BENEATH HEAVENS GAZE

Chapter 1 – Beneath the Quiet Pines

The mist rolled through the mountains like drifting spirits, weaving between ancient pine trees that had stood long before the rise of empires. Far above the world, hidden by dense forest and forgotten paths, a thatched cottage rested beside a silent stream. Birds chirped softly. Bamboo chimes swayed in the breeze.

Here, time moved slower.

Chen Fi sat cross-legged on a flat stone, a small clay teapot steaming beside him. His robe was plain, the color of aged linen. Hair tied with a single cord, he looked no different from a wandering scholar or retired hermit. And to any passing cultivator, that’s all he’d seem to be—if they could even perceive him.

But no one passed here.

This place was beyond the reach of maps, untouched by sect wars, beast hordes, or the ambitions of mortal kings. Only the wind knew he existed, and even it approached softly.

Chen Fi poured himself a cup of tea, watching the ripples settle. He sipped.

Still bitter.

He frowned faintly, then stood. The stream was cold and clear, winding down from the peak like a silver serpent. He walked its edge, gathering wild tea leaves with practiced hands. He did not use spiritual flames to brew, nor heavenly tools to enhance the flavor. Mortal things—earth, water, fire, and time—were enough.

A rabbit scurried past. He smiled.

Peace.

It had taken him centuries to find this quiet. Not just the place, but the stillness inside. After walking through fire and blood, standing alone atop mountain peaks littered with corpses, and seeing stars fall and rise again… he had chosen this. Chosen to be forgotten.

He returned to his cottage, placing the leaves to dry, and sat again.

A faint breeze stirred.

Chen Fi paused. It was almost imperceptible, but he felt it—a shift in the rhythm of the forest. The birds had fallen silent.

He listened.

Footsteps.

Far down the slope, a presence struggled through the thickets. Not strong. In fact, whoever it was barely clung to life. Blood marked their path.

He stood slowly.

Not out of alarm, but curiosity.

It had been decades since someone approached. And this one wasn’t seeking him. They didn’t even know he was here.

He followed the path soundlessly. Birds still avoided the area. The stream’s surface trembled as he passed, though no wind blew.

Then he saw her.

A young girl—perhaps thirteen—collapsed at the foot of an old cedar. Her robes were torn, soaked with blood, and a strange brand glowed faintly on her shoulder. Her face was pale with exhaustion and fear. She tried to crawl forward, but her limbs refused.

Chen Fi knelt beside her.

Her eyes fluttered open. "A... mortal? No. You—"

She coughed blood. Her vision blurred.

He placed a hand lightly on her back. A soft warmth pulsed from his palm—not spiritual energy, but something older, purer. The girl’s breathing steadied. The glowing brand hissed, then vanished into mist.

"Rest," he said quietly.

She passed out.

Chen Fi looked up toward the mountain ridge beyond the trees. Thunder rumbled—not natural, but forged of Qi. Someone was hunting her.

He sighed.

So much for another century of silence.