"What is your request?" Zhi Xuan asked at last, his voice remaining flat as he took another sip of the wine without asking for permission.

  Xu Han walked toward the door, stopping right at the threshold as the night wind billowed his robes. "This Xu only wishes to ask for a promise hundreds of years into the future. I have reached the point where I am but a single step away from Weaver Transformation. And you, Brother Zhi, seem to be forging a True Domain derived from your own insights."

  "As for the promise, should Brother Zhi truly reach that Weaver Transformation," Xu Han continued, turning slowly with a mysterious smile. "This Xu wishes to be your companion to the Ruined Wilderness. It is rumored that an ancient tomb lies there, preserving knowledge of the realms above the Nine Plains."

  Zhi Xuan drained the last drop of wine from his cup, feeling the warmth begin to cool. He stared at Xu Han’s back, which remained motionless in the doorway, his silhouette bisecting the moonlight that spilled across the floor.

  "The Ruined Wilderness..." Zhi Xuan murmured, his voice sounding like a whisper from a distant past. "Knowledge of the realms above the Nine Plains? Isn't giving such information to this woodworker a futile gesture, Brother Xu?"

  Xu Han did not turn, but his shoulders shook slightly with a silent, subtle laugh. "Futile? To those who only see the mortal shell in front of this shaving bench, perhaps. But to this Xu, who has spent five hundred years dissecting the secrets of clouds and oceans, your presence here is the most exquisite thing in Yao Gu."

  The man in the crane-patterned robes stepped one foot outside the threshold but paused for a moment, letting the night air sweep over his mature face. "Brother Zhi, Xu will only say more if permitted."

  Zhi Xuan remained still. He set the wine cup on the table and finally stood up. "Brother Xu is far too full of mystery, saying things without clear intent. Come back inside; let us enjoy this wine."

  Xu Han did not refuse. He turned with natural grace, his blue robes fluttering softly as he stepped back into the workshop scented with wood shavings. He sat down again, but this time he unfastened his personal wine flask and placed it in the center of the table as a sincere mark of respect to his host.

  "Mystery is the universe's way of keeping man feeling small," Xu Han said as he poured wine into Zhi Xuan’s cup. "But for you, Brother Zhi, mystery is not a puzzle; it is a blanket you use to cover a fire that burns too bright."

  Zhi Xuan accepted the cup, letting the cool steam of the wine touch his face. "A fire that is too bright will only burn those who try to draw near. Becoming ash in the darkness is far more peaceful than being a light swarmed by moths."

  Xu Han smiled thinly, his eyes narrowing as if savoring every word from Zhi Xuan’s lips. "A very sharp insight. But don't you realize that by carving these woods into breathing objects, you are actually summoning even larger moths?"

  Zhi Xuan sipped his wine, his gaze drifting toward the darkness in the corner of the room. "Let them come. This wood is just wood. If they see more than that, then what they see is merely a reflection of their own greed."

  "Fascinating," Xu Han whispered. He leaned forward slightly, allowing the moonlight to illuminate half of his face—a face that looked youthful yet held the depth of a thousand seasons. "You are weaving laws through the observation of mortality. You allow your inner self to be eroded by the dust of this village so you can feel the purest essence of life and death."

  "The Ruined Wilderness you mentioned earlier," Zhi Xuan shifted the conversation, his voice flat once more. "I have also heard of realms above the Nine Plains, but what makes you so certain as to seek that understanding there?"

  Xu Han leaned back against the wooden chair Zhi Xuan had carved, feeling a comfort he had never experienced from any jade throne in his sect. "Because in these Nine Plains, we are all just fish trapped in a drying pond."

  "We think the Sacred Passage is the pinnacle of all things—that entering the Sacred Path is the ultimate ascent. But, Brother Zhi, don't you feel a sort of... false heaven overshadowing us?" Xu Han continued, his fingers tapping the rim of his cup in a rhythm synchronized with the heartbeat of the earth.

