But the village did not wake the same way.
There were no children at the well. No chatter. No slow rhythm of daily life.
Only silence.
—
Lin Mo stepped outside, Lin An'an in his arms.
He immediately felt it.
The air was heavier.
Not like before—this wasn't the quiet of fear.
It was pressure.
—
"What happened…?" he muttered.
—
Doors were open.
But people stood inside them.
Watching.
Waiting.
—
Auntie Fang spotted him first.
"Lin Mo!" she called out, her voice urgent.
"Come here."
—
He didn't hesitate.
—
"What is it?" he asked.
—
She lowered her voice.
"…Someone came last night."
—
Lin Mo's eyes sharpened.
"…Zhao Hu?"
—
"No."
—
That single word changed everything.
—
Old Man Wu stood nearby.
His expression was darker than before.
"…Not them," he said.
"…Something worse."
—
Before Lin Mo could ask—
A commotion broke out near the center of the village.
—
A man lay on the ground.
Convulsing.
—
Villagers stood at a distance.
No one dared to get close.
—
Lin Mo stepped forward anyway.
—
"Wait—!" Auntie Fang grabbed his arm.
"Don't go near!"
—
But he already saw it.
—
The man's skin—
Was wrong.
—
Faint black lines spread beneath it.
Like cracks.
Like something inside him was trying to tear its way out.
—
"…What happened to him?" Lin Mo asked.
—
No one answered.
—
Then—
The man stopped moving.
—
Completely.
—
A breath passed.
—
Then his eyes snapped open.
—
Not normal eyes.
—
Dark.
Empty.
—
The nearest villager screamed.
—
The man sat up in one motion—
Too fast.
Too unnatural.
—
And then—
He lunged.
—
Lin Mo reacted instantly.
He pulled the villager back just in time.
—
The man's hands struck the ground—
Hard enough to crack the dirt.
—
"What the hell—" someone shouted.
—
"Back!" Old Man Wu yelled.
"Everyone get back!"
—
But it was too late.
—
The man turned—
And charged again.
—
Lin Mo grabbed a wooden pole from the side.
No thinking.
No hesitation.
—
Just instinct.
—
The pole collided with the man's shoulder.
A dull, heavy sound.
—
But he didn't stop.
—
Didn't even react.
—
Lin Mo's pupils shrank.
"…That's not human."
—
Behind him—
A faint voice.
—
"…Mo…"
—
Shi Yue.
—
He turned.
She stood at the edge of the crowd.
Barefoot.
Unsteady.
—
She shouldn't have been here.
—
"Go back!" Lin Mo shouted.
—
But she didn't move.
—
Her eyes were fixed—
Not on the man.
—
But on something else.
—
"…It's leaking," she whispered.
—
Lin Mo frowned.
"Leaking… what?"
—
She raised her hand slightly.
Trembling.
—
"…Time."
—
At that moment—
The man lunged again.
—
But—
Something changed.
—
His movement—
Slowed.
—
Not naturally.
—
Not visibly.
—
But enough.
—
Lin Mo saw it.
Felt it.
—
A fraction of a second—
Stretched.
—
And that was enough.
—
He stepped forward—
Turned—
And struck again.
—
This time—
The man stumbled.
—
Just slightly.
—
But it was the first time he reacted.
—
The villagers gasped.
—
Shi Yue's knees buckled.
—
The pressure vanished.
—
The man froze.
—
Then collapsed.
—
Still.
—
Silent.
—
This time—
He didn't move again.
—
A long silence followed.
—
No one spoke.
—
No one moved.
—
Lin Mo stood there, breathing heavily.
The wooden pole still in his hand.
—
He looked at the body.
—
Then at Shi Yue.
—
"…What was that?" he asked.
—
She didn't answer immediately.
—
Her gaze was distant.
—
"…Something broke," she said softly.
"…and something came through."
—
A chill ran through the crowd.
—
Old Man Wu stepped forward slowly.
—
"…This is bad," he muttered.
—
Lin Mo turned.
"…You know what this is?"
—
The old man hesitated.
—
Then nodded.
—
"…I've heard of it."
—
His voice lowered.
—
"…When cultivators fight… sometimes things don't stay where they belong."
—
The villagers stiffened.
—
"…That man," Old Man Wu continued,
"…was already dead."
—
Silence.
—
"…Something else was moving him."
—
Lin Mo's grip tightened.
—
He looked at his hands.
—
At the pole.
—
At the body.
—
Then—
At Shi Yue.
—
She looked fragile again.
Like before.
—
But now—
He knew.
—
Last night wasn't an accident.
—
And this—
Was only the beginning.
—
Far above the village—
Beyond sight.
—
Something stirred.
—
Not because of the man.
—
Not because of the villagers.
—
But because—
For a brief moment—
—
Time had been touched.