Blossoming Path

The day passed by like a blur, each moment blending into the next as I stood among the villagers and Verdant Lotus Sect disciples. Their decision to halt further excursions into the forest was met with heavy silence, the weight of the fallen disciples pressing down on everyone like a suffocating shroud. No one argued. Even Elder Ming, upon hearing the news, had only nodded gravely, his usual calm replaced by a somber stillness.

The village mirrored his mood. Conversations were hushed, movements subdued. It wasn’t fear, exactly; it was grief, and something more insidious. A creeping awareness that the forest had changed, that we were no longer safe.

Now, back home, I stood in the quiet shop, my focus narrowing to the task before me. Tianyi and Windy were resting, their breathing steady but their conditions still far from healthy. I couldn’t allow myself to linger on their injuries or the sense of helplessness that crept in whenever I looked at them. There was no time for doubt.

The Bloodsoul Bloom sat contained in a reinforced vessel on my workbench, its grotesque form quivering faintly.

I took a deep breath, steadying my hands as I prepared my tools. This was dangerous, possibly reckless, but I couldn’t wait for the sect’s response. If this flower was a harbinger of more to come, then understanding it was the only way to protect the village and everyone I cared about.

I closed my eyes, entering my mindscape, perusing the Memory Palace for an iota of information regarding the plant in my studies. But aside from Zhi Ruo's brief mention, nothing was there. But if I had to guess, it was from the same era as the Golden Bamboo; maybe even older.

My hands hovered over the reinforced vessel. I hesitated, my gut warning me to stop, but I pushed the doubt aside. Plant Whisperer. It had served me well before. Surely, the skill would reveal something now.

I exhaled slowly, centering myself. My fingers brushed the edge of the vessel, and I reached out, extending a thread of connection to the bloom.

The reaction was immediate.

A wave of dread crashed over me, unlike anything I’d felt before. It wasn’t just fear; it was a primal terror, as if I were gazing at something that shouldn’t exist. Shadows danced at the edges of my vision, and a low, keening sound reverberated in my mind. It wasn’t a voice, not exactly, but the sensation was clear.

Doom.

Impending, unrelenting, inevitable doom.

I gasped and yanked my hand back as though burned, severing the connection. My heart raced, my breaths coming in short, shallow bursts. The shop reappeared around me, its quiet warmth a jarring contrast to the suffocating void I’d just experienced. Windy and Tianyi were still sleeping a small distance away, undisturbed by my reaction.

The Bloodsoul Bloom quivered faintly in its vessel, unchanged. Yet, its malevolence seemed stronger, as if it had fed off my brief attempt to commune with it.

My hands trembled as I gripped the edge of the workbench to steady myself.

“What are you?” I whispered.

I didn’t have an answer, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t a plant in any conventional sense. Its essence didn’t nurture or grow. It consumed. Fed on death. Every instinct I had screamed that it didn’t belong in this world.

But I needed to find out more.

Reviewing the brief experience, it was certainly a yin-aligned plant. Its energy was cold, dark, and stagnant. Yet, something about it felt wrong, distorted. Yin qi itself wasn’t inherently harmful; an imbalance could wreak havoc, much like an overabundance of yang qi, but it typically manifested in ways that promoted tranquility, rest, or even renewal.

This was different. It was aggressive, almost predatory. It didn’t soothe or slow; it devoured. I couldn’t help but compare it to the Moonlit Grace Lily, a serene yin-aligned plant that radiated calm and grew gently under moonlight. The Bloodsoul Bloom was its antithesis; chaotic and unnatural.

I leaned closer, studying the bloom’s grotesque physical form. The fleshy petals pulsed faintly, as if alive. The vein-like tendrils along its surface quivered intermittently, giving the impression of something waiting, dormant yet insidious. Its roots coiled tightly within the vessel, refusing to extend or interact with anything around them.

If it truly thrived on death, I needed to test that theory.

I reached for a hybrid astragalus plant from my collection. A contrast to the bloom’s oppressive nature. Carefully, I placed the it near the Bloodsoul Bloom, watching for any reaction.

Nothing.

The Bloodsoul Bloom remained inert, its tendrils still and uninterested. The Astragalus continued to sit untouched, unaffected by the ominous presence beside it. I frowned, removing the plant and pacing the room as I tried to puzzle through the bloom’s nature.

It was feeding on something. It had to be. The flower in the forest had clearly absorbed the vitality of the disciples and even the essence of their robes.

I glanced toward the far corner of the shop, where shadows pooled. The faint glimmer of silken threads caught my eye, and I grimaced. Yin Si’s handiwork. Webbed bundles of tiny corpses were nestled there—rats and small animals Windy used to prey on before his absence from home had left them untouched, piling up in neglected corners.

