Vampire Progenitor of the Immortal World

Chapter 12: Chapter 12 : Patterns

The morning bell above the front door rang just as Ethan finished sweeping the entrance. A merchant stepped inside, stamped the dust from his boots, and greeted Uncle Shen with a cheerful laugh. Not long after, another traveller arrived.

Then another.

The day unfolded as it always did, Meals were cooked, tea was poured, rooms were cleaned. Voices filled the common hall. To anyone passing by, Pine Rest Inn looked exactly like every other busy inn in Stonebridge.Yet after living there for more than a month, Ethan had begun to notice something, no two days were exactly alike.

Near midday, Uncle Shen handed him a tray carrying three bowls of noodles.

"Table five."

Ethan nodded and carried it into the common hall. Three caravan guards were eating together, they laughed loudly, arguing over which road through the eastern hills was safer.

"The north road is shorter."

"It’s shorter because half the road is missing."

The third guard shook his head.

"You two complain too much."

"I’ll take whichever road has fewer bandits."

The table erupted in laughter.

Ethan served the bowls and quietly stepped away, by evening, those same men would be gone, another group would take their place. The inn never stayed the same for long.

During the afternoon, Uncle Shen asked Ethan to deliver fresh blankets to the upstairs rooms, most of the doors stood open. Some guests had already left, others were packing. As he reached the end of the corridor, he noticed Room Seven.The door was closed. He remembered, the grey-cloaked traveller had stayed there the previous night. Now the room was empty, the bed had been folded neatly, the wash basin had been cleaned. Nothing had been left behind, the room looked as though no one had ever stayed there. Ethan quietly closed the door.

That evening, while washing bowls beside the kitchen, Liang leaned over.

"Have you noticed?"

Ethan looked at him.

"Noticed what?"

"The weather."

Ethan glanced outside.

"The rain has stopped."

Liang grinned.

"No."

"The travellers."

Ethan waited.

"They’ve been coming more often."

"So?"

Liang shrugged.

"I don’t know."

"I just feel the town has been busier lately."

Aunt Mei walked past carrying vegetables.

"It happens every year."

"Roads become easier to travel."

"People move around."

Liang scratched his head.

"I suppose."

The conversation ended there, no one thought much of it. Only Ethan quietly remembered it.

The following days slipped by. Work remained busy, life remained ordinary, yet certain faces began appearing more than once. A broad-shouldered merchant with a scar beneath his left eye. A quiet woman who always wore a bamboo hat, even indoors. An elderly traveller who preferred sitting near the western window and never stayed longer than a single night. None of them introduced themselves, none of them caused trouble, but they all seemed to arrive alone and leave before sunrise.

One afternoon, Ethan was stacking firewood behind the inn when he heard the sound of wagon wheels approaching, he looked up. Instead of entering through the front yard, a small covered wagon stopped beside the rear gate. Two workers climbed down, neither wore expensive clothing. One knocked gently on the gate, a few moments later, Uncle Shen opened it himself. No words were exchanged. The workers unloaded three wooden chests, uncle Shen inspected each one briefly before nodding. The gate closed again. The wagon departed as quietly as it had arrived.

Liang walked into the yard carrying an empty bucket.

"You saw that?"

Ethan nodded.

"Do deliveries usually come through the back?"

Liang shrugged.

"Sometimes."

"I’ve never asked."

He looked at Ethan with a grin.

"And I don’t think Uncle wants me to."

Ethan simply returned to stacking the firewood.

That night, business was unusually slow. Only a handful of guests remained in the common hall. Ethan wiped the tables while an elderly storyteller entertained a few travellers near the fireplace.

"They say beyond the Ashen Ridge lies a valley where even the wind forgets its way."

One listener laughed.

"Old Chen, every mountain in your stories has ghosts."

"They’re not ghosts."

The storyteller smiled mysteriously.

"They’re simply things ordinary people aren’t meant to disturb."

The listeners laughed again. Someone called for another pot of tea, he story continued. Whether it was true or not, no one could say.

As Ethan collected empty cups, he noticed a familiar figure entering through the front door, It was one of the travellers who had unloaded the chests earlier. This time, he carried nothing.

He exchanged a few quiet words with Uncle Shen, Uncle Shen pointed upstairs. The man climbed without looking around. Everything happened naturally, like it had happened a hundred times before. Ethan lowered his eyes and continued cleaning.

Later, after the guests had retired for the night, Ethan returned to his small room. He sat beside the window with his travel journal resting on his knees, for a while, he didn’t write.

Instead, he thought.

Not about the strange coins, not about the silver herbs, not even about the rear gate. He thought about patterns, the travellers who stayed only one night, the wagons that arrived without banners, the deliveries made through the back instead of the front. None of those things proved anything on their own.

But together they formed a picture he couldn’t quite see yet. He finally opened the journal and wrote only one sentence.

"When enough small pieces are placed together, even a hidden path begins to show itself."

He closed the journal and extinguished the lamp. Outside, Stonebridge slept peacefully.

Who knows ? Maybe Somewhere beyond the walls, another wagon rolled quietly through the night.

Whether it was carrying silk.

Grain.

Or something else entirely Ethan didn’t know.

Not yet.

But he had the feeling that the town was keeping more than one kind of road hidden within it.

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