It was the deep, velvety darkness before dawn when Ji Wuye rematerialized in his tent, enveloped by a blinding flash of brilliant white light.

  His crimson eyes, burning with an otherworldly radiance, swiftly scanned the familiar surroundings. Every object was precisely as he had left it—the neatly folded bedroll, the simple wooden table bearing the remnants of last night's modest repast.

  He drew in a long, deep breath, savoring the crisp, invigorating mountain air that carried the faint, earthy scents of the valley.

  Settling cross-legged upon his bed, Ji Wuye closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the rhythms of meditation.

  As his mind stilled and his focus intensified, faint tendrils of bluish Qi began to coalesce around him, drawn from the very essence of the environment itself.

  The ethereal strands of energy flowed through his meridians like gentle streams, pooling and swirling within the three Dantians.

  Breath followed breath in a steady, unhurried cadence as Ji Wuye's consciousness drifted, unbound by the constraints of physical form.

  At length, his crimson eyes flickered open once more. A fleeting temptation tugged at his thoughts—the tantalizing prospect of honing the the Eternal Blade.

  Yet he resisted the impulse. 'Let's save this for later, when I'm on the road,' he mused, setting the notion aside for the moment.

  Rising with a fluid grace, Ji Wuye swept aside the leather flap that served as the tent's entrance, stepping out into the hushed stillness of the camp at daybreak.

  …

  The first tentative fingers of dawn were just beginning to caress the jagged, windswept cliffs that loomed like craggy sentinels on either side of the valley, their towering forms casting long, angular shadows across the camp's buildings and grounds.

  Ji Wuye's white martial robe, accented with azure stripes, whispered softly as he moved, while his footfalls made scarcely a sound upon the hard-packed earth.

  His keen gaze swept across the eerily still expanse of the Ruoshui Camp, taking in the rows of silent structures and the conspicuous absence of the usual bustle of activity.

  'Not everyone is like me,' he acknowledged with a faint smile, well aware that most of the camp's inhabitants were likely still inside of the Tower of Gods.

  His eyes alighted upon the tables situated outside, where the remnants of a recent meal—fresh, steaming dishes and a few wooden cups—awaited the return of their owners.

  The hushed tranquility of the dawn was suddenly broken by a faint rustle of movement, a whisper of footsteps that reached Ji Wuye's keen ears.

  Turning his head, he soon noticed furtive glances peeking out from behind the tents, pairs of wary eyes pressed tightly against the fabric of the tent openings as they observed him with cautious curiosity.

  Yet as those watchful gazes took in the sight of Ji Wuye's long, snowy hair stirring in the gentle morning breeze, the faint, kind smile gracing his lips, the tension seemed to dissipate like mist burned away by the sun's first rays.

  Wide-eyed wonderment replaced their guarded stares, and in an instant, they burst forth from their hiding places in a flurry of movement.

  "Master Ji!" a small voice cried out, shattering the silence like a pebble cast into a still pond, the ripples of sound echoing through the empty camp.

  "It's Master Ji! He's here!" another eager voice joined in, brimming with excitement and relief.

  Soon, the crisp morning air was filled with the eager pitter-patter of tiny feet as a gaggle of children, barely as tall as Ji Wuye's knee, came rushing towards him, drawn like iron filings to a lodestone.

  In moments, his pristine white martial robe became an anchor for their small hands, clutching at the fabric with desperate need.

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  The girls, clad in simple two-piece outfits with short jackets and long skirts, pressed their tear-streaked cheeks against the soft material, seeking comfort and solace.

  Meanwhile, the boys formed a protective circle around him, as though afraid this beacon of hope might vanish as abruptly as he had appeared.

  Ji Wuye knelt down with deliberate, gentle movements, careful not to disturb the children clinging to him like shipwrecked sailors to a lifeline.

  His crimson eyes, so often burning with an intensity, softened as he took in their disheveled appearances—unkempt hair, hollow cheeks, and trembling hands. "Have you all eaten today?" he asked, his voice as warm and gentle as a spring breeze caressing new blooms.

  "N-No," a small girl with tangled braids stammered, her trembling voice barely audible above the thunderous pounding of her own heart.

  "We're so hungry, Master Ji. The food... it ran out yesterday." Her tiny fingers twisted nervously at the fabric of her skirt, as though seeking an anchor in the simple garment.

  "We tried to make it last," one of the older boys added, his voice tinged with guilt and shame. "But..." He trailed off, lowering his gaze as the unspoken truth hung in the air—the strain of holding back the ravening pangs of hunger had ultimately proved too much for their young bodies and resolute spirits to withstand.

  Suddenly, a younger girl, no more than six years of age, stepped forward hesitantly, "Master J—" The words caught in her throat.

  "Please," Ji Wuye interrupted gently, "Call me Brother."

  The children exchanged furtive glances, unspoken understanding passing between them in that silent communication unique to those whose bonds transcend mere words. Slowly, their faces brightened, the weight of formality melting away as warmth and trust blossomed anew.

  "Brother Ji," a small voice called out from the back of the group, drawing all eyes to a little girl whose gaze seemed far too old and haunted for one so young.

