It begins with a glance.
One of the outer hall stewards—an old cultivator named Mu Qian—narrows his eyes at Keshav one morning during food distribution. It's a brief look, but sharp, probing.
Mu Qian has served House Bai for decades. He's half-retired, but his senses are still sharp. He used to lead hunting expeditions in the Beastwoods. He knows how to watch.
And today, he watches Keshav.
The First Mistake
Keshav doesn't notice the look at first. He's too focused—his new catlike balance is thrilling. He walks lightly even on broken tiles. His ears twitch at the smallest sound.
But he makes a mistake: he reacts to a sound before it happens.
A pot lid is about to fall in the kitchen. His hand darts out and catches it before it clatters. The other servants cheer, grateful for the save.
Mu Qian frowns.
"Your senses are sharp, boy. Sharper than they should be."
Keshav forces a smile, bows. "Lucky reflex, Steward Mu."
But inside, his stomach twists.
Under Scrutiny
Over the next few days, Mu Qian starts appearing.
Not overtly. Just… watching. During water runs. During cleaning. Even when Keshav slips into the gardens to sunbathe, the old man passes by with narrowed eyes.
He suspects.
Keshav starts limiting his behavior. No more jumping. No climbing. No chasing insects with unnatural speed. He returns to slow, deliberate servant tasks.
But it's too late.
Night Interrogation
Three nights later, Keshav wakes to a faint rustling in the servant dorm. He doesn't move—just listens. His hearing picks up everything: breaths, heartbeats, footsteps too light for a normal man.
Someone's here.
His eyes adjust fast. There, by the doorway—a silhouette, still as stone.
Then a whisper, nearly soundless:
"What are you?"
Mu Qian.
He's using a concealment technique, but Keshav's mutant senses pierce it. Cold sweat breaks across his skin. He doesn't answer. Doesn't breathe. Just waits.
Then moves.
The Escape
He slips from the dorm window, barefoot and silent, using his claws and balance to scale the kitchen roof. Behind him, a sharp intake of breath—Mu Qian sees.
"Stop."
Keshav doesn't. He bolts. Across rooftops, leaping like a beast, using every mutation he's earned—bird legs, cat reflexes, insect precision. Mu Qian gives chase, faster than any normal man, but not faster than what Keshav has become.
He dives into the compost pit behind the gardener's hut, burrows into rotting mulch, and holds still. Breathless. His skin shifts—moss traits activate, dulling his scent and body heat.
Mu Qian lands nearby.
Listens.
Waits.
Nothing.
Minutes pass. Eventually, the old man sighs and disappears into the darkness.
Keshav stays buried until dawn.
Aftermath
He emerges covered in slime and filth, but alive.
I can't stay careless. I'm not invisible anymore.
He knows now: this world fears what doesn't follow the Dao. And he? He's the definition of unnatural. Even his survival instincts—the ones he's stolen from beasts—scream at him now:
Hide better. Grow faster. Become untouchable.
And so, he begins to plan his next mutation—not just strength, but camouflage. The power to erase his presence. To become a ghost in a world of cultivators.
In a room of the family
The incense burns low in the meditation chamber. A soft trail of smoke curls upward, scenting the room with bitter sandalwood and quiet anxiety.
Mu Qian kneels on the jade mat, his head lowered.
Across from him, seated on a raised dais, is Lady Bai Xiulan, the third daughter of the Bai Clan patriarch—elevated not for her cultivation alone, but for her ruthlessness in court politics. She maintains the outer estate and manages internal intelligence.
Mu Qian knows the cost of wasting her time.
He speaks carefully.
"My lady. I believe there is a… complication among the servant children."
Xiulan's eyes open slowly. Her gaze is cold, precise."Explain."
Mu Qian recounts the incident with the pot lid, the evasive movements, the unnatural escape across rooftops.
"He is faster than a mortal child. More precise than a trainee cultivator. Yet shows no signs of having cultivated."
He waits. Watches her expression.
She doesn't react.
So he continues.
"I concealed myself with Shadow Veil. His eyes still followed me. I stood in silence for minutes. His breathing remained calm. No fear. No confusion. Only calculation."
That gets a twitch of her brow.
Xiulan lifts a hand. "And the child's name?"
"Keshav. Son of Lin and Haran. Servants assigned to laundry detail."
"He could be a beast-born," Mu Qian suggests cautiously. "A rare hybrid, perhaps. Or a failed experiment cast off by another clan. His behavior is too composed for someone his age."
Xiulan frowns. "He's what—three? Four?"
"Five this winter. Small for his age. Speaks little. Avoids other children."
Xiulan folds her fingers together. She speaks, more to herself than to Mu Qian:
"No spiritual fluctuations… no guidance… and yet showing results beyond early Qi Gathering? A contradiction."
She stands. Walks to a scroll rack. Her slender fingers glide across faded names—anomalous births, tainted bloodlines, servant mutations.
None match.
At last, she returns to her seat and speaks:
"Do not confront him again. Do not startle the anomaly."
Mu Qian bows lower.
"Should I have the alchemy hall prepare extraction?"
Xiulan's eyes narrow.
"Not yet. If he is a rogue experiment, he may still be unstable. If he is… something else, he may offer more alive than dead."
A pause.
"Place a minor talisman in his quarters. A tracker. Silent, passive. If he leaves the estate grounds, inform me immediately."
Mu Qian nods. "Yes, my lady."
"And if he begins to show something more abnormal-"
She trails off, then smiles thinly.
"—then we bring him in. Or remove him, before someone else does."
Keshav's POV
That night, as Keshav curls up on the cold straw bedding, a thin strand of spiritual ink etches itself onto the underside of the wooden beam above him—a tiny surveillance seal barely visible to the naked eye.
It pulses once, then fades.
Keshav's enhanced senses tingle.
He doesn't know where. He doesn't know what. But he knows this much:
He is being watched.