Chapter 7: A Storm on the Horizon
Morning come too early.
Alex rubbed his eyes and groaned as the first rays of sun crept into his room. The system had already woken him up with it's usual ding.
"Weather forecast: mild wind, high spiritual humidity. Perfect for planting flowering herbs."
"Let me sleep five more minutes," he mumbled, pulling the blanket over his head.
But peace don't wait, and crops don't water themselves. Well, technically they did—he had enchanted channels now—but he liked doing it by hand anyway. Felt more real.
When he stepped outside, Meilin was already in the field.
She wore rolled up sleeves, her long hair tied back with a vine, and was knee-deep in the Spirit Beans, checking the roots like a pro. She didn't say nothing at first—just glanced up and nodded.
"You're up late," she said, smirking.
"Says the Nascent Soul cultivator who's playing farmer," Alex replied.
She laughed, and the tension she always carried seem to loosen a little.
"I ain't played nothing," she said. "I just… forgot how good dirt felt."
They worked side by side for a while. No talking. Just work. Pulling weeds, tying vines, checking qi balance in the soil. Birds chirped. Spirit butterflies fluttered around the glowing cucumbers.
Then, just past midday, it happened.
A breeze rolled in. Not just any wind—this one carried the faint scent of blood and burned wood.
Alex stood up straight, his face changing.
Meilin noticed it too. "You feel that?"
"Yeah," he said. "Something bad's coming."
A moment later, the system confirmed it.
"Warning: Host's spiritual detection field intercepted residual qi from recent conflict. Estimated distance: 2.6 kilometers. Estimated direction: South by southeast.""Affiliation: Hollow Eye Sect."
Alex's hands tightened into fists.
"One pursuer. Two targets fleeing. Host village not yet exposed."
He looked toward the forest, the trees swaying gently. Somewhere out there, someone was running—and someone worse was following.
He sighed deeply.
"I didn't want this," he said.
"I know," Meilin replied. "But trouble don't care what we want."
By late afternoon, the forest edge cracked.
Two figures burst out of the underbrush, stumbling and panting. A young woman with torn robes carrying a child, her body covered in shallow cuts. Her eyes were wild with panic, but she kept moving, clutching the child like her life depended on it.
Because it did.
Behind her, the trees shook again. Something darker came.
Alex stood at the base of the hill, arms folded.
She saw him—and her legs gave out. She fell to her knees, gasping.
"Please," she said, voice breaking. "He's coming. Don't let him—"
Alex stepped forward. His voice was calm, but firm.
"You're safe now."
She looked up, tears falling, too shocked to respond.
Then he looked past her. Into the trees.
And there he was.
A man in black robes, tall, with sharp cheekbones and dead eyes. He walked calmly, hands behind his back, as if he was on a stroll through a garden.
The Hollow Eye cultivator stopped when he saw Alex. His eyes narrowed.
"This is none of your concern," he said flatly. "Step aside."
Alex didn't move. "They reached my hill. That makes it my concern."
"You don't want to anger the Hollow Eye Sect."
"I really don't," Alex said softly. "But I also don't care."
There was a silence. Heavy. Even the wind paused.
Then the cultivator sneered. "Then die with them."
He raised a hand—black energy crackled.
Meilin appeared at Alex's side without a sound. "Your move, farmer."
Alex cracked his neck.
"I told the system not to kill," he said. "So let's just show him the way out."
What followed wasn't a battle.
It was a reminder.
Alex raised his hand. The moment he did, the ground beneath the Hollow Eye cultivator twisted. Roots—thick, glowing with spirit light—burst up from the earth, grabbing his legs, arms, neck.
He tried to resist—but the roots drank his qi like water.
Then Meilin stepped forward and flicked her finger. A wind blade zipped through the air, slicing the man's robe, stopping just before flesh.
"Leave," she said.
The man, now pale and sweating, nodded quick. The roots loosened, and he stumbled back into the trees, vanishing without another word.
Later that night, the woman and child slept in Alex's cottage.
He sat on the porch, staring at the stars.
Meilin handed him a cup of tea. "You alright?"
Alex sighed. "I didn't kill him."
"That's a win."
He nodded. "But now they know."
"Let them know," she said. "They'll think twice next time."
Alex looked up at the moon. "I just want to grow carrots."
She laughed, shaking her head. "Then grow them stronger than swords."
And under that silver light, the farmer and the fighter sat in silence again.
But the air had changed.
Still peaceful—but now watchful.
Still calm—but no longer naïve.
Because the storm wasn't over.
It was only just beginning.