Blossoming Path

Chapter 199: Might, Mercy, and the Path Between

"When I went to Qingmu, I learned of what you did."

I quirked an eyebrow as I continued to check over the health of my plants. My reserves were already beginning to bottom out from infusing so much of my garden. "Oh?"

"The Iron Claw Sect," he continued. "How you protected them when we couldn't."

I snorted, inspecting the Golden Bamboo with a critiquing eye. "I mostly did it because I didn’t want that place turning into a battleground between your sect and theirs."

"Maybe so. But it doesn't change what you did."

He shifted slightly. Turning his back on me and looking out into the moonlit sky as he continued his story. "When we got there, it was meant to be a temporary stay. Just a pit stop to recover. We weren’t planning to reveal who we were. But that boy from the time with the Wind Serpents; he recognized us immediately."

I huffed a laugh. "Hua Lingsheng?"

His gaze flickered to me, a faint trace of surprise before he nodded.

I shook my head, grinning. "Figures. He’s got a sharp eye, I’ll give him that."

The humor in my chest faded as he continued.

"He gave us a place to stay. Fed us meals. Refused to charge us, even when we insisted. Said we were the ones protecting Qingmu, and that was enough."

I remained silent, listening.

"Even after we abandoned them," Xu Ziqing murmured, "his family treated us with the same grace and respect."

There was something raw in his tone. Not regret. Not guilt. Just… something that didn't quite have a name.

"I wished they had said something. Just once. A reprimand. A rebuke. Anything. But they didn’t." He exhaled, his hands tightening into fists. "Instead, they just kept giving. Fed us, clothed us, gave us supplies we didn’t even ask for. As if our failures didn’t matter."

The words weighed heavier than I expected.

I didn’t know what to say to that.

Xu Ziqing wasn’t looking for a response. He wasn’t even looking at me. He was just… talking. As if trying to put a story to words, rather than expecting a meaningful conversation in return.

The silence stretched, and I let it.

Then, the door creaked open.

Ping Hai stood in the doorway, his hulking frame casting a shadow over the entrance. He looked well-rested, his presence just as large and imposing as ever. "I’ve finished my cultivation."

Xu Ziqing blinked, as if shaken from his thoughts. He straightened, the faint vulnerability in his expression smoothing over in an instant.

I glanced between the two of them, then sighed, rubbing the back of my head. "It’s late. You two can sleep here for the night. We’ll talk about getting you a room at the Soaring Swallow tomorrow."

Without another word, the two followed me inside.

The next afternoon, I wasted no time confirming my suspicions.

Xu Ziqing and Ping Hai sat across from me at the Soaring Swallow, finishing what little remained of their meal. Their injuries had healed significantly—at least on the outside—but exhaustion still lingered in their movements, the kind that went deeper than the body.

I folded my arms. “It wasn’t you, was it?”

The second-class disciple frowned slightly. “What?”

“The cultists,” I clarified. “The ones who were killed outside the village yesterday. You didn't do that?”

“No. We weren’t even here yet.” He rubbed his temple, expression strained. “And even if we had been, do you think I could’ve done that? I barely survived Qingmu as it was.”

I studied him carefully.

For all his skill, for however strong he had gotten, I didn’t believe for a second that he had reached the level where he could behead three cultists before they could even react.

Even an elder would struggle to do something like that.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “That’s what I thought.”

Whatever—or whoever—had killed those cultists was still unaccounted for.

I pushed the thought away for now. It didn’t matter. Not yet.

I stood, gathering my things. “You two do what you want, just don’t cause trouble.”

Xu Ziqing watched me for a moment, then leaned forward slightly. “Shouldn’t we be doing something?”

I paused. “What?”

He gestured vaguely to the village. “I feel out of place here. Sitting around doesn’t sit right with me. I want to pay back what was given to us.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And why are you asking me? I’m not your leader. And besides, didn’t I already tell you? I owe you a debt. This is me paying off that debt.”

He didn’t argue.

