Chapter 4: Into the Valley

Chapter 4: Into the Valley

The mist thickened as the group ventured deeper into Mistveil Valley, its tendrils weaving through the gnarled trees and blanketing the ground in a soft, shifting haze. Ming You walked at the rear, his steps measured, his burlap sack slung over his shoulder. The jade slip of the Threads of Chance rested against his chest, hidden beneath his cloak, a constant reminder of the path he had chosen. At twenty years of age, he carried the 1st stage of Qi Condensation within him, a fragile spark he intended to nurture into a blaze.

Ahead, the three recruiters from the Mistveil Sect led the way, their robes shimmering faintly with each movement, the mist-like patterns catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. The woman who had spoken at the recruitment strode with purpose, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. The gray-bearded man walked beside her, his posture rigid, while the third, a younger man with a scar across his cheek, trailed slightly, his hand resting on a short sword at his hip. Their presence exuded authority, a quiet promise of the power Ming You sought.

Chen Hao walked beside him, his cheerful voice cutting through the valley's stillness. "I have never been this far in," he said, his eyes wide with wonder. "My aunt always warned me about the valley—spirit beasts, lost travelers, all that. But with the sect, it feels safe, does it not?" His optimism grated faintly on Ming You, though he kept his expression neutral.

"Safety is an illusion," Ming You replied, his voice low. "The sect offers opportunity, not protection." He glanced at Chen Hao, noting the boy's patched tunic and eager gait. His trust was a resource, one Ming You could shape, but his chatter was a distraction.

Chen Hao laughed, undeterred. "You sound like my aunt! Always so serious. But I suppose you are right—cultivation is not easy, is it?" He kicked a pebble, sending it skittering into the mist. "I just want to make her proud, you know? She raised me after my parents died. I owe her everything."

Ming You nodded absently, his attention shifting to the valley. The air carried a faint tang of metal, a scent he had noticed during his herb-gathering trips. The trees loomed overhead, their branches twisted into unnatural shapes, as if warped by years of spiritual energy. He sensed it now, with his newly awakened Qi—a subtle pulse beneath the earth, faint but persistent. The valley held secrets, and the Mistveil Sect had claimed it for a reason.

After hours of walking, the group reached their destination. The mist parted slightly, revealing a cluster of stone buildings nestled against a rocky hillside. The Mistveil Sect was smaller than Ming You had imagined, its walls weathered and patched with moss, but it bore an air of resilience. Towers rose at intervals, their peaks lost in the haze, and a faint hum of energy emanated from within—an array, perhaps, protecting the grounds. The recruiters halted, turning to face the recruits.

"Welcome to your new home," the woman said, her voice carrying over the group. "You are outer disciples now. Your duties begin immediately. Follow Elder Liu to your quarters." She gestured to the scarred man, who stepped forward with a curt nod.

Elder Liu led them through a stone archway, its surface etched with faded runes. The interior courtyard bustled with activity—disciples in gray robes carried baskets of herbs, swept the grounds, or sparred with wooden staves. Ming You counted perhaps fifty figures, a modest number for a sect, though their movements spoke of discipline. The air smelled of earth and incense, a blend that grounded the scene in quiet purpose.

They were ushered into a long, low building, its interior lined with straw mats and wooden shelves. "This is the outer disciples' hall," Elder Liu said, his voice rough. "You will sleep here, eat here, and work here until you prove yourselves worthy of more. Your first task is to clean the herb gardens. Begin at once."

The other recruits—two boys and a girl, all wide-eyed and silent—nodded eagerly, but Ming You lingered, his gaze sweeping the room. The mats were thin, the shelves bare save for a few chipped bowls. It was no better than his shack, yet it offered access to the sect's resources. He would endure it, as he had endured everything else.

Chen Hao dropped his small bundle onto a mat, grinning. "Not so bad, is it? Like a big family!" He turned to Ming You, expectant.

"A family that expects labor," Ming You replied, setting his sack down with care. He kept the jade slip close, unwilling to risk its discovery. "We should start the task."

They followed Elder Liu to the herb gardens, a series of raised beds carved into the hillside. The soil was dark and rich, dotted with plants Ming You recognized—Mistroot, Silverleaf, Bittervine—all prized for their medicinal properties. He knelt beside a bed, running his fingers through the dirt, assessing its quality. The sect's wealth lay here, in these gardens, and he intended to learn their secrets.

Chen Hao worked beside him, pulling weeds with enthusiasm. "These are amazing," he said, holding up a Silverleaf stem. "My aunt used to make tea with these when I was sick. Do you think they will teach us how to use them?"

"Perhaps," Ming You said, his tone noncommittal. He listened as they worked, catching snippets of conversation from passing disciples. One mentioned a defensive array, its core hidden beneath the main hall. Another grumbled about Ashen Hollow, a rival sect encroaching on the valley. Ming You filed each detail away, pieces of a puzzle he would assemble in time.

The day wore on, the mist never lifting, casting a perpetual twilight over the sect. Ming You's hands grew sore, his knees damp from the soil, but he welcomed the labor. It gave him time to observe—the recruiters' comings and goings, the disciples' hierarchy, the faint glow of energy in the air. The sect was a machine, and he would learn its workings, exploit its weaknesses.

As dusk fell, Elder Liu returned, inspecting their efforts. "Adequate," he said, his scarred face unreadable. "Rest now. Tomorrow, you fetch water from the spring." He departed, leaving the recruits to stumble back to the hall.

Chen Hao flopped onto his mat, exhaustion softening his cheer. "Hard work, but worth it, right? We are really here, Ming You!"

Ming You sat more carefully, his mind still sharp. "Yes," he agreed, his voice quiet. "We are here." The sect was a stepping stone, its resources a means to an end. The Qi within him pulsed, a reminder of his goal. He glanced at Chen Hao, already drifting to sleep, and saw opportunity—a loyal pawn, easily guided.

Outside, the mist swirled, wrapping the sect in its embrace. Ming You lay down, the jade slip's weight grounding him. He would rise through this place, one calculated step at a time, until the valley and its masters bent to his will. The night deepened, and he closed his eyes, dreaming of power.