It was unpleasant, but it was also a lead.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

I murmured an apology under my breath for disturbing Yin Si’s stash, carefully extracting a webbed-up rat corpse from the tangle. The weight of it in my hand was unsettling, the little body stiff and lifeless, but it was exactly what I needed.

Back at the workbench, I placed the corpse near the Bloodsoul Bloom. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as I leaned closer, I noticed the faintest stir.

The veins running along the bloom’s surface began to pulse faintly, the rhythm irregular but unmistakable. Slowly, one of the tendrils extended outward, its motion unnaturally deliberate. It crept toward the rat corpse, pausing mere centimeters away, as if testing the air around it.

My breath caught as the tendril twitched once, twice, before darting forward and latching onto the corpse. A low, keening sound filled the air, barely audible but enough to send a chill down my spine.

I stepped back, resisting the urge to sever the connection immediately. Instead, I forced myself to observe. The tendril pulsed as it fed, the motion hypnotic and grotesque. The rat’s body, already lifeless, began to shrivel further, its form collapsing in on itself as the bloom drew whatever essence remained.

The rat’s already-decayed body began to collapse inward, its form reduced to an ashen husk. I noted every detail, my mind racing to piece together the implications.

The tendril withdrew once its feeding was complete, curling back toward the bloom’s base. It pulsed faintly, as though sated, before becoming still once more. My chest tightened as I observed the faint traces of malevolent qi emanating from it, growing more pronounced after its macabre feast.

I needed more data.

Turning to my pill furnace, I carefully separated a small piece of the bloom, its flesh slightly sticky and exuding a faint, acrid smell. The fragment quivered unnervingly in my hand as I placed it into the furnace. I adjusted the heat with painstaking precision, my Refinement Simulation Technique overlaying projected reactions and temperature gradients over the furnace’s surface.

The bloom’s fragment began to burn, releasing a dense, black smoke that spiraled upward. I leaned back, watching as the fumes shifted unnaturally, almost writhing in the air. The acrid scent thickened, accompanied by a faint metallic tang. My stomach churned as the smoke curled into strange patterns before dissipating.

Ash remained, its color an unnatural deep crimson, flecked with black. I collected the residue carefully, placing it into a small vial for later analysis.

The bloom resisted conventional alchemical reactions. Most herbs, when burned, would leave identifiable traits in their smoke—earthy, sweet, bitter. This was none of those. It was alien, its properties incomprehensible through normal means.

"Now, let's see if I can extract its essence..."

I separated another piece from the live sample. Normally, drawing essence from plants was straightforward; a pull and flow, as though coaxing sap from a tree. But as I focused on the Bloodsoul Bloom, I realized this was going to be anything but simple.

The moment I extended my qi, it was as if I had touched a live wire. The bloom resisted fiercely, its essence jagged and uncooperative. Most plants yielded to my pull, except with certain ones with exceptional strength bearing some resistance, like the Golden Bamboo. This, however, felt entirely different. It wasn’t like extracting from a plant at all. It was closer to siphoning from something alive—a living being with a will of its own.

I hesitated, the weight of that realization pressing against my thoughts. The skill allowed me to extract from both plants and metals, but I’d never tested its limits since my preparation for the Gauntlet. I hadn't touched Master Li Tao's teachings in weeks, due to the sheer amount of tasks I had to keep up with.

The process of learning to extract essence from metals had been grueling, requiring weeks of effort and countless failures. Yet here I was, confronted with something that blurred the line between plant and... something else.

There was no better time to test myself.

Steeling my resolve, I pushed forward, pulling harder with my qi. The bloom’s resistance was palpable, the process a grueling tug-of-war. My entire focus narrowed to the connection, every fiber of my being attuned to the intricate battle of wills. The bloom’s essence was fighting. For every thread of qi I extended, the plant pushed back with a chaotic, almost predatory force.

Sweat beaded on my forehead as I poured more energy into the extraction. Unlike metals, which had required sheer force and will, this felt nuanced. It wasn’t about overpowering the bloom but maneuvering around its chaotic energy, finding gaps in its resistance and weaving through them. The process, while grueling, was less foreign than working with metals had been. Perhaps because, at its core, it still retained some similarity to plants.

Finally, the resistance broke. A tendril of dark essence peeled away, its motion sluggish and reluctant as it separated from the bloom. I guided it carefully, condensing it into a single droplet that hung in the air, pulsing faintly with an eerie rhythm.

The essence settled into a reinforced vial with a soft hiss, the liquid thick and viscous. It shimmered faintly, the color shifting between deep crimson and black as though alive.

Spiritual Herbalism has reached level 8.

