Blossoming Path

"Sorry, Xiao Bao," I said, shaking my head. "I’m out of mint. I thought I had enough, but I went through it faster than expected. Tell your mother I’ll have more in a few days, but I need time to grow a new batch."

The boy's face scrunched up, clearly disappointed, but he nodded. "Okay, I’ll tell her!" Then he turned and ran out of the shop, disappearing into the crisp winter morning.

I sighed, leaning against the counter, my fingers tapping against the worn wood. This is happening more and more.

Despite the latent qi in the village making my garden flourish beyond normal standards, it still wasn’t enough to keep up with my consumption rate. Herbs that used to last me months now barely made it past a few weeks. Between refining pills, making salves, and reinforcing the purifying elixirs the disciples carried, my stock had thinned far too quickly.

And that was only the common ingredients.

The Golden Bamboo was the one exception, its growth rate incredible—so long as I provided it with Yang essence. The sturdy, radiant stalks thrived in the enhanced qi, stretching higher by the day. But even that was a problem. My supply of Yang essence was running dangerously low. If I didn’t gather more soon, the bamboo would go inert.

I rubbed my temple. I need more herbs. More resources. More time.

If we were going to survive the winter, if we were going to defend ourselves against whatever was looming over us, we needed more than just luck. We needed stability.

I felt a pang of hunger and looked down on my stomach. Perhaps it was thanks to my body reaching the Qi Initiation stage, but I didn't need to eat as often anymore. Food still nourished me, but the raw need for it had dulled, replaced by the steady flow of qi within my body.

Still, hunger hadn’t disappeared entirely. It was just more of an afterthought, something I only noticed when I stopped moving long enough to pay attention.

And right now, I noticed it.

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. I should grab something to eat. With that in mind, I went down to the village in search for food. Past the square, and into the docks.

The coastline was quieter than usual.

The sea had frozen over in large patches, the once-flowing water turned into jagged sheets of ice. The docks, normally bustling, had slowed to a crawl as fishermen adjusted to the seasonal shift. Despite that, a sizable pile of fresh fish still sat on the wooden planks, their scales glistening under the pale morning light.

The villagers haggled and exchanged coin, their breath visible in the cold air. Winter may have slowed things down, but it hadn’t stopped them.

I spotted Tie Niu near the edge of the dock, standing beside a pile of neatly arranged nets. He was an older fisherman, one of the few who had been doing this long before I was even born. His hands were calloused, his face lined with age, but his posture was firm, his movements steady as he pulled in the last of his morning catch.

"Three carp, please," I said as I approached, glancing at the fish still flopping weakly in his nets.

Tie Niu grinned, nodding as he reached down to grab them. "Good timing. Just pulled these in before you arrived. You know, for a while, I thought we’d be out of luck this winter. Ice makes fishing a nightmare."

I looked at the considerable pile of fish still being sorted. "Doesn’t look like you’re having much trouble."

The old fisherman chuckled, lifting one of his nets. "That’s thanks to this."

I raised an eyebrow. "Your net?"

He nodded, tapping the intricate knots along the rope. "It’s different now. The Heavenly Interface taught me a new way to tie it—better tension, stronger hold, and it lets me pull in more fish at once. And that’s not all."

Tie Niu leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. "I can feel where the fish are now. When they gather under the ice, I know where to cast the net."

I blinked. "You gained a skill?"

He grinned, pulling up a section of the net, displaying the smooth, tight weaving of the rope. "That’s what I’m saying! Took me decades to learn how to fish properly, but in a few weeks, I learned a technique I never would’ve dreamed of. I even started catching fish under the ice before anyone else did. It’ll keep my family fed through the worst of the winter."

I exhaled, shaking my head in amusement. "So what, you uncovered the Dao of Fishing?"

Tie Niu laughed heartily, slapping his knee. "You joke, but maybe! The Interface works in mysterious ways. All I know is that I’m grateful. It’s making life a little easier—just in time for the coldest months."

