Dao of the World Walker (Xianxia) Book 2

Yang was bone tired but happy. Finally happy at reaching flat ground after five months of hell on the mountain.

He walked and rested in cycles. Making sure to gather any fruit or vegetable he came across and hunting any game or bird that crossed his path. The forest here showed plants and trees completely different from what had been available on the other side of the mountain.

Yang followed the stream downstream from the mountain into the forest. He fully intended to stay close to it if he wanted to find civilization. He knew humans settled near water.

Water meant life. Crops needed irrigation. Animals needed drinking sources. People needed it for cooking, cleaning, and surviving. Every settlement Yang had ever heard of in either life was built near water.

As he followed the stream downhill, it widened gradually and the forest subtly changed around him as he descended.

At first the trees were wild and uneven, and the undergrowth was thick and untouched from human interference.

As he made his way through the days and nights Yang noticed details that made him slow his pace and observe more carefully.

He found fallen trees, cut clean instead of rotted. The cuts were old, weathered by seasons, but they were definitely made by tools. Not broken by storms or age.

Branches stacked or moved deliberately. Piled in ways that nature wouldn’t arrange them. Someone had been here before.

Trails worn through undergrowth. Narrow paths where feet had compressed the earth over time. Animals made trails, yes. But these were too wide. Too deliberately placed to be just animal paths.

Yang followed one for a while. It wound through the trees with purpose. Avoiding the steepest slopes. Crossing the stream at its shallowest points. People had planned this route.

Soon Yang saw fruit trees spaced apart in patterns too regular to be chance. The distance between them was identical and deliberate. Berry bushes in rows instead of random scattered clusters.

These were remnants of abandoned or seasonal farms. People had cultivated here. Maybe they still did during certain seasons.

The stream started showing signs of more recent use. Stones stacked to cross it, creating a shallow ford where the water ran fast.

Shallow channels carved to divert water away from the main stream. Irrigation, someone was using this water for crops somewhere downstream.

Muddy banks stamped flat from repeated foot traffic. The kind of flattening that came from daily use.

Yang’s heart beat faster. He was getting close.

Then came the sound.

Yang heard chopping wood. The rhythmic thunk of axe on tree. Animals bleating. Goats, Yang thought. Maybe sheep. As the sounds carried through the trees from somewhere ahead.

Before he ever saw a village, Yang knew he’d found one.

Finally the trees thinned ahead. Yang slowed and moved more carefully. Staying in the shadows watching.

The stream opened into a pond. Irrigation ditches branched off from the pond in multiple directions. Carefully maintained channels that carried water to fields beyond. Yang could see the shimmer of water flowing through them.

A wooden bridge crossed the widest part of the stream. Grazing fields stretched beyond the pond divided by wooden fences. Animals moved through them, goats definitely, some sheep as well.

Civilization.

Yang stopped at the forest edge and watched. He decided against approaching immediately. He needed to observe first. Understand what kind of people lived here.

The villagers would be wary of strangers. Especially one who looked like Yang did. Covered in furs and wearing ill-fitting clothes stolen from dead men.

He needed a plan.

It took Yang weeks in the forest. Finding shelter in caves and staying within range of the village to observe them.

He hunted animals for flesh and beast cores and gradually the muscle mass that had wasted away on the mountain returned.

He mapped the village thoroughly during those weeks. Learned which houses belonged to whom. Watched the daily routines. Saw who worked which fields. Who tended which animals.

The village had maybe sixty or seventy families. Far larger than his old home. The houses were better constructed. Wood and stone instead of just mud and thatch. Proper roofs that wouldn’t leak and windows with shutters.

A central square served as a gathering place. Yang watched villagers meet there in the evenings. Trading goods and sharing news. Children playing around while the adults talked.

He listened to them speaking and realized immediately they spoke a completely different language. Not a dialect or accent of what he’d spoken with Grandpa but an entirely different tongue with sounds and structures nothing like his own language.

Yang felt frustration build in his chest. He’d have to learn another language from scratch. Start with nothing. Like an infant learning to speak.

But as he observed more over the days, other details caught his attention and lifted his spirits somewhat.

These people were more prosperous than his old village. Much more so. They had land to farm, fields with organized crops. Vegetables in kitchen gardens and orchards with fruit trees.

His old village had been on rather infertile ground. People had only been able to hunt, fish, or gather food from the forest. Barely surviving year to year. Always one bad winter away from starvation.

The villagers here looked rich by comparison. Their clothes were in better condition using colorful dyes instead of just plain cloth. Their children played instead of working constantly.

Yang saw them laughing. Celebrating small festivals. Living instead of just surviving.

It made him ache for what his old village might have been if the land had been better. If Grandpa could have lived somewhere like this.

Yang had been observing for days now and felt confident that he could take a chance on approaching eventually.

He had skills to contribute. Yang could hunt for them. He’d noticed that despite the villagers being prosperous with their farming, they lacked meat in their diet, hunting for meat being rather dangerous and the farm animals being too essential to regularly slaughter for food.

They had some poultry. Chickens and ducks that wandered the village and some goats he’d seen people herding to different grazing areas. But no cows or larger dairy or meat animals.

The forest was right there. Full of game. Yang had seen deer, wild boar, rabbits, birds of every kind. The hunting was excellent here. Better than near his old village.

But the villagers seemed afraid to venture deep. Their hunting parties stayed close to the edges. Took safe, well-worn paths. Never pushed into the deeper forest where the best game lived.

Yang could change that. Provide meat in exchange for food, shelter, language lessons. It would be a fair trade that would benefit everyone.

But the language barrier was a massive problem. He’d been thinking about how to introduce himself for days. Since he didn’t speak their language and doubted they’d understand his, Yang had no idea how to go about it.

Maybe pantomime? Bring them a killed animal as an offering? Show his hunting skills through action instead of words?

Or maybe wait until he learned enough of their language by listening. But that could take months. Years, even. Yang didn’t want to spend that long living in the forest when human contact was so close.

Yang sat deeper in the forest with his pack beside him. Eating nuts and thinking through his options. He was considering whether to move his camp closer to the village or to show himself when he suddenly heard a piercing scream from one side.

A child’s scream..

His inner instincts tugged him in that direction immediately. Sharp and insistent. More forceful than they’d been in years.

Yang froze. It had been some time since he’d felt such a strong tug. Since he’d become rather integrated with the instincts over his years in the forest, they mostly felt like his own feelings now. His own gut reactions and impulses.

But this was different. The instincts were pulling him with an urgent force. Demanding he move. Now.

That hadn’t happened since the early months in the forest. When the instincts had felt obviously foreign.

Another scream tore through the air even louder crying out in terror and pain.

Yang looked in the direction the sound came from. His body was already tensing, ready to run.

Should he? He didn’t know them. Didn’t speak their language. Getting involved could complicate everything and ruin his chances of peaceful contact.

But a child was screaming.

The instincts pulled harder. Insistent.

Yang’s body made the decision before his mind finished debating. He was already running toward the sound. His enhanced speed carrying him through the forest.

The inner instincts pulled him forward along the quickest route. Pushing him to move faster and faster.