CHAPTER 152: CH-152: NOT YET

The plateau stretched out like a forgotten battlefield, wind-scoured and littered with the bones of trees long dead. Sparse tufts of grass clung to shallow soil, bending beneath the same wind that pulled at the Scouts’ cloaks. The sky above was wide, raw with light, clouds moving quick as if chased.

Tian Shen set the pace, not hurried, but never still for long. The pass behind them felt narrower now in memory, a tunnel that might close the moment they turned back. The plateau offered no such comfort — here, there was no shelter, no walls, no orchard canopy to soften the air.

Feng Yin walked just behind him, eyes scanning the horizon. The plateau seemed flat at first glance, but its surface was cut with sudden gullies and ridges. Too many places for something to watch from.

The Scouts fell into formation without instruction. Ji Luan ranged to the right, keeping the sun at his back to spot movement. Little Mei stayed to the left, her gaze not on the land but on the sky, where Drowsy was a dark shape circling high.

They had been walking for less than an hour when they found the first mark.

It was carved into the ground — a spiral etched into the hard soil, lines too precise to be made by wind or erosion. Small stones had been placed at intervals along its curve, each with a faint, silvery sheen.

Ji Luan crouched beside it. "Not natural."

"No," Tian Shen agreed. He squatted, running his fingertips along one groove. It was cold despite the sun. "And it’s fresh."

Feng Yin’s hand went to her sword hilt. "Same hand as the sigils in the orchard?"

Tian Shen nodded once. "But this... this isn’t meant to bind. It’s meant to call."

"Call what?"

He didn’t answer.

They moved on without disturbing the mark, though Tian Shen kept glancing back until it was lost to the wind.

...

By midday, the plateau dipped into a shallow basin. A lone tree stood at its center, gnarled and leafless, its bark the color of ash. They approached cautiously — the basin’s edges were strewn with cracked stones, as though some heat had once split them from within.

The air here was different — stiller, yet heavy, as if holding its breath.

Feng Yin circled the tree first. No roots showed above the soil. No birds perched on its branches. When she touched the bark, a fine powder came away on her fingertips, smelling faintly of river silt.

"It’s dead," she said.

"Dead things can still be used," Tian Shen replied.

He tilted his head, listening. Beneath the faint whisper of the wind, there was another sound — a low hum, just at the edge of hearing. He motioned the Scouts back and pressed his palm to the trunk.

The hum grew sharper, and in that moment he knew it was not coming from the tree, but from below it.

Something stirred in the earth.

Tian Shen stepped away. "We don’t linger."

They camped that night on the basin’s far rim, building their fire low and shielding it with stones. The air cooled fast here, the wind knifing through their cloaks. Drowsy huddled closer than usual, her warmth welcome.

Little Mei sat beside Feng Yin, who was sharpening her blade in long, even strokes. "It feels like the orchard did before we left," the girl said quietly. "Like it’s holding something."

Feng Yin’s gaze flicked to Tian Shen, who was seated a short distance away, staring into the dark. "Maybe," she said. "But the orchard grew around us. This place... it’s watching."

That night, Tian Shen dreamed.

He stood in the orchard, but it was wrong — the trees were bare, their branches twisted together to form a cage around him. The ground was soft, wet, smelling of the river. Somewhere beyond the trunks, something walked in slow circles, its footsteps measured, deliberate.

He turned to face it, but each time he did, the sound moved behind him again.

When he woke, the wind had died completely. The air was so still that the silence felt like weight.

...

They broke camp at first light. The plateau narrowed ahead, funnelling them toward a jagged outcropping of black stone. Beyond it lay a steep descent into another valley, darker and more forested than the one they had left behind.

Halfway to the outcropping, Drowsy gave a sharp cry and banked hard, circling something on the ground ahead.

The Scouts closed in quickly. It was another spiral mark, larger than the first, but this time something lay at its center — a flat disc of stone, carved with the likeness of a beast none of them recognized. It had the body of a stag, but its antlers were twisted into a lattice, and from each antler tip hung small, bell-like shapes.

Feng Yin crouched to study it. "It’s an offering."

"To what?"

Again, Tian Shen didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the bells. They did not move, yet he could hear them — faint, discordant, as if ringing under water.

He straightened abruptly. "We go around."

The descent into the valley was steep, forcing them to slow their pace. The trees here grew close together, their trunks pale and smooth, their leaves so dark they seemed almost black. The air was cooler, but the smell of iron was stronger.

It was Ji Luan who spotted the figure first — a man standing among the trees to their left, half in shadow. Barefoot, hair loose, clothing simple but stained at the hems. He made no move toward them, only watched.

When Tian Shen turned his head to look directly at him, the man smiled — the same cold smile the barefoot figure had worn at the river — and stepped back into the shadows. One blink, and he was gone.

They found no tracks when they searched, only the faintest impression in the moss where feet had stood.

By evening, they reached the valley floor, where a narrow stream wound its way between mossy stones.

They camped beside it, setting no fire this time. The forest’s darkness was thick enough that even Drowsy’s pale wings were hard to see.

Tian Shen sat with his spear across his knees, listening. The stream made the same restless sound as the one in the last valley, and he wondered if it was the same water — if it had followed them somehow.

Feng Yin joined him, her voice low. "Whoever he is, he’s not just marking ground. He’s weaving something."

"I know."

"Then we should cut it before it closes."

Tian Shen’s gaze stayed on the stream. "We will. But not here. Not yet."

...

That night, the wind returned, carrying with it a faint sound — not the ringing of bells, but the shifting of roots, deep in the earth.

...

At dawn, they found the third spiral.

It was carved into the bank of the stream, its grooves filled not with stones, but with water that did not flow.

In its center sat another disc, this one showing the same stag-beast — but this time its mouth was open, and from it poured a winding trail that led out of the carving and into the forest floor.

Little Mei reached toward it, but Tian Shen caught her wrist. "Don’t touch."

She drew back, eyes wide. "What happens if you do?"

"Depends," he said. "On whether you’re the one it’s meant for."

Feng Yin studied the trail of carved water.

"And if it’s not?"

Tian Shen met her eyes.

"Then it takes you anyway."

...

They left the spiral undisturbed and pushed deeper into the valley. The trees began to thin, and the air brightened. Somewhere ahead, birds called — the first birdsong they’d heard since crossing the plateau.

When they emerged into a small meadow, the sound grew louder. At its center was a pool fed by a thin waterfall. The water was clear, the grass bright, the flowers vivid — a place that seemed untouched by whatever lay behind them.

But Tian Shen’s steps slowed. The meadow was too perfect. Too placed.

He motioned for the Scouts to stay back and walked to the edge of the pool. Kneeling, he looked into its surface.

Beneath the reflection of the sky, he saw roots — not the roots of any tree above, but pale, gnarled things that shifted slowly, weaving patterns in the water.

And faintly, far below them, a face.

He stood, backing away from the pool. "We don’t stop here."

...

They left the meadow and climbed toward the next ridge. Behind them, the pool’s surface stilled, the flowers bowed as if in wind, though none blew.

On the ridge, Tian Shen paused, looking back one last time. The valley lay quiet, the spirals hidden beneath its shadows. But he could feel them, threading together beneath the earth, reaching toward each other.

Toward the orchard.

Feng Yin came to stand beside him. "We’ll have to go back, won’t we?"

"Yes," he said. "But not yet."

And as they turned to face the road ahead, the wind shifted — carrying with it the faint ring of bells from somewhere far behind.