The Holy mountain legacy

The next three days, Ryuxian slept like a baby—curled up, drifting in a haze of exhaustion and lingering pain. When he finally stirred, he wasn't the same. His body had shifted in his sleep, shrinking into a small, white serpent no bigger than a human head, with delicate wings tucked against his sides. It felt... too natural. Like his human form had always been an illusion.

He had collapsed in Lynx's tower, and when he woke up, the dull ache in his body made every movement a struggle. Sitting up on the wooden bed, he winced, his muscles tight and sluggish. The air smelled of old books, incense, and the faint metallic scent of dried blood.

Lynx stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the evening sky. The sunset barely clung to the horizon, its ember glow threatening to fade into darkness.

"You woke up," Lynx muttered without turning around.

"Yeah, I'm up," Ryuxian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. His voice was hoarse, his body still adjusting. The first thing out of his mouth was blunt, desperate. "Do you think I'm ready to survive here?"

Lynx didn't hesitate, didn't even pause to consider. His voice was like steel, sharp and cutting. "You rely too much on survival skills. Like you weren't born a serpent."

The words hit Ryuxian harder than expected. He hadn't thought about it that way. He was brave, yes. But a fighter? No. Not really. And yet, this form—this serpent body—felt like something that had always been inside him, waiting. The contradiction made his head spin.

Lynx finally turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "You can barely survive, at least," he said flatly. "As long as you don't stick your tongue out everywhere."

Ryuxian swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.

"But you are ready to take the entrance exam for the Sector," Lynx continued. His tone dropped slightly, a hint of warning beneath the words. "You need to be careful about your identity. Our kind rarely takes human form—it takes centuries of cultivation. If the wrong people find out what you are, they will hunt you. For their own gain."

He reached into his robe and pulled out a small vial. "Here. A gel. It will change your eye color, your hair color. For now, you don't need it, but the further you go, the more attention you'll draw. White is already enough to mark you as a serpent, but your eyes... They are too rare. Too dangerous."

Then he handed over something heavier—small, but pulsing with importance. "This is my token. Give it to the official of the Solmara Warlords. They bear a fire sigil."

Ryuxian turned it over in his palm, feeling its weight, its meaning. "Where do I need to go? Tell me properly."

Lynx exhaled, eyes dark. "You know the story of the Throne. And the Emperor."

Ryuxian nodded. Everyone did.

"The further east you go, the more you'll see the cruelty of this world," Lynx said, his voice barely above a whisper. "There is a place you must reach. A territory ruled by powerful fighters—fighters who built civilizations instead of searching for the Throne. They have no need for beasts, nor battlefields. They do not chase the past."

He met Ryuxian's gaze, something ancient and knowing in his stare.

"Wuyuan," he said. "Where the strongest warlords rise to power. Go there. Find your place. And find your purpose."

Lynx studied Ryuxian for a moment, then added, "Your clothes won't draw too much attention. You'll blend in—for now."

Then, as if he had been waiting to ask, Lynx murmured, "You don't remember where you came from, do you?"

Ryuxian stiffened slightly. His gaze flickered, shifting away as if searching for something in the dim-lit room. He didn't answer.

Lynx exhaled, barely a sigh. "What's going to be your last name?"

The question caught Ryuxian off guard. A name? A last name? He had never thought about it. For a moment, he felt like he was standing at the edge of something, a void where his past should have been. The silence stretched too long.

Lynx let out a slow breath. "Then use mine."

Ryuxian's head snapped back to him, eyes widening slightly. "What's yours?"

"Yang Lin."

The words settled in the air between them. Solid. Certain.

Lynx met his gaze, unwavering. "Your name is going to be Ryuxian Yang Lin."

Something tightened in Ryuxian's chest. It wasn't just a name—it was an anchor. A weight. Something to hold on to.

"And you still have the jade pendant, right?" Lynx asked suddenly.

Ryuxian's fingers instinctively brushed against his chest. "Yeah. I have it. I'd never lose it." His grip tightened. How could I ever lose my insurance card? The thought flickered through his mind with a wry, bitter edge.

