conversations like a soft wind. These cultivators—people who had powers far beyond ordinary mortals—were something both feared and revered. The villagers didn't understand much about them, but the idea of beings who could break the limits of the human body sparked awe, admiration and longing.
Ren listened carefully to these stories, trying to put them into his own terms.
He saw sects as companies or corporations—groups organized like businesses, each with their own goals and reputations. Righteous sects claimed to protect the innocent and uphold justice. Evil sects chased power through darker means, bringing chaos and slaughtering. Neutral sects stayed in the middle, like referees in a constant battle for control.
But how could any mortal truly know the truth behind all this?
Ren found the tales doubtful at best.
If cultivators were so powerful and mysterious, how could villagers and mortal doctors know so much about their inner workings? The information felt simplified, like rumors designed to keep fear alive or to teach children lessons. He was wary of accepting such stories without proof.
He wasn't convinced about the righteousness or evil of any sect either. From his corporate days, he knew groups often wore different masks depending on what suited them. Power was power, and motives were rarely simple.
His memories of his parents were fragmented but vivid enough to raise more questions.
They hadn't been ordinary people. The night they left him in the cave, the weight of regret hung heavily over them. Their clothing, their movements—they seemed like cultivators, or at least people who knew the world beyond this village.
If that was true, then maybe he wasn't just a weak mortal either.
Maybe there was something inside him waiting to awaken.
But no one had told him how, or why.
The villagers could only speculate about cultivation. Ren, however, had come to a simple conclusion—if anyone could become a cultivator, then there wouldn't be so many mortals still plowing fields and chopping wood.
He felt like an outsider looking in, grasping at shadows.
As she grew, her body changed in subtle but undeniable ways. She remained a sickly child—pale, thin, and cold to the touch. Her white-grey eyes, dull yet strangely luminous, seemed too knowing for her age. Her cheeks held no flush. She coughed often and tired quickly. And yet—even in this fragile, faltering body—there was an unnatural beauty to her. But he knew that beauty alone meant nothing in this world. Ren still found it hard to accept being female, and as his body grew, the dissonance only became more difficult to ignore.
One afternoon, a group of young cultivators passed through the village. They were about sixteen or seventeen, and though their clothing was plain, ethereal, Ren noticed their presence immediately. Cultivation sharpened not just strength but appearance. Even the weakest cultivator had a clear aura of confidence, and they looked better—stronger—than any mortal.
He watched them leap across rooftops and move with incredible speed. This was his first time seeing such beings in person, and it was shocking. Their presence stirred something in the villagers—hushed whispers, wide-eyed stares, and a quiet, almost desperate admiration. They were not viewed as men or women, but as something more—beings closer to the becoming Gods.
Ren, on the other hand, did not feel the same reverence. He was curious, certainly, and a little surprised—but not awed. Power was something to gain, not worshipped.
He didn't believe he would suddenly become one of them. He remembered his parents and how they acted. If they were cultivators, then there must be something more than just desire or willpower needed to begin cultivation. Not every mortal could simply choose to become strong.
There had to be something—something hidden, something he didn't know yet.
He had no illusions about becoming a cultivator just by wishing.
He would have to learn what his body truly was—and whether it could even bear the path of cultivation. Because in a world where strength decided everything, understanding was the first step toward survival.