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I nodded, taking the wrapped carp from his hands. "Good. We’re going to need all the help we can get."

Tie Niu’s grin faded slightly as he studied me. "That why you’re down here? Looking for supplies?"

"That’s part of it," I admitted. "Even I'm running out of herbs for the garden. I also wanted to see if the merchants had any news. Still no word from the city?"

He shook his head, expression darkening. "Not a whisper. No shipments, no travelers, no letters. The trade routes are dead silent."

That wasn’t good.

I exhaled slowly, shifting the fish in my hands. "Thank you. Stay safe."

"You too, kai. take care of yourself!"

As I walked back up the docks, my mind churned through the implications.

No supplies from the city. No word from the merchants. My herbs dwindling faster than I could replace them.

I had options. I just needed to figure out the best one before the situation got worse.

i reached home quickly, setting the carp down on the counter, rolling my shoulders as I considered my next steps.

If I wanted to keep up with demand, I had to start experimenting with Golden Bamboo-infused hybrids. The idea had been stewing in the back of my mind; using the bamboo’s powerful yang properties to enhance the growth and medicinal effects of other plants.

If it worked, I could create fast-growing herbs that were both potent and sustainable. But the problem was choosing the right ones.

Golden Bamboo wasn’t limitless. Every stalk I infused would take a toll on my already dwindling supply of yang essence. If I wasted even a few batches on poor candidates, I’d be left with nothing but inert stalks and a list of regrets.

I sighed, rubbing my chin. Which ones would be most viable?

Rice could benefit from faster growth, but would it be fast enough? Lettuce and amaranth were other prospects, but they came with their own pros and cons to consider.

I’d have to test them one by one. But first… food.

I lifted the lid of my Two-Star Pagoda Pill Furnace. The cauldron pulsed with faint, refined energy, a far cry from the battered pots I used to cook with.

I smirked. If the high-and-mighty alchemists from the great sects saw me using a pill furnace to cook fish, they’d probably faint on the spot.

But why waste good tools? This furnace was leagues above anything I’d used before, and it could regulate heat far more precisely than an open flame. If I could brew elixirs in it, I could damn well cook a decent meal too.

I cleaned the carp quickly, filleting the meat with precise cuts before placing it into the heated furnace. A touch of qi adjusted the temperature, keeping the heat at an optimal level as the fish began to sizzle.

A handful of crushed herbs went into the pot, the aroma rising as they blended into a fragrant broth. A few more adjustments, and the liquid took on a rich, golden hue.

Within minutes, the dish was perfect.

I ladled a portion into a bowl, setting it down carefully before preparing another; this one with more broth and no fish.

Right on cue, Tianyi stepped into the room.

She paused, her antennae twitching slightly as she inhaled the scent of the meal. Her gaze flickered to the fish, then to the broth. She made no move toward the meat.

I wasn’t surprised. Despite gaining a human form, she still had no interest in eating flesh. She could eat fruit, drink tea, and sip on medicinal concoctions without issue, but meat never appealed to her.

I slid the bowl of broth toward her. "Here."

She nodded in thanks, settling down beside me as she took a careful sip.

For a while, we ate in silence. The warm broth settled in my stomach, taking the edge off my hunger. Across from me, Tianyi dipped her fingers into the bowl, scooping up small sips like she was more familiar with drinking nectar than handling a spoon.

Her gaze flickered toward Windy.

He remained still in the basin, his injuries gone, the scars faint reminders of the battle he had endured. His breathing was steady, his body no longer trembling.

But he still hadn’t woken up.

Tianyi lowered her hand, the last drop of broth slipping from her fingers. "He’s healing."

"I know."

She turned to me, her eyes sharp. "But will he wake?"

I hesitated. I didn’t know.

Everything pointed toward yes. His body had fully recovered. His qi was stable. The corruption had been purged. By all logic, he should wake up any day now.

And yet…

I clenched my jaw, shoving the thought aside. "He will."

Tianyi studied me, her antennae twitching slightly. But she said nothing more, simply turning back toward Windy and staying by his side.

