The Path No One Saw

Chapter 3: A New Path Begins

The aroma of warm rice porridge drifted through the room before the door even opened.

Soft steam curled along the wooden beams, like mist that had forgotten its place, filling the chamber with the comfort of something ancient and familiar. Outside, morning light filtered through bamboo slats, casting slender bars of gold across the polished floor. A sparrow chirped once before flitting from its perch, startled by the quiet growl that echoed from deep within the room.

Yuan sat up slowly, both arms trembling under the weight of his own body. His breath came in short, uneven pulls—each inhale a victory. The soft blanket had slipped to his waist, revealing thin shoulders pale beneath the morning glow. His stomach growled again—louder this time, insistent.

It sounded… alive.

He looked down at himself—at this body that was supposedly five years old, yet felt both ancient and new. A fragile thing, still humming with the strangeness of dreams. His fingers curled slightly against the quilt. They responded, however sluggishly.

Then came the sound of the door latch sliding open.

A faint creak followed.

And she entered.

His mother stepped inside, cradling a clay pot wrapped in thick cloth. Her movements were gentle but swift, as if afraid the moment might vanish if she slowed down.

"Careful," she said, kneeling beside a low tray. Her voice was soft but bright with emotion. "It's still hot. But I added honey and spirit lotus root—it'll help strengthen your body."

She opened the pot and poured its contents into a smooth ceramic bowl. The aroma grew stronger—sweet, soft, tinged with faint floral notes. It wasn't just food. It was memory. Devotion. Years of unspoken prayers, distilled into porridge.

She lifted a spoonful toward his lips.

He opened his mouth with effort, letting the warmth settle on his tongue.

The taste spread slowly, filling his mouth with a sweetness that reminded him of something long forgotten. The honey was light, the lotus earthy and gentle. His throat burned slightly as it slid down—but it was a good burn. The kind that reminded him he was alive.

A trembling breath escaped him.

Not from pain.

From something deeper.

And then, it happened.

Ding!

[Mission Complete: Consume your first meal after awakening.]

+1 SP (System Point)

New Mission Unlocked: [Walk 10 steps within 3 days.]

Yuan blinked.

The panel shimmered faintly in his mind's eye—transparent, crisp, gone in an instant. No one else reacted. His mother simply smiled, scooping another spoonful.

That counted as a mission? he thought, bewildered. This system really is going to track everything, huh?

He didn't know whether to feel excited… or deeply concerned.

He chewed the next bite more slowly, the taste still lingering. He couldn't help but wonder—if eating porridge could trigger a reward, what else would this strange, silent force inside him awaken to?

His mother fed him in silence. The kind of silence that didn't weigh heavy but hummed with meaning—like a string stretched taut between two hearts, vibrating with every glance, every breath.

When the bowl was empty, she gently placed it back into the pot and stood to leave.

At the doorway, she paused.

The morning light fell across her face, revealing faint creases near her eyes, the shadows beneath them, the quiet weight she carried.

She looked exhausted.

Not just tired from cooking. Not just sleepless-night tired.

Years-tired.

The kind of weariness that seeps into the soul and never quite leaves.

Yuan stared at her, something twisting inside him. He had no memory of this life's infancy, no connection to the past five years—but somehow, he knew.

This woman had cared for him. Cleaned him. Fed him. Talked to him. Cried for him. Hoped, when everyone else had given up.

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

"You… y-you had a very… hard time… M-mom…"

His voice cracked midway. The words were slurred, shaky—his throat still adjusting to use. But they landed with full weight.

She froze.

For a moment, she didn't even turn. Her fingers twitched. Her spine stiffened, then softened.

Slowly, she turned, as if afraid the moment would shatter if she moved too quickly.

Her eyes met his—and shimmered with disbelief.

And then, she smiled.

Not a polite smile. Not the gentle smile of a mother feeding her child.

But a wide, trembling, unguarded smile. The kind that blooms only once in a lifetime. That cuts through years of sorrow in an instant.

"You called me Mom," she whispered.

She rushed to his side, knelt down, and held his hand like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

"Say it again."

Yuan didn't.

But he didn't need to.

Over the next three days, the courtyard came alive with quiet motion.

The servants passed more slowly near the inner compound. Disciples lowered their voices. Lanterns were lit earlier at dusk, and spirit wards were reinforced with fresh talismans. The Wu estate breathed differently now—as if bracing itself for a change no one quite dared to name.

Within that chamber of stone and wood, life stirred anew.

