Blossoming Path-Chapter 185: In the Soil

I woke up face-down in the dirt.

It wasn’t exactly the most dignified way to start the day.

Groaning, I pushed myself up, spitting out a mouthful of soil. My body felt sluggish, my limbs leaden in a way that spoke of more than just stiffness. I’d passed out.

For a moment, panic flared through me. How long had I been out? I whipped my head toward the greenhouse door, spotting the faint glow of early dawn filtering through the gaps. The village was still quiet; no distant voices, no sounds of movement. Morning training hadn’t started yet.

I exhaled in relief. Not that missing it would have killed me, but I could already hear Elder Ming's nagging in my head.

Still, this wasn’t good. I was pushing myself too hard.

I ran a hand through my hair, forcing myself to take stock of my body. The exhaustion settled deep in my bones; the creeping kind that had been building up for days. My routine had been brutal: morning training, foraging, processing herbs, crafting medicine, assisting the refugees, experimenting with new alchemical techniques... sleep had become an afterthought.

And last night? Last night, I had emptied the last of my reserves to fully mature the millet.

My gaze flickered to the patch of land before me, and my exhaustion vanished in an instant.

The Golden Bamboo-Millet hybrid stood tall, shimmering under the soft glow of dawn. Its stalks were thick and sturdy, the grains plump and golden, far more abundant than I had ever expected.

I crouched down, running my fingers along the stems. It worked.

I let out a breathless laugh.

"I actually did it. Holy shit!"

The yield was absurd. A single patch had produced double of what the regular millet could—and it had done so overnight. No fertilizers, no special cultivation methods. Just qi-infused growth, forced into rapid maturity by my own hands.

I shook my head, grinning despite myself. "This is insane."

Of course, I couldn’t afford to do this every time we needed food. The sheer amount of qi it had taken to mature just this patch had left me unconscious, which meant larger-scale applications were out of the question.

But that didn’t matter.

Because this wasn’t about food. This was about medicine.

If I could grow millet in a night, then what about high-grade herbs? What about rare herbs that normally took months or years? If I could force their growth—refine their properties faster—it would change everything.

The sheer potential of it sent a thrill through me.

But first things first.

I had a perfectly good batch of hybridized millet in front of me, and I wasn’t about to let it go to waste.

Quickly, I grabbed a small sickle from my belt and began cutting the stalks, gathering them into neat bundles.

Within minutes, I had an armful of golden stalks. Carefully, I secured them in a cloth bundle, slinging them over my back before stepping out of the greenhouse.

As I stepped outside, I was immediately greeted by a familiar presence.

Tianyi, standing aloof with Yin Si perched on her shoulder. Windy was curled near her feet, his body lazily coiled but his gaze sharp and alert.

"You must really like the greenhouse, I've never seen you sleep there before."

I shook my head, adjusting the bundle of millet on my back. "Guess I do now."

"It's quite warm. The puddles on the floor are good when you're thirsty."

I turned toward my shop, already focused on what needed to be done next. Processing the millet would take time—threshing, winnowing, and grinding—but I wanted to get it done before training started. If I was lucky, I could prepare a few test portions and have it for breakfast.

I was halfway to the door when Windy slithered up to me and dropped something at my feet.

A dead snake.

I stared at it. Then at him. Then back at the limp, motionless serpent lying on the ground.

Tianyi piped up to act as a translator. "Windy hunted it."

I blinked. "…Okay?"

"He wanted to give it to you," she continued, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Since you slept early last night and didn't eat."

I looked at the snake. Then back at Windy, whose blue eyes met mine with unblinking intensity. Was this… generosity? Or dominance?

It was hard to tell with him. The gesture could just as easily mean "Here, I caught this for you, eat." as it could "I’m the superior predator, accept my offering, weakling."

Tianyi, ever the helpful translator, flicked her wings. "He insists that you must eat and rest."

Ah. That meant bossy generosity then.

I sighed, rubbing my temple. "Fine. I get it." I picked up the snake by the tail, giving it a shake. "Could you prepare it? I'll just deal with the millet first."

She perked up, her wings fluttering with approval. "I will. I've read how to do it in Storm Sage Chronicles."

I wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or not. Did the series even have a scene where they gutted a snake? I shook my head and got to work.

The millet came first. I untied the bundle, laying the golden stalks out neatly before moving through the process. I rubbed the harvested grains between my hands, loosening the husks and separating the edible portions. A simple gust of air from Tianyi was enough to blow away the chaff, leaving behind clean, golden grains.

I scooped up the finished product and weighed it in my hands, still moist to the touch.

From just one patch, I had over twenty servings of millet.

