Chapter 6: Rumors from the Road
The quiet life atop Still Wind Hill settled into a rhythm.
Alex spent his mornings in the fields, afternoons sipping tea with passing villagers, and evenings watching the stars. The system had stopped prompting him to activate combat protocols, martial arts, or advanced cultivation paths. It seemed to understand now: its host had chosen a different road.
But peace, as always, was a fragile thing.
It began with a traveler.
An old merchant came hobbling into the village with a donkey cart loaded with rough silks and salted fish. His robes were torn, his sandal strap held together with spirit grass, and his eyes—sharp beneath tired lids—scanned the valley like a man who'd walked away from war.
The villagers greeted him kindly, offering water and shade. He accepted, but kept looking toward the hill.
"Who lives up there?" he asked.
One of the village elders puffed on his pipe. "A quiet immortal. Came from nowhere. Grows crops, gives them away. Kind lad."
The merchant's brows rose. "You say immortal… as in, real power?"
"He doesn't show it. But the crops grow overnight. No beast dares cross his land. And he drinks tea with the moon like an old friend."
The merchant muttered something under his breath.
"What was that?" the elder asked.
"Nothing. Just… I passed through three villages south of here. All burned. Black robes. Cultivators from the Hollow Eye Sect. They're on the move. Looking for something—or someone."
That night, the elder climbed the slope to Still Wind Hill.
Alex greeted him on the porch, already boiling tea.
The old man didn't sit right away. "We had a traveler. Said dark cultivators are roaming the south. Hollow Eye Sect."
Alex nodded slowly. "I know of them."
The elder looked up. "Should we be afraid?"
Alex was quiet a long moment. Then he poured the tea and pushed a cup forward.
"No," he said. "You shouldn't."
The elder took the cup with steady hands. "Will they come here?"
"They might," Alex admitted. "But not soon. Not yet. This place is… quiet. Not something they'd notice right away. But if they do come—I'll protect this land."
The old man studied him carefully. "You don't act like a man of violence."
"I'm not," Alex said. "But I've lived through more death than you'd ever want to imagine. I know how to stop it… when I have to."
The elder nodded, and for the first time, fear gave way to trust. He left before moonrise.
The next morning, Alex stood at the edge of his fields.
"System Query: Activate defensive strategy?"
"Passive only," Alex replied. "No killing. Just repelling force."
"Confirmed. Strategic options: Barrier Reinforcement, Spirit Mist Obfuscation, Qi Dampening Field, Illusory Terrain Mode."
"Activate all. And add a message at the base of the hill."
"Message written. Contents?"
Alex thought for a moment. Then smiled faintly.
"Still Wind Hill welcomes friends. Others will be turned away."
"Message etched into stone marker. Visibility adjusted based on intent."
He turned his attention back to the fields.
The plants were growing strong, blessed by his care and the land's deep qi. But something else stirred now. He could feel it—beneath the soil, in the wind, in the hum of spiritual resonance across the region.
Fate was shifting. His peaceful hill was becoming a landmark. First for a village. Soon, perhaps, for others.
Later that day, a visitor came—not from the village, but the world beyond.
She wore plain robes, but moved like water flowing through stone. Her eyes were sharp, her presence carefully sealed—but Alex could feel it. She was in the Nascent Soul Realm, strong enough to level towns if provoked.
She stopped at the base of the hill.
The message stone glowed.
She read it and hesitated.
Alex walked down the slope, arms crossed casually, expression calm.
"I don't recognize your robes," he said.
"I'm a wandering cultivator," she replied. "No sect."
"Then what brings you here?"
She looked past him, toward the glowing fields and the silver spirit well. "I heard stories. A man who descended from nowhere. A farm that blooms with spirit qi. A village that has no fear of famine. I didn't believe them."
"And now?"
"I still don't know. But…" Her tone softened. "You're not what I expected."
Alex smiled faintly. "I rarely am."
She paused. "Do you mind if I rest here for a day?"
He nodded. "So long as you don't bring harm, you're welcome."
She bowed lightly. "Then I will repay that kindness."
That evening, they sat on the porch in silence, sipping tea beneath the rising moon.
The woman—who called herself Meilin—watched him closely. "You don't cultivate in the traditional sense," she said.
"No need."
"Then why farm?"
"Because it keeps me rooted."
She looked at the silver fields, then back to him. "There's a storm coming."
"I know."
"You could run."
"I won't."
Meilin studied him again. "Then… when it arrives… I'll stand with you."
Alex looked at her, surprised—but said nothing. He simply raised his cup and nodded.
And in that quiet moment, two strangers shared tea while the wind whispered through rows of spirit crops.
Not warriors.
Not enemies.
Just souls standing still in a world forever rushing forward.