With constant care from both his parents, Yuan's strength returned faster than anyone expected.

At first, even lifting a teacup was a monumental task. His fingers trembled. His arms ached. His breathing was shallow, his ribcage struggling to expand.

But his mother remained by his side, guiding him with the patience of moonlight—never pushing, never rushing. She helped him sit. Massaged his limbs. Adjusted his pillows.

And his father?

He did not speak much. But his presence lingered like stone—quiet, unmoving, unmistakable.

Wu Lin brought spiritual tonics. Ordered protective sigils to be placed around the room. Personally instructed guards to station themselves discreetly nearby. He didn't hover. He didn't comfort. But his care ran like a silent river beneath the surface.

Then, near the end of the first day, it happened.

Clutching the carved support beam with both hands, Yuan stood on shaking legs.

His feet touched the ground.

And then, step by step, he walked.

One. Two. Three…

Each pace was a test of will, his legs trembling like reeds in the wind, but he didn't stop. The distance was no more than a few meters—a simple circuit across the room.

By the time he reached the opposite wall, his entire body ached with fire.

His mother watched from the doorway, hands clasped over her mouth, tears brimming.

And as he collapsed gently onto a cushion at the end, another chime rang out.

Ding!

[Mission Complete: Walk 10 steps within 3 days.]

+2 SP awarded

Reward Unlocked: Recovery Boost – Minor

New Mission Unlocked: [???] (Hidden)

He felt it instantly.

Warmth. Subtle, but distinct. A soft pulse through his limbs. His muscles relaxed. His breathing grew easier. His head cleared. The heaviness in his chest eased, like some ancient seal had been gently lifted.

That "minor" boost?

Definitely not minor.

By the second day, he could walk unassisted around the room.

By the third, he was standing freely in the courtyard—stretching his arms, rolling his shoulders, and even attempting a light squat.

His mother shrieked and banned him from doing that ever again.

Mist coiled at his ankles. The koi pond rippled gently nearby.

He breathed deeply—his own breath, not one stolen or sustained by hope.

And the whispers began.

Word of his recovery spread like wildfire through the estate.

From the outer halls to the inner sanctum, everyone in the Wu Clan heard the news: the "dead root" had opened his eyes. The boy thought to be crippled from birth—useless, cursed—was not only awake, but walking.

In whispers and murmurs, doubts began to surface.

"How can a cripple recover so fast?"

"Maybe the healers were wrong."

"Or maybe… the heavens changed his fate."

The same servants who once pitied Wu Lin in silence now bowed more deeply when they passed. Elders who had given up on the child now asked for daily updates. Even junior disciples practiced more seriously—afraid of falling behind someone who had supposedly been asleep for five years.

Some called it a miracle. Others, a fluke.

But no one could deny it anymore:

Wu Yuan had returned.

And as for Yuan himself…

He now sat cross-legged in the courtyard, breathing in the cool morning air. Mist drifted lazily through the stone garden, curling around spirit trees and bamboo fences. The world was quiet, save for the distant call of birds and the gurgle of a koi pond.

His hand rested lightly on his chest.

This body… these people… it's not a dream anymore.

He still remembered his old life.

His apartment in the city. The blinking screens. The late-night noodle runs. The smell of burnt coffee. That final night—the flash of pink lightning, the searing pain, the three years of coma…

And then—death.

He remembered his old parents. Their voices. Their quiet dignity in the face of his fate.

But he had made peace with their memory. His affairs had been settled. Their future, secured.

He had done what he could before the end—sorted out insurance, savings. Everything was in place. They would be okay.

I just wish I could've said goodbye properly, he thought.

Still, he took comfort in knowing they'd live peacefully, even if he never returned.

Now, he had a new name. A new family. A new path.

A mother who smiled like the sun.

A father whose silence spoke louder than shouts.

A system pulsing inside him, mysterious and waiting.

Wu Yuan, he murmured silently, looking at his reflection in the water basin beside him. That's me now… isn't it?

The face looking back was unfamiliar. Younger. Softer. With round cheeks and curious eyes.

But there was something in those eyes—something steady.

Like embers waiting to blaze.

He wasn't sure if the feelings in his heart were fully real. Could someone truly accept a new life so easily? Was this warmth genuine, or born of guilt and survival?

He didn't know.

Maybe one day, I'll understand for sure. But for now…

He looked up at the sky—clear, calm, and too bright for this strange, mystical world.

For now, this is my path.

And no matter what lay ahead…

He would walk it.

Step by step.