The Dying Cultivator
The Dying Cultivator
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The wind howled through the empty village streets, carrying with it the echoes of a day that had already begun to fade into memory.
Jiang Yun sat alone on the worn steps of his courtyard, his gaze fixed on the moonlit sky. The spot beside him—where Lin Xue always sat—felt unbearably empty.
The villagers had celebrated. They had rejoiced that someone from Windvale Village had been chosen by the heavens, granted the fortune to escape their mundane existence.
But for Jiang Yun, it was nothing short of a cruel reminder.
She was gone.
Taken by cultivators so powerful they didn't even see him as a person.
Jiang Yun clenched his fists.
If Lin Xue had been born under a lucky star, then what did that make him?
Someone the heavens had abandoned.
A nameless mortal with no future.
The firewood piled beside him seemed heavier than usual as he carried it toward the small iron stove inside his home. His father would be back soon, exhausted after a long day in the spiritual grain fields, and dinner had yet to be prepared.
That was his life. Chopping firewood, carrying water, cooking meals. A life with no greater meaning, where each day bled into the next, destined to fade into obscurity.
Would he really remain this way forever?
The thought had barely crossed his mind when a sound cut through the night.
A sharp, wet cough.
Jiang Yun froze.
It came from somewhere near the village entrance.
For a moment, he hesitated. No one in the village should be out at this hour. Was it an injured traveler? Or something worse?
The rational thing to do would be to ignore it.
But Jiang Yun found himself moving toward the sound, his footsteps light, heart pounding in his chest.
As he rounded the bend near the old willow tree that marked the village boundary, he saw him.
A man slumped against the trunk, half-buried beneath a pile of fallen leaves. His robes were tattered, stained with dirt and dried spiritual blood. Long, disheveled hair obscured his face.
And then, Jiang Yun noticed the wound.
A massive, gaping tear ran from the man's shoulder down to his waist, flesh split open as if he had been cut by a sword sharper than anything Jiang Yun had ever seen.
His breathing was ragged. Unsteady.
A cultivator.
Jiang Yun stiffened.
Even in his ruined state, the aura surrounding the man was suffocating.
This was no ordinary cultivator.
Who was he? And why was he here?
A weak groan escaped the man's lips.
Jiang Yun swallowed hard.
He had a choice.
To walk away.
Or to step forward.
The man's labored breathing was the only sound in the night, a harsh contrast to the usual peaceful silence of the village.
Jiang Yun's legs felt heavy, but he forced himself to move closer.
The closer he got, the clearer the man's injuries became. The wound was deep—far too deep for an ordinary person to survive. His robes, once white, were now soaked through with blood. Beneath the fabric, his skin was deathly pale, stretched tight over sharp cheekbones.
Jiang Yun hesitated.
The man was a cultivator.
A real one.
Even though he was injured, even though he was barely breathing, Jiang Yun could feel the overwhelming presence surrounding him.
But there was something else—something off.
This wasn't a man who had simply lost a battle.
He had been hunted.
His injuries weren't from just one strike—there were multiple wounds, and though the sword wound on his torso was the worst, there were also deep claw marks on his arms, as if some kind of ferocious beast had torn into him.
Jiang Yun wasn't an expert, but even he could tell.
Whoever this man had fought… wasn't human.
His heartbeat quickened.
Why was a cultivator, injured and on the verge of death, lying just outside Windvale Village?
And more importantly…
What if whoever had done this to him was still nearby?
Jiang Yun turned his head, scanning the darkness beyond the trees. The village was nestled in a valley, surrounded by thick forests, but the night felt too still. The usual sounds of crickets and rustling leaves were absent.
He swallowed.
His body screamed at him to turn back. To pretend he had never seen this man.
A mortal had no place interfering in the world of cultivators.
But then the man coughed again—this time harsher, wetter. Blood spilled from his lips, dark and thick, pooling onto the dirt.
He was dying.
Jiang Yun exhaled sharply.
"Forget it," he muttered under his breath. "If I leave him like this, he'll die for sure."
With that thought, he stepped forward.
His hands trembled slightly as he crouched beside the man. Up close, the stench of blood and burnt flesh was almost unbearable.
Jiang Yun pressed a hand against the man's chest, unsure of what he was even doing.
"Hey," he whispered. "Are you still alive?"
For a long moment, there was no response.
Then, slowly, the man's eyelids flickered open.
Jiang Yun sucked in a breath.
His eyes—a sharp, piercing gold—locked onto Jiang Yun immediately.
There was no weakness in them. No confusion, no delirium.
Even on the brink of death, his gaze was clear and sharp, like a blade that had yet to rust.
Jiang Yun felt frozen in place.
The man studied him for a long moment before speaking, his voice hoarse but firm.
"You…" A weak chuckle. "You're just… a mortal."
Jiang Yun stiffened.
The man exhaled. "I thought I was done for… but it seems fate still has other plans."
Jiang Yun's mind raced. "You—do you need help? I can bring a healer, but…"
The man gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head.
"No."
He coughed, more blood spilling onto his robes. His breaths came in slow, deliberate pulls, as if he was holding onto life through sheer willpower.
He studied Jiang Yun once more.
Then, with great effort, he lifted his right hand.
Jiang Yun's breath caught.
Something shimmered faintly in the man's palm.
A small jade token.
It was old—far older than anything Jiang Yun had ever seen. Cracks lined the edges, but at its center, a faint light still pulsed.
Jiang Yun didn't understand what he was looking at, but something deep in his gut told him this was no ordinary object.
The man let out a slow breath.
"Take it," he said.
Jiang Yun hesitated. "What?"
"Take… this jade," the man repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "Fate… has chosen you."
Jiang Yun swallowed.
Fate?
His fingers trembled as he reached out.
The moment his skin touched the jade, a sudden, searing heat exploded through his palm.
Jiang Yun gasped, his vision blurring as something ancient stirred within the jade.
And then, everything went dark.
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Did you know?
Fate is a central theme in many stories, often guiding characters toward a predetermined path. In this narrative, Jiang Yun's encounter with the dying cultivator and the mysterious jade token marks the moment fate begins to change his life. The cultivator's words, "Fate has chosen you," suggest that Jiang Yun's ordinary existence is about to be reshaped by forces beyond his control, leading him toward a destiny far greater than he ever imagined.