I set my empty bowl down. I couldn’t stay idle.

Tonight, I needed to work.

If I wanted my hybrid plants to be viable, I had to start testing them now.

SCENE BREAK

The flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows across the worn pages of the ledger, the faint scratch of ink against parchment the only sound filling the dimly lit room.

Across from the desk, the messenger shrank under the blind man's eyes.

“It is bold of the magistrate,” the bookkeeper murmured, his fingers idly tracing the spine of a book, his sightless eyes fixed ahead. “To come here again, demanding my help.”

The messenger swallowed hard, glancing at the door as if gauging the possibility of escape. “The magistrate would not make such a request lightly,” he said, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

The bookkeeper tilted his head slightly, as if considering the words. “No? I seem to recall a similar conversation not long ago. What happened to the great crisis of the Silent Moon Sect? The magistrate was certain those elders were a threat. Now they’re gone. And yet, here you are, with a new problem.”

The messenger hesitated, shifting on his feet. “The elders were a threat. But they are nothing compared to what we face now.”

"And how is that my problem?" His fingers drummed lightly against the surface of the desk. “The magistrate should be taking this matter to the sects, not wasting his time sending errand boys to disturb an old man.”

“We are already reaching out to the sects,” the messenger insisted, his desperation showing. “But this is bigger than any one group. The demonic cultivator sightings are increasing. It’s only a matter of time before Crescent Bay City is struck. We need—”

The man never got to finish his sentence.

The air shifted.

The bookkeeper had not moved. His expression remained serene, his fingers still resting lightly atop the book. And yet, an unmistakable pressure settled into the space between them, suffocating in its silence.

The messenger trembled. A warning.

And a promise.

"I will say this once," the bookkeeper murmured. "Leave."

The messenger stumbled back, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts. But he had just enough courage left to stammer, “I will return. The city will need you soon, whether you admit it or not.”

With that, he turned and all but fled from the shop, his boots thudding against the wooden floor as he disappeared into the streets.

The pressure vanished the moment he was gone.

The bookkeeper let out a long sigh. His fingers, which had remained steady throughout the conversation, twitched slightly.

He was tired.

Once, he had believed he would be left in peace.

That the weight of his past would remain buried beneath the dust of forgotten records, lost among the ink-stained ledgers and brittle parchment that lined his shop.

He had been foolish to believe it.

No matter how far one ran, no matter how deeply one buried themselves in the quiet corners of the world—the Jianghu always called.

And it did not care if one wished to answer.

He rose with deliberate slowness, his hands moving automatically to straighten the desk, smoothing the edge of an already-perfectly-aligned scroll. A habit. A meaningless act of control.

Then, with a resigned sigh, he turned and made his way toward the back of the shop.

The air was cooler here, where the scent of ink and parchment faded, replaced by the faintest trace of old metal and lacquered wood. Shelves of untouched tomes stood in neat rows, their contents undisturbed for years. Beyond them, tucked beneath a forgotten counter, a box waited.

He knelt before it, running his fingers lightly across its surface. Dust clung to the lacquered wood, the once-polished sheen dulled by time.

For a long moment, he did nothing.

Then, with a quiet click, he undid the latch and lifted the lid.

Twin hook swords lay within.

Slightly curved, their edges still gleamed beneath the dim candlelight. Small bells dangled from the hilts, their delicate chimes long since silenced by dust and time.

His fingers hovered over them. He did not touch them.

It would be so easy.

The magistrate would not give up. That much was certain. And soon, when reason and pleading failed, they would begin to threaten him.

And yet, even now, staring down at the weapons of his past, he felt... nothing.

No pull. No desire.

Just exhaustion.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he closed the lid. The latch clicked back into place, sealing the past where it belonged.

He rose to his feet, dusting off his robes. Then, to himself, he muttered.

“It has been a long time since I left the city.”

His sightless gaze turned toward the doorway, where the cold wind whistled softly through the cracks in the wood.

Perhaps it was time for a change.