The Path No One Saw

Chapter 2: The Dead Root Wakes

In a secluded courtyard nestled deep within the Wu Clan's inner estate, the sun filtered softly through lattice screens, its warmth casting golden patterns across cold stone. A breeze stirred—gentle, respectful—rustling the spiritwood leaves and coaxing whispers from the mossy tiles. Somewhere beyond, a wind chime clinked faintly, its melody echoing through the silence of a place too used to waiting.

On a woven straw mat inside one of the inner chambers, a small boy lay motionless.

His frame was fragile, almost translucent in the morning light. His limbs were still, face pale but peaceful, as though carved from porcelain. His chest rose and fell—barely—each breath a testament to something too stubborn to fade completely.

He hadn't moved since the day he was born.

That's how long the room had remained frozen in time. A cradle for hope long since dismissed.

At first, the Wu Clan had tried. They were not heartless. The elders summoned spirit healers from other provinces, traded rare herbs, even bartered with temple priests from the high mountains. For a time, the room had smelled of incense, of ginseng and lotus root elixirs. But as weeks became months, and months gave way to years, the visits dwindled. The incense stopped burning. And the silence deepened.

Eventually, he was labeled a lost cause. A dead root. A withered branch on the Wu family tree.

Some were cruel enough to say it aloud. Most weren't.

But all of them thought it.

Out of respect for his father, Great Elder Wu Lin, no one said it aloud anymore. Not since the Clan Head personally took action after overhearing two junior disciples gossiping about "the dead seed rotting in the elder's estate." They had been laughing near the medicinal garden, unaware that the Clan Head was within earshot. Their punishment was swift and painful. Since then, no one dared speak of Wu Yuan that way—at least not in public.

Still, whispers survived behind closed doors. But Wu Lin never responded to them. His silence was enough to keep the bolder ones wary.

No one visited anymore. Not the healers. Not the sect stewards. Not even the extended family. His room had become a forgotten wing of the estate. A place people passed quickly, eyes averted, voices lowered.

All except one.

Every morning, without fail, Wu Yuan's mother came.

She swept the floor by hand, refusing the aid of servants. She changed the bedsheets, even though they were never wrinkled. She sat beside her son and combed his hair gently, speaking to him of the birds outside, of clan news, of festivals he'd missed.

She never cried in front of him. Never let the sadness seep into her voice.

To the world, she was the madwoman who refused to accept fate.

But to herself, she was a mother. And her son had simply not yet woken up.

Until today.

A faint flutter ran through Yuan's fingers.

Then, his eyelids twitched.

The wooden beams above him were carved with spiraling clouds and beasts that almost seemed to move in the shifting light. Pale blue lanterns floated just below the ceiling, held up by no chains, gently pulsing with energy like sleepy fireflies.

His gaze drifted to the paper screen door at the far end of the room. Beyond it, a stone courtyard shimmered with dew. There was no noise from cars, no buzz of streetlights—just birds and the wind.

The world was blurry. Shapes wavered like smoke. Light stabbed at his pupils. Everything felt distant, unreal, like a dream.

His head pounded, but not with pain—more like pressure. His fingers looked small. His arms, thinner than they should be. Something about his body felt... off.

Why do I feel so light? Where are my—my clothes? My phone? Wait... whose house is this?

He tried shifting again. His shoulder responded sluggishly. The bed beneath him felt too rough—nothing like the hospital cots he'd once known.

His mind struggled to keep up.

Was he in a hospital?

He tried to lift his arm. It felt like someone had tied boulders to his shoulders.

He tried to sit up, only to flop back down again. His muscles were soft, unfamiliar. Even blinking took effort.

Slowly, he turned his head to the side. His neck cracked. His body felt like it had been asleep for a century. Maybe it had.

His throat was dry. He could barely form a thought before a soft gasp pierced the haze.

"Yuan'er?"

"I knew it," she whispered, cupping his face. "I told them, every single day—you'd come back to me."

She kissed his forehead and stroked his cheeks. "Even when the healers stopped trying. Even when your father…"

Her voice trembled. "I cleaned this room every day. I never let the sheets wrinkle. They called me crazy, but look at you now… you came back."

She called his name again, over and over, as if afraid it would vanish the moment she stopped.

From beyond the courtyard, hurried footsteps pounded the stone path.

And then—

BOOM.

The door slammed open, nearly coming off its hinges.

A man appeared in the doorway, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in long black robes with silver trim. His hair was tied in a warrior's knot, his eyes sharp and cold—until they landed on the boy lying on the mat.

"Yuan!"

Wu Lin crossed the room in an instant. To Yuan, it felt like the man had simply appeared. One moment the doorway was empty, the next this stern-faced man was kneeling at his side.

Teleportation? No, that wasn't possible…

He blinked, disoriented. His senses were lagging behind reality. Maybe it was the years of sleep. Maybe it was the shock.

Is… is this a dream?

No. This wasn't Earth. The air smelled too clean. The man's speed, the strange clothes, the way his voice resonated with some unseen energy—it didn't make sense.

Wu Lin gripped his son's hand tightly, jaw clenched. For a moment, he said nothing. Just looked. As if afraid the boy would disappear again.