That was ridiculous.

Just with its hybridization, this was already outpacing normal crops. But with my ability to accelerate its growth? I could create a near-endless supply of nutrient-rich food overnight if I had the qi.

I let out a slow breath. This is a game-changer.

Of course, it was still unsustainable for large-scale production. The sheer amount of qi needed to grow a whole field of this stuff would drain me dry in an instant.

But in urgent cases—when medicine or food was desperately needed?

This was a miracle waiting to be used.

Satisfied, I set the millet aside and turned my attention to the snake.

Tianyi had already skinned and gutted it with meticulous precision, the flesh cleaned and neatly prepared.

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I watched from the corner of my eye as she returned to Windy's side, my mind drifting.

They were so… casual about killing.

Windy, as a predator, had never hesitated when it came to hunting even his own kind. Tianyi, despite her delicate appearance, approached taking a life in the same way i'd ask her to seperate grain from chaff. She only held back out of consideration for me.

I didn’t hesitate to kill when it came to animals, but I still thought about it. And I always considered whether I'd be able to do so against a human.

Shaking the thought away, I finished processing the millet and moved to cook it. I portioned out the grains, rinsing them thoroughly before setting them in a pot of water over my pill furnace.

I sliced the snake meat into thin strips and threw it into the furnace alongside the millet.

The movements were automatic, my mind elsewhere as I stirred the pot and adjusted the flame. Within seconds, I had a bowl of millet stew with snake meat.

I was already considering my next steps—what I needed to do now that my alchemy skills had evolved, how this new level of control would change my approach. Perhaps I'd ask Jian feng if they could coordinate with me.

I’d have to test the Alchemical Nexus properly, refining a batch of low-grade pills to see how much it truly improved speed, stability, and potency. Then, I needed to—

THUMP.

A sharp, insistent nudge against my hand pulled me out of my thoughts.

I blinked down at Windy, who had butted his head against my hand.

He hissed, a clear demand, pointing his tail at the bowl with a flicker of annoyance through our bond.

"...Do you want some?"

Windy flicked his tongue.

Tianyi helpfully translated. "He says to stop thinking and eat."

I sighed, rolling my eyes as I picked up the bowl, fully prepared to tell Windy that my work takes precedence—that there were too many things to do, too many preparations to make, and that I couldn't waste a single moment.

But before the words could leave my mouth, I hesitated.

Was that really true?

For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no immediate crisis.

The village was somewhat stable. The refugees had shelter. The food situation was improving with our foraging efforts and my experiments. There wasn’t an urgent threat looming over my head.

It was… quiet.

A rare thing.

Slowly, I lowered the bowl back onto my lap and exhaled.

Windy and Tianyi were both watching me expectantly. Not impatiently, not nagging—just waiting.

"Maybe… just this once."

I settled back down and took a bite of the millet porridge, letting the warmth spread through my body. The grains were soft but firm, carrying an earthy sweetness I hadn’t expected. The snake meat, lightly charred from the furnace’s controlled heat, added a savory depth to the dish.

It was… good.

Better than usual.

I blinked, pausing between bites. "Tastes different."

"You are using a new ingredient. It is from your work. You must be proud."

I huffed a quiet laugh. She wasn’t wrong.

But as I continued eating, a different realization settled over me.

When was the last time I just… ate?

Not shoving down a meal while planning my next move. Not absentmindedly chewing while skimming a book or running calculations in my head.

Just eating. Just being.

It felt strange. Foreign.

Like something I had forgotten how to do.

I finished the meal slowly, savoring each bite, and by the time I set the empty bowl aside, I felt… lighter. The exhaustion was still there, but it didn’t weigh on me as much.

A moment of silence passed between us.

Then, I stood, picking up the bundle of processed millet grains I had set aside earlier.

"Let’s share this with the village," I said. "We’ll make a stew out of it."

Tianyi’s antennae twitched with interest. "A feast?"

"A small one," I corrected. "A warm meal for everyone before morning training. Maybe I’ll even ask Elder Ming for a day off."

Tianyi let out a small hum of amusement. "You would use your one day of rest to feed others? How magnanimous."

I snorted. Her influence from novels continued to shine through. "It's just how I operate. After all, my wealth knows no bounds! Some grain is hardly an act of charity for me."

Windy flicked his tail in satisfaction, as if this was exactly the outcome he had intended. With a laugh, I gathered the sack and exited the shop.

And for the first time in a while, as we stepped out into the quiet, pre-dawn village with our supplies in tow, I felt... content.

SCENE BREAK

The Silent Moon Sect lay in ruins.

