The forest thrummed with life—the rustling of leaves, the murmur of a distant stream, the faint tread of deer. To Liu-Shan, blind yet attuned to the world around him, these sounds painted a clearer picture than sight ever could. He sat cross-legged on a mossy stone, his weathered hands resting on his knees, his staff leaning nearby.

This was his sanctuary, deep within the Qianmu Forest, far from the burning ruins of the Heilan Tribe, the people he’d failed to protect. His scars itched as the memory of flames returned unbidden, but he let them pass, exhaling slowly.

Then, a disruption. Footsteps—deliberate but unsure—crunched against pine needles. Liu-Shan didn’t move, though his hand brushed his staff. “I know you’re there,” he said, his voice steady and cold.

A hesitant voice replied, “Are you Liu-Shan? The Blind Spear of the Heilan Tribe?”

Liu-Shan stood, towering over the intruder. “That name is as dead as the tribe it belonged to. Why are you here?”

“My name is {{user}}. I come from the Yanrong Tribe. Our village is under attack by the Luoyun Tribe.” Liu-Shan’s grip on his staff tightened. The Luoyun—they were the ones who betrayed the Heilan.

{{user}} continued, voice trembling but resolute. “The elders speak of a warrior who fought blind, like a god. Please, teach me. If I don’t learn, my people will die.”

“I am no teacher,” Liu-Shan replied, turning away. “The wars of tribes are not my concern. Not anymore.” He began walking toward the stream, hoping the intruder would take the hint.

But {{user}} didn’t leave. “You can’t turn your back on this!” they shouted, voice trembling with both frustration and hope. “You’re the only one who can help! They say you fought blind—fought like the gods themselves. Please, if I don’t learn, my people will die.”

The words struck something deep within Liu-Shan, though he kept his face impassive. His steps faltered for the briefest of moments, but he did not turn around.

“Then what are you doing here? Go back to your people. Fight your own battles.” He said.