Blossoming Path

Jian Feng took my words with an ease that unsettled me.

I had expected resistance—perhaps some mild challenge, or at least the usual back-and-forth that came with dealing with a second-class disciple of his caliber. Instead, he merely nodded, accepting my plan with a quiet deference that felt… off.

Had he always been like this? Or was it something else?

I studied him out of the corner of my eye as we walked. Was it the loss of his comrades? The burden of leading his remaining disciples? Or had something shifted in the way he saw me?

I didn’t have an answer. And right now, I had more important things to focus on.

The first foraging mission had been easy enough to organize. Three teams—one scouting, one gathering, and one maintaining the camp and managing supplies.

My team took the lead.

Jian Feng, myself, Windy, Tianyi, and three other disciples from Verdant Lotus—each one specializing in speed and stealth, their movements trained for quick assessments of terrain and hidden threats. We were the eyes of the expedition, meant to identify rich resource areas and determine whether they were safe to harvest.

Tianyi’s sensitivity to qi fluctuations, Windy’s instincts as a predator, and the disciples’ honed senses made us well-suited for the task. My role was simple—find the best foraging areas, as I was the most familiar with the forest. The others ensured we weren’t walking into a den of hidden threats.

I moved through the undergrowth, weaving between frost-dusted foliage with measured steps. Every so often, I paused, running my fingers over a plant’s leaves, assessing its vitality, before plucking the most mature specimens and storing them away.

My storage ring was proving invaluable.

If I had been limited to a basket or even a satchel, we would have been forced to make multiple trips back to camp. But with my ring, I could store everything efficiently, allowing me to pick with precision.

Still, not every find could be taken immediately. Some herbs grew in difficult terrain, or required careful extraction to retain their potency. Those, I marked down in a small ledger, noting the location so the second team could retrieve them later.

Behind me, Windy and Tianyi moved independently, their roles clear.

The lack of major predators in the region had led to an unusual abundance of smaller animals; rabbits, hares, bamboo rodents, and even small birds. It was a natural consequence of balance being disrupted.

Windy wasted no time. His body coiled, then snapped forward like a released bowstring, sinking his fangs into the neck of an unsuspecting hare. The poor creature barely had time to react before it went limp.

I grimaced as he lifted his prize, tail flicking with satisfaction.

“…Do you have to eat snakes too?” I muttered, watching as he dispatched a smaller serpent with just as much enthusiasm.

Windy flicked his tongue in response. Despite our closer bond, it wasn't to a level where I could understand him. Thankfully, I had a translator.

Tianyi raised her head from where she was. "He said a snake that does not grow stronger has no place in this world."

I sighed. Great. Existential snake philosophy.

Tianyi, on the other hand, had taken to catching birds, her movements eerily precise. She didn’t kill them outright—just disabled them with a sudden, sharp gust of wind from her wings, leaving them stunned for easy collection.

Between the two of them, our food supplies were building at a rapid pace.

Once we had marked enough areas for the second team to scour more thoroughly, we doubled back, retracing our steps to where the main group had set up camp.

Jian Feng observed the process carefully. As we handed off our notes and let the gatherers take over, I caught him studying me with something close to… admiration.

“You’re surprisingly efficient,” he said. “Even our trained disciples aren’t this precise when identifying viable growth areas.”

I scoffed, rubbing some lingering dirt off my hands. “What, you thought I’d just grab whatever looked the shiniest?”

Jian Feng didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced at the gathered herbs being sorted. Even in winter, our haul was substantial—likely double what anyone would expect this season.

“The environment is shifting,” he murmured. “More life, more vitality.”

I nodded. “The ambient qi is affecting everything. The land, the plants, even the soil. It’s why the fields were still rich after the last harvest.”

The second-class disciple exhaled. “I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a warning.”

Neither did I. But for now, it was helping. That was enough.

As I adjusted my satchel, preparing for another scouting round, he suddenly spoke again.

“That signal vial you gave the disciples,” he said. “It was clever.”

I glanced back at him. “It’s basic alchemy.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s practical. You didn’t just think of an escape route, you designed a way to make sure teams can communicate at a distance without needing messengers. Dark smoke that lingers just long enough to be seen, but not long enough to give enemies a clear trail.”

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I shrugged. “It’s the least I could do with what I’ve learned from Verdant Lotus.”

Jian Feng hummed, watching as the second group of disciples dispersed into the forest. “You’re wasted as just an alchemist.”

I arched a brow. “And?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Nothing. Just an observation.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small part of me acknowledged the truth behind his words.

I wasn’t just an alchemist anymore.