Bodies had already been cleared away—those they could recover, at least—but the scent of death lingered in the air, thick and cloying.

He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the scroll in his hands.

What a mess.

The cultists had withdrawn, their assault swift and brutal, leaving behind nothing but devastation. Dozens injured or dead. The Silent Moon Sect, once feared, once respected, was disgraced and broken. Whether they would stand the test of time…

Xu Ziqing gritted his teeth.

That was a question he dared not answer.

He turned toward the collapsed outer wall, where a handful of surviving disciples worked in silence, their movements slow, mechanical. Not a single one of them spoke. There was nothing to say.

The attack had stripped them bare, revealing just how fragile their foundation truly was. Sect Leader Jun’s reckless ambition had alienated every potential ally. The tributes had run dry, their once-steady stream of resources cut off as a direct consequence of his actions. Without the backing of the four mainland elders, there was nothing left to mitigate the fallout.

And those elders? Gone. Killed or vanished into the wind the moment it was clear they would not emerge victorious.

Xu Ziqing exhaled sharply.

That was the problem with relying on outsiders. They had no loyalty to the cause, no reason to stay when the tides shifted against them. The moment things turned dire, they abandoned the sect without hesitation.

He wanted to blame them.

But he couldn’t.

His fingers twitched at his sides, a faint tremor running through his hands. He clenched them into fists, willing the memory away, but it surfaced anyway.

The cultists.

'You will die soon enough, but your existence is meaningless to us now. Do not mistake this reprieve for mercy.'

Even now, the memory sent a cold chill crawling down his spine. That man—no, that thing—was something beyond human. The pressure he exuded was suffocating, a tide of malice so deep it had nearly drowned him on the spot. Xu Ziqing had always prided himself on his strength, his unwavering resolve, but when he stood before that man…

His body had refused to move.

He had felt the crushing weight of inevitability. Of death.

And yet, the leader had not struck them down. Hadn’t even bothered with them like the sect was beneath his notice. No, his interest had been elsewhere.

Phoenix Tears.

The word still echoed in his mind, spoken with a certainty that made his blood run cold.

That was what they had come for.

And the elders had it.

Xu Ziqing’s jaw tightened. The two remaining elders had likely fled the moment they realized the cultists were after them. They weren’t fools—they knew they couldn’t win a direct confrontation. Instead, they had vanished into the cities, blending into the chaos of the common folk, using innocent lives as their shield.

That was why there had been so many attacks lately. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t indiscriminate slaughter.

The cultists were hunting.

And the mainland elders had led them straight into the capital, forcing them to sift through thousands of lives to find their prize.

Xu Ziqing ground his teeth.

The Silent Moon Sect had been nothing more than a stepping stone.

His grip on the scroll tightened, the parchment crinkling under the pressure. He had no illusions about where this left them. The sect was shattered. Their reputation, in tatters. Their leader, growing more erratic by the day. And with no external support, no reinforcements, no resources…

The barking of orders cut through the thick silence.

Xu Ziqing’s eyes flickered toward Sect Leader Jun, who stood in the middle of the wreckage, his robes disheveled, his usually pristine sleeves wrinkled and out of place. His face was drawn tight with barely contained fury as he tried to force some semblance of order upon the sect.

“Move with purpose! We are not a pack of frightened dogs!” His voice cracked through the courtyard, but it lacked the commanding presence it once had. “You call yourselves disciples of the Silent Moon, but you cower and drag your feet like common beggars!”

His words fell on deaf ears.

The remaining disciples—those too wounded or too weary to have already fled—moved with slow, languid steps. Their faces were drawn with exhaustion, their eyes hollowed by sleepless nights and nightmares of dead comrades.

The fear of another attack had sunk too deep into their bones. They were not warriors anymore. They were survivors, barely clinging to what remained.

And Xu Ziqing could see it clearly.

Sect Leader Jun, for all his bluster, had already lost them.

The only one who still approached him was Ping Hai.

The bald, broad-shouldered third-class disciple who had once been a pillar of the outer ranks, a man of few words but undeniable presence. He walked with purpose, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as he stepped forward.

“Sect Leader,” Ping Hai said, his voice steady but clipped.

Jun turned sharply, his irritation clear. “What?”

“I request permission to leave the sect,” Ping Hai said. “There are reports of demonic cultivators in the far north. My hometown... It’s vulnerable. The sect withdrew all forces to consolidate here, but that means—”

“You think I don’t know what that means?” Sect Leader Jun snapped. His already frayed patience snapped, his face twisting with frustration. “Are you blaming me for withdrawing our forces?”

“No, Sect Leader. I would never.”

