"Lan'er..." my father's voice was cautious now, concerned, as he watched me carefully.
I turned my gaze to them fully. "What if I told you, what if, someone like that helped me?" I didn't wait for their response. "Or maybe not helped me directly." I shook my head, trying to sort out the words of my lies. "But visited my dreams?"
here was silence for a moment. Not cold, not doubtful, just stunned quiet.
"I know it sounds strange," I added quickly. "But this... There's something that the old man had imparted me. I feel it inside me. He had said that he had cured me, and since I was so sick, he had also taken a pity upon me, and our family"
My mother slowly lowered the ladle in her hand, her lips parting just slightly.
My father stepped closer and crouched down to meet my eye. "Are you saying... an immortal had given you a gift of cultivation? this gift, it's in you now?"
I nodded, heart pounding.
He didn't laugh. He didn't scoff. Instead, he exchanged a glance with my mother, then looked back at me with a kind of wonder on his face.
My mother, on the other hand, had already begun to tear up. Silent, glistening drops rolled down her cheeks, catching the soft light of the hearth. Her lips trembled, not with fear or confusion. The sight of her face slowly growing wet with tears left me stunned, momentarily stealing the words from my mouth.
She didn't speak right away. Instead, she stepped closer and knelt beside me, her hands reaching forward with hesitant care, as if worried I might shatter like porcelain.
"Great heavens above, they have finally taken pity on us." My mother's voice trembled as she rushed forward and enveloped me in a tight embrace. Her arms wrapped around me with a desperation that made my breath hitch. "They have cured my baby—boohoo..." Her sobs escaped her in ragged waves, her tears soaking into my shoulder as she held me like I might disappear again.
I kept my expression soft, the picture of an innocent child unsure of her own miracle. I leaned into the warmth of her embrace, let my small hands rest gently on her back, and pretended not to feel the rising tide of confusion swirling inside me.
Why? Why were they so quick to believe something so absurd?
None of my words made logical sense. And yet, here she was, thanking the heavens with all her heart. No fear. No suspicion. Just... relief. Gratitude.
As she cried harder, I peeked over her shoulder at my father, who stood silently with his hands half-dried from washing vegetables. He didn't say a word, but the look in his eyes was far from disbelief. If anything, he looked as though a weight had been lifted from him. He gave a single, solemn nod.
They believe me... or rather, they want to believe. I thought. They need to believe in something. Anything.
Years of hardship. Unrelenting poverty. Watching their daughter wither and fade like a candle in the wind. If I had been in their shoes, perhaps I too would've clung to the faintest spark of hope.
"Lan'er, this is a matter of great importance." My father's deep voice cut through the warmth of the moment, grounding me with a stern edge. He knelt beside me, his rough hands resting on his knees, eyes locked with mine. Serious, steady, the kind of gaze that made you feel seen and judged all at once.
"You must learn to keep this a secret," he continued, the weight of his words pressing down on my shoulders. "Not all smiling faces want the best for you."
The flickering firelight danced across his weathered features, highlighting the years etched into the corners of his eyes and the tight line of his mouth. This was not a warning from a paranoid man—it was a lesson carved from experience, from survival.
"I understand," I said quietly, my voice small but firm. "I won't tell anyone else."
It was a given that I wouldn't tell anyone else. I would be a fool to brandish a golden sword and expect people not to try and take it. Secrets like these were dangerous. The moment they were revealed, people would come knocking, and not always with kind intentions.
On the other hand, I was relieved to hear the weight in my father's voice. The solemnity told me I had made the right choice in confiding in them.
My fears had been gnawing at me, but his response settled something inside me. He wasn't frightened, or doubtful. He was steady. Grounded. Protective. And probably the most important aspect that I wanted, was that he believed me.
He reached forward then, and gently placed a calloused hand on my head. "Good girl," he said, and it held more than just approval, it held relief.
Behind him, my mother had already dried her tears and was now bustling again, though she kept glancing back at me with tender eyes, as if afraid I might vanish if she looked away too long.
Green stirred gently, her voice curling through my mind like a ribbon of sound. "Master, you might find it odd that they accepted your story so easily," she began thoughtfully, "but you don't truly understand how cultivators are perceived in this world."
I frowned slightly, trying to make sense of her words. "What do you mean by that? No matter how strong they are, cultivators are still humans, aren't they?"
"That is true, technically. A low-level cultivator is simply stronger, faster, and more resilient than the average human. But to the common people, peasants like your current parents, they are far more than that."
I blinked, turning her words over in my head. "So you're saying all those stories my father used to tell me, those bedtime tales about sword saints, flying immortals, and men who could summon fire with a flick of their fingers, he actually believes those were real?"
Green's tone didn't waver. "Not only does he believe them, Master, but his beliefs are rooted in truth. Those stories may be exaggerated, embellished with time and imagination, but the essence remains. Cultivators are powerful. Their abilities, while varied and limited by realm, often appear supernatural to the average villager."
A cold realization settled in my chest. "So... my parents actually believe cultivators are all-knowing gods?"
There was a pause before Green replied. "To them, cultivators might as well be. When someone can walk across water, fly through the sky, or cut down a beast twice their size with a flick of a sword, what else could they be but gods in mortal flesh?"