Lynx nodded, satisfied. Then, without further words, he motioned toward the table. "Eat. I'll be in Secular for the next three days. Rest. Help the Chief Mountain if you need something. I'll be back when you're ready to leave."

Then he was gone.

Deep within the Twelve Mountains, Lynx made his way through the silent woods, the air thick with mist and the scent of damp earth. His steps were steady, unhurried, until he reached a small, worn-down temple hidden within the trees.

He stepped inside.

The temple was barely a structure—one room, aged wood, and stone steps leading to nowhere. The air was colder here. The kind of cold that seeped into the bones. Lynx sat on the worn steps, his body still, his face unreadable.

Above him, the full moon shone in the ink-black sky.

He stared at it, deep green eyes reflecting its silver glow. Then, without warning, they blurred.

His hands clenched against his knees.

"Where are you?"

The words barely escaped his lips, a whisper lost in the night.

"Why am I suddenly involved in the world you left behind? Why?"

His throat tightened, his jaw clenched.

He turned his head away, gaze shifting inside the dimly lit temple. Shadows stretched across the single room, empty except for the weight of things unsaid.

And in that silence, he remained.

The Next Day

Ryuxian wandered through the village, feeling the weight of his new name settle on his shoulders. The moment Lynx had given it to him, the identity of "Ryuxian Yang Lin" had become something real—something that tethered him to this place.

The Chief of the temple had already taken notice. The moment he saw Ryuxian, his expression turned unreadable, a mix of awe and uncertainty clouding his face. The Guardian Deity of the Holy Mountain… has taken him under his wing? As a successor?

It had never happened before. Not in centuries.

And now, the Chief wasn't sure whether he should be celebrating or fearing what came next.

But an order was an order. The Guardian himself had chosen this boy. Denying it was out of the question.

Without hesitation, the Chief called for a young monk. "Announce it," he said, his voice firm despite the turmoil in his heart. "Let the people know. We have received a member from our Guardian Deity himself."

The news spread like wildfire.

By midday, the village buzzed with movement. People circled Ryuxian, eyes filled with questions, curiosity, and reverence.

They wanted to know everything.

"What does the deity look like?"

"Have you seen him with your own eyes?"

"Did he speak to you directly?"

Few had ever even felt his presence. Fewer still had seen him. Even the Chief—who had lived long and seen much—had only caught glimpses of Lynx twice in his lifetime. And those were nothing more than moments. Orders passed down. Nothing more, nothing less.

Now, standing before Ryuxian, they sought answers to mysteries they had spent their entire lives wondering about.

Ryuxian barely had time to process any of it before food was forced into his hands. The village treated him as both an honored guest and something more—a figure linked to divinity.

A table was set before him, covered in fruits and bowls of porridge.

Not much meat, he noted. They had anticipated his human cravings but seemed uncertain whether he still carried them.

Outside, offerings began to pile at the foot of the mountain. Fruits, grains, and coins—donations meant for the deity. Word had spread beyond just the village. People from the surrounding areas began to ascend the mountain, desperate to offer their devotion.

Ryuxian sat beneath a wide tree, watching it all unfold. He hadn't expected this. He knew Lynx was powerful, but this? This was something else entirely.

He had been chosen by a god.

And that god was worshipped.

Young monks and children gathered around him, their voices eager as they spoke of Lynx's importance.

"Those who catch even a glimpse of him are blessed," one child said.

"As long as one is true and loyal to him, he grants protection," another added.

Ryuxian listened in silence.

He had always imagined gods as distant figures—legends, myths, intangible beings that people clung to out of hope.

But here?

Here, gods walked among the people.

And the people, in turn, strengthened their gods through their devotion.

It felt strangely… familiar. Almost like Earth, where belief alone could shape the world.

Except this time, there was no question of whether gods were real. They were. Whether he liked it or not.

He let out a slow breath, tilting his head back. Above, the sky stretched endlessly, blue and shattered with streaks of white clouds. For the first time, he felt a strange sense of relief settle in his chest.

But he had no idea what lay ahead.

And worse, he had no idea whether he had ever truly chosen this path himself.

Or if fate had chosen for him.