Then he stood abruptly and barked orders outside.

"Summon the clan medics. Send word to the Clan Head. And prepare the inner courtyard—we need privacy!"

Within moments, servants and elders began rushing about.

Outside, two passing disciples paused near the hall entrance, whispering under their breath.

"He really woke up?" one asked.

"I heard Elder Wu nearly tore the doors off their hinges," the other replied. "Dead Root or not, that kid's got the whole clan on edge."

"Don't call him that. The Clan Head had someone flogged for it, remember?"

Both fell silent as a servant coughed nearby and glared at them until they hurried off.

Yuan sat up slowly. His body was weak, but not unfamiliar. He remembered dying. He remembered the lightning. He remembered… silence. Rings. The void.

And now—this.

Another world?

He didn't want to jump to conclusions. It could be a coma-induced hallucination. But the clues were stacking fast.

He looked at his father—at least, he assumed this man was his father. The resemblance was faint, but something in the man's eyes, in his voice—it felt… right.

Before he could think further, another figure stepped in.

The air in the room seemed to change.

Power. Calm. Authority.

The man who entered was younger than Wu Lin but radiated a presence that pressed lightly on the skin, like standing near an electric fence. His robe was deep blue, with golden embroidery of a soaring dragon. He walked slowly, yet each step carried silent force.

"Big Brother," he said respectfully, nodding once to Wu Lin.

Then his gaze softened as he turned toward Yuan.

"Little Yuan," he said with a quiet smile. "I'm your uncle, Wu Lingtian. I've waited a long time to see your eyes open."

Yuan blinked again, staring.

Uncle? Wu Lingtian? Clan Head?

Before he could ask anything, another elder stepped forward.

"We should test his meridians. If they remain blocked—"

"He just woke," Wu Lin interrupted firmly. "Let him breathe."

Yuan barely registered the words.

Meridians? Aura?

His suspicion grew. He wasn't in a hospital. This wasn't Earth. This was…

A cultivation world.

Still, he didn't want to believe it just yet. Maybe this was a dream. A detailed hallucination.

Then it happened.

Ding.

A soft chime echoed inside his mind.

[System Initialized… Loading Core Functions…]

[Functions Unlocked: STATUS | MISSIONS | STORE]

A transparent window flickered into view. Only he could see it.

His eyes widened.

No system name. No guide. No welcome message.

Just a basic notice. Blank tabs.

He tried opening the STATUS panel—it was empty.

MISSIONS tab—empty.

STORE—nothing but static.

He frowned.

Something was wrong. It didn't feel complete. It wasn't broken, but… it was like holding a machine with half the gears missing.

Still, the presence was there. Deep. Dormant. Familiar.

It pulsed faintly, somewhere within him.

He exhaled and closed the interface. No one around him noticed anything. They were still talking. Planning.

Yuan leaned back slightly, silent.

He didn't know where he was exactly. He didn't know why this world looked the way it did.

But he was sure of one thing:

Something inside him had changed.

And it was only the beginning.

His ears still rang faintly from the system's earlier chime—but there was nothing more. No voice. No notifications. Just silence. Whatever had awakened… it wasn't in a hurry to speak again.

He turned his head slightly toward his father, who now stood by the window, arms folded, expression unreadable.

His mother noticed his shifting gaze and gently stroked his hair.

"You don't need to say anything yet. You've been asleep… for so long."

She paused, her voice catching.

"You're five years old now, Yuan'er. You were born healthy, but… you never opened your eyes. Not even once. Until today."

Yuan froze.

Five years?

He stared at his tiny fingers again. Five years in this body… and before that, three years in a coma back on Earth.

So that's… eight years… lost?

He let out a breath. No wonder his body felt like a noodle.

He looked around the room again—at the carved beams, the floating lanterns, the courtyards of stone and spirit wood—and for the first time, he let himself truly believe it.

This wasn't Earth.

I died… and I'm reborn. Not just in another body. In another world entirely.

And now, for some reason, he carried something strange within him. A system. A barely formed presence that had no name, no explanation, and no instructions.

Whatever it was, it hadn't left him after death.

It came with him.

Wu Lingtian, who had been quietly observing everything, now turned and stepped toward the entrance.

He looked at the lingering elders and servants who hadn't yet left the courtyard.

"Disperse," he said calmly. "Let Yuan take some rest. He just woke up. We'll talk about everything else when he's better."

With respectful nods, the onlookers bowed and began to leave one by one.

Wu Lin lingered for a moment, eyes fixed on Yuan. He opened his mouth, then stopped himself.

Yuan's mother gently stroked his hair again and whispered:

"You haven't eaten anything in five years. Let me cook something for you… myself."

Wu Lin hesitated, as if wanting to speak. But seeing the soft, unwavering care on her face, he simply nodded, turned, and silently exited with the others.

Now, only Yuan and his mother remained in the room.

She gently tucked the blanket around his small frame, brushing hair from his forehead.

"You rest now, my little Yuan. I'll be back soon."

She stood, her eyes lingering on him one last time, then turned and walked out quietly, leaving the door half open behind her.

Yuan stared up at the ceiling in silence.

His body was still weak.

But something inside was just waking up.

And the world… had no idea what was coming.