Jun stepped forward, his presence looming. “Then let me remind you, disciple. The sect is your home now. We are your home now. And you wish to abandon your home? To run away, after all it has given you?”

Ping Hai’s fists tightened at his sides. The muscles in his jaw tensed, but he did not speak.

“You owe everything to the Silent Moon,” Jun continued. “And in its darkest hour, you would desert it?”

Silence.

Xu Ziqing’s lips thinned. He saw the flicker in Ping Hai’s eyes. The way his breathing had changed, the way his stance shifted, like a thread had been pulled too tight and was one breath away from snapping.

Ping Hai lowered his head, his voice quiet.

“No, Sect Leader. I apologize.”

Jun scoffed, turning away as if the matter was settled, but the second-class disciple caught the way Ping Hai’s hands trembled before he forced them still.

Xu Ziqing said nothing. He simply watched.

The day bled into night.

The Silent Moon was quieter than ever. The sect had always thrived under shadow, but now, it was like a graveyard.

Then, a figure stepped into the cold.

Ping Hai.

His hood was drawn, his movements careful, but they were not the movements of a man sneaking away. There was no hesitation in his steps, no second-guessing.

He had made his choice.

The moment his foot touched the threshold of the outer gate, a voice cut through the winter night.

“You’re leaving.”

Ping Hai stilled.

Xu Ziqing leaned against the outer wall of the sect, watching the snowfall settle over the ruined courtyard. His face was impassive as he stepped into the dim light of the illuminated path.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, slowly, Ping Hai turned. His expression was guarded, but his stance had already shifted—his center of gravity lower, his muscles tensed in preparation for a fight.

Xu Ziqing didn’t move. He merely tilted his head slightly, regarding him.

“I understand,” he said. His voice was quiet but steady. “If it were me, I would do the same.”

Ping Hai’s fingers twitched. He didn’t drop his stance.

The senior disciple continued, his gaze steady. “I don’t have a family. I never did. But I know what it’s like to have something worth protecting.” His lips curled, just slightly, bitter. “For me, it’s the sect.”

The third-class disciple's shoulders tightened.

“That’s why I can’t let you go.”

A gust of wind howled through the ruins, carrying with it the weight of his words.

Ping Hai’s eyes hardened, but his fist shook with every step he took.

He was prepared to fight, but there was hesitation, uncertainty.

"Senior Brother, I—"

He opened his mouth, but Xu Ziqing spoke first.

“That’s why,” he said, “I’ll go with you.”

Ping Hai blinked.

“…What?”

“You heard me.”

The third-class disciple stared, as if waiting for a trick, but his senior's expression didn’t waver.

"But... why? You’re risking a lot for this. Your position, your life... It would be easier for you to just stay here.”

Xu Ziqing didn’t answer immediately. He let the silence stretch, let his thoughts settle into something he could stomach.

Then, he remembered the feeling of his hands shaking.

The burning shame that coiled in his gut as the Silent Moon fell.

The realization that the sect was already in ruins before the cultists ever arrived—that all it took was a single push for everything to collapse.

And that he had done nothing.

He looked at Ping Hai, and for the first time in a long time, he made a decision not for the sect, not for survival, but for himself. For what he felt was right.

The bearded warrior reached out, clapping Ping Hai on the shoulder.

“I already told you, the sect is my everything.” His voice was light, but his grip was firm. “And how can I let a sect brother walk to his death alone? You are a part of the Silent Moon, and therefore, my responsibility.”

The bald man swallowed. His hulking frame trembled, in gratitude and relief, for his senior's support.

He hesitated—only for a moment—then nodded.

"Let's go."

The snow crunched beneath their feet as they walked, the sound swallowed by the silence of the ruined sect behind them. He didn’t look back, but rather, he tilted his head upward.

The moon was full tonight. It cast a pale glow over the landscape, illuminating the wreckage of the Silent Moon Sect behind them.

A broken sect beneath an unbroken sky.

For years, the Silent Moon had been his home. Its teachings, his foundation. Its name, a legacy he had been raised to uphold. But now, as he stood beneath the very moon their sect was named after, he realized something.

The Silent Moon had already lost its way.

And yet, the moon above remained unchanged.

Perhaps, if he followed this path—if he made this choice—there would still be something left to salvage. Not the sect as it was, but the ideals it had abandoned.

A part of him hoped that, in doing this, he could reclaim some of what had been lost.

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The moonlight cast long shadows on the snow, but as Xu Ziqing took another step forward, he felt reassured by his decision.

No longer waiting.

No longer hesitating.

For the first time in a long time, he was moving toward something, rather than away.