“If you really want to make yourselves useful, go to Jian Feng or ask one of the villagers. Don’t pay me back—pay it forward to someone else.”

Feng Wu’s words came to me easily, and I left before either of them could respond.

I had more important things to focus on.

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Like the cure.

Miao Hu’s words from earlier echoed in my mind. They’ve awoken.

The converts were conscious. Bound. Gagged. Still trying to chant despite their restraints. Some had even attempted to chew through the cloth covering their mouths.

I didn’t have time to waste.

I gathered the ingredients—essence purifying elixir, female ginseng, peony root, and a variety of stabilizing herbs.

The process was time-consuming. But it was easy with my current level of alchemical skill. An hour passed before I finally held up three small vials.

A deep, purplish-red elixir.

The Blood Purifying Tonic.

Quest: Rescue the Fallen has been completed.

Due to your status as Interface Manipulator, your rewards will be adjusted accordingly.

A sudden weight pressed against my mind, like a flood of knowledge forcing its way into my thoughts. I staggered slightly, gripping the edge of the table as images, concepts, and techniques poured into my consciousness.

Pressure points. Qi pathways. Meridian regulation. The delicate balance between yin and yang in the body’s circulation.

And most importantly, how acupuncture could be used to enhance the effects of the tonic.

My breathing steadied as I focused, parsing through the flood of information.

With the right needle placements, I could guide the tonic’s effects, ensuring the corrupted blood was expelled more efficiently. Not only that, but acupuncture could prevent qi deviation, something I hadn’t even considered when treating the converts.

I cursed under my breath.

Of course. I’d been so focused on cleansing the demonic influence that I hadn’t accounted for the shock their bodies would undergo. Their qi pathways, already altered by the conversion process, were vulnerable to instability. If I wasn’t careful, the cure itself could cause their meridians to collapse.

That wasn’t something I could afford.

I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders. But there was a problem.

I wasn’t an acupuncturist.

The knowledge was there, sure, but application was different. I had skill in alchemy and medicine, but acupuncture required steady hands, precision, and years of practice.

I glanced toward the vial of Blood Purifying Tonic, my grip tightening around it.

I couldn’t afford to make mistakes.

But I didn’t have to do this alone.

A realization settled over me, followed by the barest trace of relief.

There was an entire squadron of second-class disciples in the village. Trained martial artists. Many of whom had backgrounds in medicine, healing arts, and battlefield first aid.

Surely, one of them had experience with acupuncture.

Without another moment of hesitation, I set out for their compound. Several were there, going about their training or interacting with the village children who had come over to learn some martial arts.

“Does anyone here know acupuncture?” I asked.

A disciple stepped forward. “I do.”

I nodded. “Come with me.”

Together, we entered the area where the restrained converts were being held.

One of them lay on a cot, wasting away from hunger, their body trembling as if on the verge of breaking apart. Without the constant empowerment of demonic qi, they were deteriorating.

But I wouldn’t let them die.

“Lay him flat,” I instructed.

The disciple obeyed, positioning the convert’s body properly.

I pointed to several acupoints. “You’ll place the needles here. And here. Especially near the heart.”

The disciple nodded, carefully inserting the needles with precision.

I took a steady breath and uncorked the vial.

“This tonic will target the corruption through the blood,” I explained. “The essence purifying elixir will serve as the base, breaking down the demonic influence. The herbs will encourage expulsion of bad blood while promoting regeneration.”

Slowly, carefully, I administered the first dose.

The reaction was immediate.

The convert’s body convulsed. Their muscles seized as blackened blood began to leak from the acupoints, seeping through the skin. Their mouth opened in a strangled gasp, and they vomited thick, dark fluid.

The disciple flinched at the sight.

But I didn’t.

I had expected this.

The corruption had to get worse before it could get better.

Minutes passed. The convert eventually went still, unconscious. His body trembled no more.

But he did not change.

Not yet.

I exhaled, my grip tightening around the empty vial. “We’ll have to repeat this for the next few days. We need to keep flushing it out. Let's repeat with the others.”

The disciple swallowed. “Understood.”