  "A false heaven..." Zhi Xuan repeated the words in a very low tone. "If this heaven is false, then is the path of the Dao we have walked for hundreds of years merely a dance upon a stage?"

  "Not quite," Xu Han countered with a thin smile. "The Heavenly Dao is what we perceive as the Sky above. The Great Path is insurpassable, even by our understanding. That is why this Xu wishes to travel together to the Huang Tu Plains, to seek that Ruined Wilderness."

  "Huang Tu, a fitting name for a wilderness," Zhi Xuan said softly, his voice carrying a heavy resonance. "Isn't the infamous Black Corpse Sect located there?"

  Xu Han nodded, his gaze sharpening at the mention of the name. "Exactly. The Black Corpse Sect controls most of the arid Huang Tu region. They worship death, yet ironically, they do not understand the essence of death at all. They merely collect empty shells, relying on the stench of corpses to terrify the world."

  "Unlike you, Brother Zhi," Xu Han glanced at the half-finished coffin in the corner. "You carve a home for death with warmth. You treat the shell that is departing as a guest to be escorted with honor, not as a base tool of war."

  Xu Han laughed softly, his voice clear this time. "And that is why this Xu wants to invite you. In the Nine Plains, practitioners of Weaver Transformation are rarely seen, and those who exist are usually too busy guarding their sect's power. But you... you are someone fit to be a partner on this journey."

  "A promise hundreds of years into the future is a very long time for a mortal, but only a blink for those of us hiding behind the dust," Zhi Xuan remarked, setting his cup down with a soft clink. "And what makes you so sure that this Zhi will agree? I am but a woodworker enjoying the remains of the season in this small village."

  Xu Han stood up, his robes rustling faintly. "Because you, Brother Zhi, cannot carve this mortal wood forever. Your soul is a sword being sharpened by silence. One day, this wood will no longer be able to contain your understanding, and you will look up at the sky, realizing this pond is too small for a dragon like you."

  Xu Han walked toward the door, but before he truly departed, he placed a small, pitch-black jade token on Zhi Xuan’s workbench, right beside the sandalwood shavings.

  "This token is a sign of the agreement we share," Xu Han said, as if the pact between them had already been sealed. "If one day you truly agree to this, Brother Zhi may seek Xu using the guidance within that token. Brother Zhi, I take my leave."

  The two disciples behind Xu Han bowed low toward Zhi Xuan—a gesture of respect born now from a mixture of dread and awe—before following their master into the thickening night mist.

  After Xu Han’s departure, the silence in the workshop felt heavier, as if the air he left behind carried the weight of secrets from thousands of miles away. Zhi Xuan did not touch the black jade token immediately. He only stared at it in the dimness, where the faint glow of the jade occasionally flashed like the eye of a devil lurking in the dark.

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  "The Ruined Wilderness... Huang Tu Plains," Zhi Xuan murmured. He walked to the window, gazing at the moon which had reached the zenith of the sky. "Great Saint, have you ever heard of an ancient tomb there?"

  "Huang Tu is a cursed land," Ruo Xianxue’s voice sounded somber. "In the era of the Great Emperor's fall, before the Nine Plains were fractured as they are now, that region was rumored to be the landing site of a fragment of Heaven. My memories have faded with time, but from that man’s words, this is a great opportunity, Zhi Xuan."

  Zhi Xuan stroked the wooden window frame, now rough from the elements. "A fragment of Heaven... If what Xu Han says is true, then the sky we look upon is indeed just a thin veil covering a greater truth. And we, the cultivators, are but insects crawling upon that veil, thinking we have conquered the horizon."

  He turned back, his fingers finally touching the black jade token. The coldness of the jade seeped into his skin, as if the object were a shard of eternal ice taken from the depths of hell. Yet, beneath that coldness, Zhi Xuan felt a very steady pulse of energy—a frequency attuned to the vibrations of the distant Huang Tu earth.

