CHAPTER 214: ONLY AFTER SALVATION

I didn't have the chance to question Elder Ren Zhi before I heard my name.

“Kai!”

I turned just in time to see Xin Du sprinting toward me from across the square, boots crunching against gravel and half-frozen dirt. He waved both arms over his head, practically beaming.

“That was amazing! Can you teach me that?”

I blinked, still catching my breath from the impromptu rooftop performance. “You want to learn what? The kick?”

He nodded furiously, stopping just short of me and panting lightly, hands on his knees. “Yes! I’ve never seen anything like it! I want to learn all of it.”

“It’s not that easy,” I said, brushing a stray ember off my sleeve. “You’d need to build up your flexibility, strength, core control... your entire physique, basically. Otherwise, you’ll tear a ligament before you even finish the first move.”

“I’m ready,” Xin Du said, straightening with a sharp inhale. “I’ve been practicing!”

Before I could ask what he meant, he dropped into a wide stance and began moving his arms in a familiar rhythm; open palm, twist, arc, chamber, strike. It was uneven, like he’d watched someone do it a few times and tried to reverse-engineer it from memory. But I still recognized it instantly.

“The Lotus Palm?” I asked, brow rising.

“Yeah!” he said, mid-swing. “One of the Verdant Lotus disciples showed it while warming up, and I—I just started copying it.”

His form was rough, sure. His footwork was stiff and his posture a little too upright. But that wasn’t what caught me.

It was the way the air shifted when his hand cut through it.

There was power there. Real power. Not controlled, not refined, but undeniable.

“You’re fast,” I said slowly. “Strong, too. What level is your Body at?”

Xin Du paused, as though trying to figure out what I was talking about. Then he brightened up, and “Bo—? Oh, that! Yeah, it says I'm at the second rank of Qi Initiation!”

That made me pause.

I stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, then patted down along his arm. My fingers pressed into his upper arm, across the shoulder, down to the forearm. It wasn’t just toned, his muscles were dense.

A few days ago, he’d been sallow. Pale. Bones peeking through skin. Now his cheeks were full, his eyes alert. His posture… steady.

I frowned. “How?”

Xin Du just scratched his cheek, sheepish. “No clue. Maybe some of that stuff the cultists forced us to eat stayed in my system? Like… residue?”

Bloodsoul Bloom.

The thought sent a cold weight down my spine, but I didn’t say anything.

“I’ll train hard though,” he said quickly, as if to fill the silence. “Especially with the Heavenly Interface now. I can see how you all got so strong! I thought it'd be impossible without learning from a sect.” ＲαŊȎᛒĚŚ

That jolted me.

“The what?”

“The Interface,” he repeated, like it was obvious. “The thing everyone’s got. You know—the blue screen? Quests and stuff? Mine only started showing up like, two days after I woke up. I thought it was a side effect of healing, but now I get why everyone here’s so strong!”

“Wait,” I said carefully. “You didn’t have it before? Not when you were… with them?”

His smile faded. His brows knit as he tried to recall. “No. I mean, I remember pain, the chanting, the flowers, the screaming... But no Interface. Even during moments I was lucid. Nothing. It just… wasn’t there.”

I nodded slowly, thoughts racing. “And your sister? Fang Du?”

"She has it now, but she would've told me if it appeared for her back then."

I didn’t like the sound of that.

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Something about it made my skin prickle.

“Well,” I said, forcing a smile, “I’m glad it’s working now. But I need to check on something. We’ll talk later, alright? Maybe ask Jian Feng, he's a better teacher than I'd be.”

Xin Du nodded, still looking a little puzzled, but let me go.

I moved quickly through the square, weaving between carts and scaffolding, eyes scanning the work crews until I spotted him. Ying Xie.

He was hauling a bundle of lumber that should’ve taken two men, his posture ramrod straight, steps firm. The lines in his face had softened, skin flush with color. Even his gait had changed; less of a shuffle, more of a stride. I watched, half in awe, half in dread, as he set the wood down without a single grunt of exertion.

He shouldn’t have been able to do that. Not at his age. Not after what he’d been through.

I approached carefully. “Uncle.”

He turned to me, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. “Benefactor,” he said warmly. “Do you need something?”

“I heard you received the Heavenly Interface.”

His eyes lit up, and he nodded. “Yes! It was quite the surprise. Happened just yesterday, while I was clearing the snow from the steps. I nearly fell over when it popped into my vision, like a ghost talking to me!”

He chuckled, but the sound didn’t settle me. It made my stomach twist tighter.

“I suppose… the world really did change while I was gone,” he said, looking around the village, expression soft. “People working with qi, building with it, healing faster, moving smarter. Even the children seem sharper than I remember.”

I took a breath, tried to keep my tone casual. “Uncle… do you remember if you had the Interface while you were with the cultists? Even once? A flicker, a message? Anything?”

Ying Xie’s face shifted immediately. His expression turned inward. Tighter.

He looked down at his hands, flexed them once, then slowly shook his head. “No. Not even once. I remember pain. I a sense of… being hollow. There were flashes, now and then. Lucid moments, but they never lasted. But never the Interface. Not a hint of it. I apologize if it's not the answer you're looking for."

“It's okay,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level. “You’ve helped a lot.”

I smiled and clapped his shoulder gently, then turned away before I let anything show on my face.

First Xin Du. Now Ying Xie.

All of them had been cut off. The Interface didn’t reach them, not until after we brought them back. After they'd been… cured.

But the Interface was supposed to come to everyone, wasn't it?