  She stepped forward, her expression a portrait of mingled dread and unspoken fear as the question that had been weighing upon all their hearts found voice. "When will my father and mother come back?"

  Her plaintive query hung in the air like a leaden weight, pressing down upon the assembled children with its unbearable gravity.

  A hush fell over the group, their gazes filled with that same desperate, aching hope that warred ceaselessly against the creeping tendrils of doubt and despair.

  Some fidgeted nervously, worrying at the hems of their clothes, while others gripped each other's hands ever tighter, seeking solace and strength in that simple physical connection.

  They all understood, in that instinctive way that transcends age, what the Tower truly meant. They had watched, eyes wide with incomprehension, as their parents and older siblings had vanished in the blink of an eye with only the barest promises to return.

  And some, far too many, had simply never come back, leaving only absence and anguished questions in their wake.

  The fear was an old, familiar companion now, a specter that had haunted their dreams and waking thoughts for the past three months since this all-too-familiar scene had first unfolded.

  Back then, both the children and their parents had been frantic, overtaken by terror and confusion in equal measure, consumed by the maelstrom of emotion that the Tower's inexplicable summons had unleashed upon their once-peaceful lives.

  But now, when the time came again and those dreaded words were spoken, their parents simply bid them farewell with forced smiles and hollow assurances that it was only temporary.

  The children were still afraid, their innocent faces etched with worry and uncertainty far beyond their tender years.

  Some shed silent tears, remembering with painful clarity how some of their relatives had left three months ago, embracing their loved ones with the same empty promises... and never returned from whatever inscrutable trials the Tower had subjected them to, leaving only absence and heartache in their wake.

  Now, the sight of Ji Wuye—who, like their parents, had inexplicably vanished only to somehow find his way back to them—provided a glimmer of belief. Surely, he must know something.

  Ji Wuye gazed into their pleading eyes, those guileless pools of unguarded emotion, and felt a deep pang of conflict stir within his chest.

  How could he bring himself to tell them the truth, to shatter the delicate illusion that was all that sustained them in the face of such overwhelming uncertainty?

  Those eyes were a mirror into his own past, reflecting the same desperate longing and anguished vigil that he himself had endured in a previous timeline as he had waited, endlessly, for his Senior Sisters to return.

  But unlike his own Senior Sisters, disciples of the Kunlun Sect, these children's parents were, for the most part, 'just common people,' he thought.

  He recalled the many times he had debated, torn by indecision, whether to share the true content of the Tower's challenges with others, only to be stayed by the sobering realization that…

  'Just like honey—it attracts hornets as soon as it's found,' he thought.

  Perhaps word would spread, piece by piece, until it eventually led to people gathering and attacking him, driven by desperation and greed, just to extract the information he held.

  Such was human nature, or so Ji Wuye had come to perceive it after living through two vastly different timelines, each etched indelibly into his soul. Yet for these children, huddled before him with their fragile hopes laid bare...

  "Trust your parents. Never doubt them," he said, his voice steady and soothing, a balm upon their troubled spirits as he imparted the comforting words they so desperately needed to hear. "You are their source of strength."

  That was the true strength of humanity—belief. Faith, that intangible yet unshakable force that gave people the power to persevere against all odds, just as it had for him in his previous timeline when all seemed lost.

  As the reassuring words left his lips, Ji Wuye's gaze drifted almost of its own accord to the sturdy walls surrounding the camp, their solid frames built to safeguard these people from the strange, malevolent creatures that had once poured forth from the depths of the Dungeons like a virulent plague.

  "At least those monsters are gone now," he added, the simple statement seeming to lift the pall of somber melancholy that had hung over the children, even as their expressions remained tinged with lingering uncertainty.

  "Brother Ji, look!" a young girl suddenly exclaimed, her voice ringing out like a clarion call amidst the quiet contemplation.

  With a proud, beaming smile, she held out a small rice ball carefully wrapped in a verdant bamboo leaf. "Man'er showed me how to make it before she... before the Tower. It's a bit squished but..."

  Before Ji Wuye could respond, a boy clad in a faded blue peasant garment tugged insistently at his sleeve, his eyes alight with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

  "My sister too! She promised to teach me how to write more characters when she comes back," he said, his ink-stained fingers—evidence of diligent practice, calligraphy etched upon stones with water as his ink—fidgeting nervously with the fabric of Ji Wuye's robe.

  "Mine too! Mine too!" Several eager voices joined the chorus, their wooden clogs and straw sandals shuffling in the dirt as they vied for Ji Wuye's attention.

  ...

  The sun rose steadily from the horizon, its warm golden light spilling across the camp like a benevolent tide, chasing away the last lingering shadows of dawn.

  Though the grounds were still mostly deserted, faint noises from the distance hinted at life stirring anew, the first trickles of activity as some of those who had finished the Tower's challenges began to return to the waking world.

  Meanwhile, Ji Wuye was back inside his tent, having made sure to provide the children with meals and while listening their stories before taking his leave. Now, he sat upon a sturdy wooden chair, a well-worn book cradled in his hands.

  At the same time, before him, a shimmering, transparent screen flickered into existence.

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  [!] Your understanding of the realm of 'Zone' has slightly increased!

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