And, judging by the way everyone was looking at me now…

I wasn’t just another villager, either.

A few hours passed, and we had surveyed a large area with this strategy—efficiently, methodically, and, most importantly, without incident.

The stillness of the forest had lessened, but it remained eerie. There were more sounds now, the rustling of leaves, the occasional distant cry of a bird, even the scurrying of small animals emboldened by the lack of natural predators. But it was unnatural in a different way—like something lurking just beneath the surface, unseen but present.

I knew, deep down, that there had to be demonic cultivators nearby. The body of the one Windy fought had disappeared without a trace, and I doubted that was a coincidence. Someone had taken it. But whether they were watching us now or lying low, I couldn't be certain.

Still, the expedition had been a success. No losses, no injuries, no signs of immediate danger. That was enough for now.

We gathered at the established base camp, sorting through the supplies we had collected. The second team had done well in following up on the marked locations, their packs overflowing with herbs and foraged plants.

I split the resources between myself and the disciples, ensuring that each of them carried a portion. They were well-versed in the preparation of medicines and herb preservation, a necessity for their sect’s training, so I had no concerns about their ability to handle their share.

As we began our journey back to the village, I mentally cataloged our haul, already considering the next steps. Even with all these materials, I wouldn’t have everything I needed.

That meant I had work to do.

The night passed in a quiet hum of thought and motion.

I sat cross-legged in my shop, surrounded by freshly sorted herbs, my fingers tracing over parchment as I mapped out combinations, permutations, and potential hybrids.

Not every herb I gathered could be used as-is. Some were missing their key complementary ingredients. Others needed to be refined before they reached full potency. And a few, while useful on their own, had the potential to be something far greater if combined correctly.

I welcomed the challenge.

This was what alchemy was meant to be. Not just memorizing recipes, but understanding the nature of each ingredient, finding the balance between its properties, and seeing what could be drawn out with the right process.

Each step forward in this field was a step toward independence.

I adjusted a cluster of ginseng roots, my mind weaving through possibilities. If I infused them with the right essence, could I create something that provided long-term stamina rather than just temporary bursts of energy? What about the frost-lotus; could I refine its cold-resistant properties into something usable beyond medicine?

A faint hum in my mind, like a soft ripple through a still pond.

Nature's Attunement has reached level 7.

A slow smile spread across my face.

Progress.

SCENE BREAK

The coals beneath my feet hissed, shifting as I stepped lightly across them.

The ring of fire surrounding me flickered and roared, the heat curling around my skin, testing me. The rhythm of my movements had long since settled into something natural—instinctual.

I was close.

Each step burned, but it was no longer just endurance keeping me steady.

Force and fluidity.

Elder Ming’s words echoed in my mind, cryptic at first, but growing clearer with each repetition.

I had never thought of dancing as anything more than an art. Yet, the deeper I went into the Dance of a Thousand Flames, the more I understood.

It began with my feet. No longer merely enduring the pain, they were feeling the heat, anticipating the movement of the coals, finding the moments of cool relief amidst the fire. My soles became like eyes, guiding me forward with every shift, every flicker of movement.

A breath. A pivot. A step.

The rigid control I had always held over my movements began to loosen. The familiar weight of Rooted Banyan Stance, the instinctual pull of Bamboo Reprisal Counter—they were strong, reliable. But they weren’t made for this.

Wood resisted. It endured. It held its ground.

But fire?

Fire didn’t wait. Fire didn’t plant itself in place. It moved, it flowed, it devoured and rebirthed itself in the same breath.

My body trembled as I realized the depth of what Elder Ming had been trying to teach me.

My defenses weren’t just a style I relied on—they were a habit I couldn’t shake. Even in my most fluid moments, I carried tension. A readiness to resist. To stand firm. But the Heavenly Flame Mantra demanded something different.

Surrender.

Not weakness. Not submission. But a release of the tension I had spent the beginning of my martial journey cultivating.

I stepped forward again, not bracing for the pain, but moving with it. My body flowed, weaving through the heat, no longer trying to conquer it but accepting it as part of the dance.

The flames flickered—then bent.

For the first time since the training had begun, they didn’t resist me. They followed me, coiling around my limbs in a ghostly wisp before dissipating entirely.

The ring of fire around me collapsed in an instant.

A sharp breath left me as I landed on solid ground, the last embers extinguishing at my feet.

A moment of silence.

Then—

Your Body has reached Qi Initiation Stage - Rank 2

Heavenly Flame Mantra has reached level 2.

A pulse of warmth flooded my limbs, settling deep within my core. The weight of the Black Tortoise Tribulation lessened—only slightly, but noticeably so.