WE ILLUMINATE THE PATH TO ASCENSION.

A NEW ERA.

HIDDEN PATHS AWAIT.

Everyone with ambition. Everyone seeking growth.

So why had it ignored them? Was it because they were corrupted? Because their minds had been hollowed out?

No, that didn't seem right.

It came to spirit beasts too. By that line of thinking, wasn't it likely it would extend to regular animals? Even if they were 'corrupted', it shouldn't have meant they were excluded.

But there was nothing.

Not until they were saved.

Only then did the Interface show itself. Like it had been waiting.

Or like it had been repelled.

The memory from the ruins surfaced, unbidden. That strange, ancient pressure, like words carved into the bones of the world, echoing through my soul.

“The script, the source of our Interface… it was not the first time it had descended from the Upper Realm. It was not the first time it had been shaped into something greater.”

So what was the first?

Could it be… the cultists? Or rather, what they drew their power from?

"Do not let them twist it. Do not let them turn it into a tool of subjugation."

Maybe the cultists had their own system. Their own script. Twisted. Blood-soaked. Bound by domination, pain, and obedience.

And this Interface, ours, was shaped around growth. Contribution. Connection.

One script to bind. The other to uplift.

Oil and water.

Maybe they didn’t cancel each other out by force. Maybe they simply couldn’t mix.

I glanced at my palm, as if the Interface might respond. But it stayed quiet.

No answers. Not yet.

Two forces, born from the same origin. Shaped by different hands.

And now, they were on a collision course.

I continued walking, my thoughts caught in a whirlpool of possibility and unease.

That was when I heard someone shout my name once more. But this time, laced with urgency.

“Kai! Over here!”

I turned to see one of the Verdant Lotus disciples waving from the village gate, his figure outlined against the snow-glazed path.

I picked up my pace and jogged over.

“We found someone,” the disciple said as I approached. “Half-collapsed, just beyond the perimeter.”

He stepped aside, revealing the figure slumped against the base of a tree.

It was the messenger. The same one who had arrived weeks ago with trembling hands and a broken voice, delivering the news of Silent Moon Sect’s fall. His robes were torn now, soaked with old blood. One arm was splinted hastily with bundled reeds and cloth, and his head was wrapped in a crude bandage. His lips were dry, cracked. His eyes, sunken.

He looked like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“Get him to the longhouse,” I said immediately.

They lifted him carefully, two disciples supporting him between their shoulders. I walked beside them, questions pressing at the edge of my tongue.

Once inside, we settled him onto one of the padded cots. Another disciple fetched water and warm broth. He drank slowly, greedily, as though it might vanish before the next breath.

Only after he’d had enough to breathe without gasping did I kneel beside him.

“Was it cultists?”

He shook his head weakly. “No... People. Bandits.”

I frowned. “Bandits? Who in their right mind would rob a messenger during times like these? When there are demons in the woods?”

“I don’t think they cared,” he muttered. “Or maybe they weren’t thinking straight.”

“They attacked you?”

He nodded. “Broke my arm, took my horse, stripped me of supplies. Left me with enough to crawl away. Said… said I wasn’t worth the trouble. There's cultivators among them."

The air in the longhouse grew heavier. A few disciples nearby paused in their movements, listening more carefully now.

Cultivator-trained bandits.

I stood slowly, my jaw tight.

The Heavenly Interface was spreading. It was uplifting villages, empowering craftsmen, healers, and farmers.

But power didn’t come with wisdom.

And now, it seemed, there were others—people who’d gotten a taste of qi and used it not to build, but to take.

The world was shifting. And not everyone rose with it the same way.

I looked down at the messenger, the half-empty bowl trembling in his hands.

“Where?” I asked. “Where did they hit you?”

He swallowed hard, voice still raw. “About half a day southwest of here. By horse.”

Jian Feng, who had entered behind me without a sound, shifted at that.

“They set up a trap,” the messenger continued. “Blocked the path with a broken cart. I went to check if anyone was injured, and they… they pounced. Within minutes. Like they knew I’d be coming alone.”

I didn’t like that.

Jian Feng met my eyes, his expression grim. “That’s not normal bandit behavior. But with most sects and the magistrate focused on the cultist threat, roads that were once patrolled are now wide open. If they’ve figured that out, they’ll target travelers. Refugees. Maybe even whole villages if they think no one will fight back.”

“And they didn’t kill him,” I said, glancing back at the messenger. “That’s what worries me most.”

Jian Feng’s expression hardened. “Loose ends like him? Bandits don’t leave them.”

We both stared at the man for a long moment.

He looked half-dead, ribs poking through his tunic, lips flecked with scabs. No way this was staged.

But even so…

The thought tugged at the edge of my mind.

Spy.

I pushed it away. He’d been here before. Delivered real news. He was trusted. And his injuries weren’t fake.

Still, it meant we couldn’t afford to wait.

“Southwest,” I muttered. “That puts Qingmu in danger too.”

Jian Feng gave a terse nod. “I’ll start expanding patrols in that direction. But… we’re stretched thin.”

He didn’t say it like a complaint. Just a fact. A warning.

“I’ll help,” I said without hesitation. “We’ll coordinate. I’ll work with Wang Jun, get better armor and weapons into the patrol’s hands. If we strike first, we can catch them before they dig in.”

“Good. Let’s move quickly.”

We stepped outside into the thinning light, where the snow was beginning to melt, turning the dirt paths soft beneath our boots.

The season was changing.

And so was the world.