  "Xu Han is no ordinary practitioner," Zhi Xuan mused internally to Ruo Xianxue. "He was able to sense the Laws within a mortal coffin. That means his understanding of laws has begun to touch Weaver Transformation. Promising a journey with him isn't a bad thing, but..."

  "But you still want to be this woodworker," Ruo Xianxue cut in, her tone now softer. "You fear that if you step into Huang Tu, this peaceful 'Zhi' will die, and the Southern Devil will rise again with an even greater thirst for blood."

  Zhi Xuan fell silent. He looked at his calloused palms—hands that for the past three years had only been used to shape wood, not to take lives. He felt the peace he had built in Cangyun Village was something incredibly fragile, like a thin layer of ice over a deep lake.

  Zhi Xuan turned his palm over, gripping the black jade token in a tight fist. "The Southern Devil never died, Ruo. He is simply learning how to hold a wooden axe before he holds a sword again. If the heaven is indeed false, then I do not mind being the one to tear that veil apart."

  He placed the token into his storage bag. Xu Han’s presence that night was like a stone cast into a still pond; though the ripples were small, they had disturbed the silt at the bottom of Zhi Xuan’s soul.

  The next morning, the sun rose with a light sharper than usual, as if summer were giving its final greeting before autumn truly took hold. Zhi Xuan emerged from his workshop carrying a coffin, finding Auntie Mei already busy sweeping the courtyard of her shop next door.

  "Morning, Little Brother Zhi!" Auntie Mei called out energetically. "You look refreshed today. Did that festival wine last night really work on your back aches?"

  Zhi Xuan offered a thin smile—a smile that brought a sense of peace to anyone who saw it. "Indeed, Auntie Mei. This morning feels very light."

  "Uncle Zhi!" Nalan Yu cried out, followed by Nalan Shu, who this time came out carrying several silver pieces. "Mother said Uncle Zhi is delivering the coffin to Widow Wang; we want to come along and then go to the market!"

  Zhi Xuan looked at the two children, then toward the coffin made of old teak wood he had polished until it looked like a calm reef at the bottom of the ocean.

  "Very well," Zhi Xuan said as he lowered the coffin onto a wooden cart of his own making. "Help Uncle push this cart. The road to the cemetery at the edge of the village is quite uphill, and Uncle needs the strength of a young man like Yu."

  Nalan Yu puffed out his chest with pride, immediately taking his position behind the cart, while Nalan Shu walked beside Zhi Xuan, her slender fingers occasionally touching the small chrysanthemum carvings decorating the corners of the coffin.

  "Uncle Zhi," Nalan Shu whispered as they began to cross the path flanked by lush medicinal herbs. "Why did Uncle carve chrysanthemums? Didn't Widow Wang only ask for a plain coffin?"

  "Chrysanthemums are flowers that stay in bloom even when the air turns cold, Shu," Zhi Xuan answered without looking back, his footsteps in rhythm with the creak of the cartwheels. "It is a sign that even though the season of life has ended, the beauty of their loyalty will remain eternal in memory. This wood will protect him, and these chrysanthemums will accompany him."

  They arrived at Widow Wang's simple home as the sun began to feel warm on their shoulders. There were no hysterical cries, only a silence filled with respect. Widow Wang, a woman with hair almost entirely white, stood at the door. Her swollen eyes looked at Zhi Xuan’s coffin with a glimmer of gratitude.

  "Thank you, Brother Zhi," the old woman’s voice trembled. "My husband always loved the scent of the forest. This coffin... he will feel as if he is coming home."

  Zhi Xuan assisted in the process of moving the body with extraordinary composure. He did not use spiritual power, yet his movements were so efficient that the heavy body felt light. Afterward, he refused the silver pieces Nalan Shu offered on her mother's orders.

  "Keep the silver to buy a new hair ribbon at the market," Zhi Xuan said, patting Nalan Shu’s head. "For Uncle, seeing Widow Wang able to smile amidst her grief is a far higher payment."