I exhaled sharply, wiping the sweat from my brow. The level increase was a small relief, but it didn’t offset the unease curling in my gut. The essence carried the same malevolence as the bloom itself, amplified in its concentrated form. I sealed the vial tightly, ensuring it wouldn’t spill or interact with anything.

For now, I wouldn’t test it further. This was a discovery I needed to tread carefully with. Yet the fact I’d managed to extract it at all gave me a glimmer of hope.

I set the vial aside, the bloom fragment now shriveled and lifeless.

Finally, I prepared myself for the most dangerous experiment yet. My own qi.

I hesitated, my gaze fixed on the demonic plant. Infusing qi into plants was typically a harmonious process, a way to amplify their natural properties, strengthen their essence, and accelerate their growth. It was a technique rooted in balance, nurturing the plant’s inherent nature. But this was no ordinary plant. The usual certainty that infusing qi would bring benefit was nowhere to be found.

Instead, doubt gnawed at me. Would my qi strengthen its already warped nature? Could it evolve into something even more dangerous? Yet, I needed answers. I needed to see if this plant could change; if it had stages of growth, hidden layers of power that could reveal more about its origins. Despite the risk, I knew this was the only path forward. For better or worse, I needed to learn.

Taking a deep breath, I placed my hand just above the plant, creating a connection with the bloom. I kept the flow steady and controlled, testing its reaction.

At first, nothing happened. The bloom quivered faintly, as it had before, but then—

It writhed.

The tendrils along its surface flared outward, pulsating erratically. The petals twisted, curling inward before unfurling violently. A low, keening sound filled the air, louder than before, as though the plant was protesting.

Suddenly, the bloom began to collapse. Its petals withered rapidly, darkening and shriveling as though my qi had poisoned it. The tendrils recoiled, retreating into the vessel before falling limp. Within moments, the entire plant was lifeless, its once-malevolent presence reduced to nothing more than a shriveled husk.

I stumbled back, staring in disbelief. My breathing was ragged, my chest tight with both relief and confusion. What had just happened?

My qi hadn’t purified or strengthened it. It had killed it.

I sank into the chair by the workbench, my mind racing. Was it the nature of my qi? My wood affinity, perhaps? Or my fire affinity? Both elements were known for their cleansing properties, but this reaction felt… different. It wasn’t just cleansing. It was rejection.

I noted everything carefully in my encyclopedia; every detail of the experiment. It was crucial; the Bloodsoul Bloom could be counteracted, perhaps even neutralized. But the implications of why it reacted this way to my qi would take time to unravel.

For now, I stared at the lifeless bloom, a mix of triumph and unease settling over me. I was closer to understanding it, but the more I learned, the more questions arose.

"... I need a break."

I glanced over to Tianyi and Windy, seeing them resting peacefully together. It was the longest I'd ever seen her rest. The butterfly-turned-human held the basin containing Windy carefully, cradling his head so he stayed afloat. My face twisted, remembering how close I was to losing them.

They should've never faced something like this alone.

I stepped outside, the evening air biting against my skin as the door creaked shut behind me. The hours had slipped away unnoticed, consumed entirely by my experiments. The sky was now streaked with deep purples and greys, the horizon barely holding onto the remnants of daylight. The village felt quieter than usual.

I leaned against the greenhouse, letting out a long, slow breath. My stomach grumbled faintly, a sharp reminder that I hadn’t eaten since morning. I ignored it. The lingering unease from the experiments made the idea of food unappealing. Instead, I allowed myself this brief moment of stillness, my mind sorting through the discoveries of the day.

The Bloodsoul Bloom was unlike anything I’d ever encountered. Malevolent, predatory, and unnatural in every way. It consumed, destroyed, and now, I’d learned, it could be countered—killed, even. But how? What had my qi done to it that had such a drastic effect?

I tilted my head back, staring at the darkening sky. The weight of responsibility pressed harder against my shoulders. Every answer seemed to open another door of questions, each more daunting than the last. But for now, I had a lead.

The faint sound of hoofbeats broke my train of thought. I straightened, my gaze snapping toward the outskirts of the village. A single rider approached, their horse galloping hard, its breaths visible in the cold air. The jingling of bells marked the man as a messenger. Something urgent.

I didn’t hesitate. Pushing off the wall, I bolted toward the village square, meeting the rider as they pulled up sharply. The man was hunched over, his face pale and slick with sweat. He barely managed to keep his seat as the horse stamped and snorted beneath him.

“Are you all right?” I asked, steadying the reins and holding the horse still.

The man shook his head, his voice hoarse and ragged. “Verdant Lotus… I need… I must speak with them.”

“Calm down,” I said, trying to steady his breathing. “They’re still in the village. What’s the message?”

He clutched his chest, gasping as though the words themselves pained him. “The—The Silent Moon… they—”

An icy dread coiled in my stomach as I heard his words.