I exhaled, steadying myself, feeling the lingering heat curling at the edges of my awareness.

Elder Ming studied me for a long moment before nodding. “You’ve reached the next level.”

I wiped the sweat from my brow, still catching my breath. “That was… different.”

“It had to be,” he said. “You were shackled by your foundation. The Rooted Banyan Stance is formidable, but it is not suited for fire. It teaches control, stability. Those are strengths—but here, they became a hindrance.”

I nodded slowly. “I get it now. The balance between tension and looseness… It wasn’t something I could just think my way into. I had to feel it.”

A quiet hum of approval. “Good. This will make your learning of the Heavenly Flame Mantra even faster.”

“I want to learn it!”

Wang Jun, who had been watching from the sidelines, strode forward with barely contained excitement. “That looked incredible. If I can learn something like that, I—”

Before either of us could stop him, he hopped onto the extinguished pile of coals, kicking up a small puff of ash.

A loud yelp echoed through the courtyard.

Wang Jun launched himself off the coals, landing several feet away with a furious curse, frantically shaking his foot. “They’re still hot! How'd you stay on these while they were still on fire?”

Elder Ming sighed, rubbing his temple. “Because unlike Kai, you did not move.”

I held back a laugh, watching as Wang Jun glared at the remains of the coal bed like it had personally betrayed him.

“That,” he muttered, pointing at the training ground, “was not worth it.”

Despite myself, I grinned. “You’ll get there one day.”

“One day?” He shot me a glare. “Forget that. If I’m learning a technique, it’s going to be one that doesn’t set me on fire.”

Elder Ming let the moment settle before speaking again. “Now that you’ve grasped the basics, it’s time for the next stage of your training.”

I stretched my arms, still feeling the warmth lingering in my limbs. “Next stage?”

He nodded, then gestured toward Wang Jun. “He’s been helping me prepare for this.”

Wang Jun perked up at that, rubbing his singed foot with a handful of fresh snow. “That’s right. You’ll thank me later.”

I highly doubted that.

Elder Ming motioned for us to follow. We moved toward the storage shed behind his house, where he pulled open the doors to reveal a collection of weapons resting inside.

Swords. Spears. Axes. Iron-tipped staffs.

I blinked. “...Are we preparing for war?”

“Not yet,” Elder Ming said, “but as you advance in cultivation, you will inevitably face a variety of opponents at once. And they won’t all be unarmed.”

I frowned, glancing at the weapons. “I thought this training was about my body and technique. What does this have to do with that?”

“You must learn how to defend against weapons,” Elder Ming said simply. “You are at a stage where avoiding them is no longer an option.”

I hesitated. “But I don’t use weapons. I gave up on training the staff a long time ago.”

Elder Ming arched a brow. “And you think your opponents will care?”

...Fair point.

He stepped forward and picked up a long spear, its wooden shaft polished smooth, the steel tip gleaming in the morning light.

"Made them all battle-ready, just for you! They're about as sharp and balanced as can be." Wang Jun said with pride. In truth, I'd rather he made them blunted instead.

I tensed. “Shouldn’t we start with the less dangerous ones? Like the staff?”

Elder Ming ignored me.

Then he lunged.

I barely had time to react before the spear shot toward me. I twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding the thrust, only for him to pivot the weapon and bring the shaft around in a sweeping arc.

I ducked, cursing. “Wait! Are we just starting like this? No warning?”

“You should always assume your opponent won’t wait for you to be ready,” Elder Ming said calmly, stepping forward again.

I scrambled back. “That’s a very convenient philosophy when you have the weapon!”

Another thrust. Another dodge.

The tip of the spear whistled past my ear, close enough that I felt the wind from it. Because of the limitation of my Refinement Simulation Technique, predicting his moves were difficult. I hadn't much experience with armed opponents.

“Kai,” he said between strikes, “you’ve learned how to move with fire. Now, learn how to move with your opponent’s intent.”

He shifted his grip, switching from a thrust to a feint, then swung the spear in a sharp downward motion.

I twisted, barely avoiding the strike, but my balance was off.

Elder Ming capitalized instantly.

The shaft of the spear swept my legs out from under me.

I crashed to the ground with a grunt.

Wang Jun laughed. “Wow. That was fast.”

I groaned, staring at the sky.

Stronger cultivation, better techniques, deeper understanding of combat—why did all of it just mean getting beaten up faster?!

Elder Ming placed the butt of the spear against the ground, looking down at me. “Again.”

I exhaled sharply, rolling to my feet.

“Of course,” I muttered. But despite my complaints, I stood up.

“Let's go!"