  Afterward, the three of them walked toward the village market, which was beginning to bustle. Cangyun Market was the heart of mortal life in that region. The scent of spices, stacks of coarse silk, and the loud sounds of bargaining created a life of honesty.

  Zhi Xuan walked through the crowd, letting the market dust settle on his robes. He stopped at a stall selling ancient woodworking tools, his eyes fixed on a rusted iron file that had a unique shape.

  "Only three copper pieces, Sir!" the seller shouted, a middle-aged man with shrewd eyes. "It's old iron, but if you know how to sharpen it, it can smooth even the sharpest corner!"

  Zhi Xuan handed over his copper coins, feeling the weight of the cheap metal in his palm. "The iron has a good grain. it just needs a little attention."

  While Nalan Yu was busy looking at small knives and Nalan Shu was choosing embroidery thread, Zhi Xuan stood tall in the center of the market, closing his eyes for a moment. He did not try to feel the flow of spiritual energy, but rather the flow of fate of every person in that market.

  There was the happiness of a mother getting a cheap price for rice, the anxiety of a young man looking for work, and the peace of an old man just sitting and watching the world go by. All were real threads of law, which until now had been hidden behind the arrogance of the cultivation world.

  "Weaving the laws..." Zhi Xuan murmured. "It turns out it is not about creating new patterns in the sky. Rather, it is about weaving a heaven for those who walk upon the earth."

  After they had their fill of wandering, they returned home as the sun began to tilt westward. On the way back, Nalan Yu prattled on about his small axe, while Nalan Shu occasionally glanced at Zhi Xuan with a look of pure admiration. To them, Uncle Zhi was more than just a craftsman; he was a guardian of a peace they could not see.

  Arriving in front of the workshop, Zhi Xuan saw a Pale Moon flower he had planted some time ago had fully bloomed. Its silvery-white petals emitted a very soft fragrance, exactly like the scent he had smelled under the moonlight of old.

  He sat on his small porch, sipping bland tea while staring at the flower. Xu Han’s black jade token was still tucked in his pocket, but for now, its weight no longer burdened his mind. Zhi Xuan plucked a dry leaf that had fallen near the flower's petals.

  His rough fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the flower, creating a harmony between latent power and the gentleness he had just learned. Within his soul, the ripples caused by Xu Han’s arrival the previous night began to subside, settling with the wood dust that covered the floor of his workshop.

  "One more season will change," Zhi Xuan whispered to the evening wind. "The heaven may be false, but this flower blooms with a very real honesty."

  He stood up and went back into the workshop. This time, he did not reach for a large axe or chisel. He took a small piece of wood left over from making Widow Wang’s coffin—a piece of old wood with a circular pattern like a whirlpool. With a small carving knife, he began to carve without a definite plan.

  His hands moved following the grain of the wood, as if the wood itself were guiding the blade. He carved the figure of an old man sitting by a riverbank fishing, with a back slightly hunched but a face gazing calmly at the water.

  Time passed in silence. The sound of the knife scraping against wood became the only mantra heard in the room. Ruo Xianxue no longer spoke; it seemed even the Sacred Ancient Devil was swept away in the meditation of the woodworking Zhi Xuan performed.

  As dusk approached, the small statue was finished. Zhi Xuan placed it on the workbench, side by side with the black wood statue of the two fairies still covered in cloth. Although much smaller and of humbler material, the old fisherman statue radiated an incredibly strong aura of presence. Anyone who saw it would feel as if they, too, were sitting by the river, feeling the gentle breeze and an undisturbed peace.

  Zhi Xuan walked toward the back door, looking at the clear stream flowing by. He took a wooden bucket and watered the medicinal plants in his small garden. This mortal life, with all its repetition and simplicity, turned out to be a refining furnace far more effective than any meditation cave in the Nine Plains.

  "If I never stop walking," Zhi Xuan muttered, seeing his reflection in the water of the bucket, "then Cangyun Village is the place where I learned not to be a sword that only knows how to cut, but to be a needle that knows how to mend."