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The next day.
Deep in the woods of Little Ink Mountain, a man dressed as a woodcutter wound through trees of every size. His brow was knotted and bark‑like, his eyes dull with hardship. A bundle of firewood rode his back; an axe hung in one calloused hand.
Anyone who saw him would assume a heavy‑burdened family waited at home, that his life was nothing but grind and worry.
In truth, the woodcutter was Li Yuan, wearing a disguise granted by his Mortal World Transformation. He spent nearly every day refining the skill. He studied bones and flesh, memorizing the tiny ways people differed, striving to become the person he copied.
A trace of dissonance lingered, yes. He lacked the original man’s...
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