I stepped back, glancing at the other converts.

This was only the beginning.

As I moved on to the next convert, my hands didn’t hesitate. The process had already been ingrained into my memory. Positioning, dosage, needle placement. The acupuncturist beside me worked in tandem, inserting each needle with practiced precision as I administered the Blood Purifying Tonic in careful increments.

The same reaction followed. The convert’s body convulsed violently, the purging beginning almost instantly. His breath hitched, muscles spasming as dark, putrid blood forced its way out through his acupoints. The stench of decay filled the room, thick and suffocating.

I forced myself to breathe through my mouth.

It was working.

But as I moved from one convert to the next, watching them all writhe under the effects of the tonic, a different thought settled into my mind, one that had nothing to do with the process itself.

What happens after?

These people weren’t from Gentle Wind Village. That much was certain.

The village had never reported missing persons, at least not in my lifetime. Which meant these converts were from elsewhere. Other villages. Other homes.

Maybe Pingyao.

I thought of Ping Hai in the Soaring Swallow. I didn’t know how far Pingyao was from here, but… what if these people were from there?

What if their families were still waiting? Still mourning?

Had they already grieved them? Moved on? Or were they still hoping, holding onto some desperate shred of belief that their loved ones would return?

My grip on the vial tightened.

How many more had been taken?

Because these three weren’t alone. There were dozens, probably hundreds of people out there who had been stolen away, converted, twisted into tools for the demonic cult.

People who never got a chance.

My breath was slow and steady as I moved to the final convert, repeating the process with mechanical precision.

Needles in place. Tonic administered.

The body convulsed.

Dark blood expelled.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last convert stilled. His unconscious body sank into the cot, breath settling into weak but steady inhales.

It was done. For now.

I wiped my forehead, sweat trickling down my temple. The air was thick with the scent of medicine and expelled corruption.

As I reached for the discarded equipment, the disciple beside me stopped me.

“You’ve worked hard,” he said simply. “Leave the cleanup to me.”

I hesitated for only a moment before nodding.

“…Thanks.”

With that, I turned and stepped outside, leaving the compound behind.

The village was quiet as I walked through its streets. The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows over the frost-bitten earth.

I kept moving, my feet following a familiar path, even as my mind wandered elsewhere.

What does it mean to be the Interface Manipulator?

What was my role supposed to be?

Did I have to stand at the very frontlines, leading the charge against the cultists? Was that my duty?

The thought sent a cold shudder through me.

"I don't want that..."

Did it mean protecting this village instead?

To focus only on what I could control? To safeguard the people around me, rather than concerning myself with the bigger picture?

I frowned. That didn’t feel right either.

If I turned a blind eye to everything outside of Gentle Wind Village, if I ignored what I had learned in the ruins—about the Heavenly Demon, the Interface’s origins, and the cult’s goal to revive their god—

Wouldn’t that just be another form of abandonment?

Like the Silent Moon Sect? Like the mainland elders?

A bitter taste settled on my tongue.

Neither option seemed right.

And yet, I couldn’t stay idle.

I clenched my fists and looked down on the floor.

I don’t know what my role is supposed to be. I don’t know what the Interface expects from me.

A voice called out behind me, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Benefactor."

I turned, catching sight of Ping Hai walking toward me at a brisk pace. The massive man was hard to miss. Towering, broad-shouldered, and moving with a surprising level of grace for someone his size.

I exhaled, letting go of my internal debate for the moment. "You don’t have to call me that, you know. We’re not that far apart in age."

"I’d disagree. You're nearly five years older than me. You are the same age as the daughter running the inn we stay at, yes?"

I stopped walking.

Then I turned, giving him a long, long look.

Five years younger.

The hulk of a man in front of me, the one who could likely lift a whole wagon cart if he wanted to, was only a couple of years older than Li Wei?

A slow breath left me. "Five years, huh?"

Ping Hai tilted his head. "You look like you're struggling with that fact."

"I am struggling with it."

He laughed—a deep, booming sound that felt strangely light despite its volume. "Well, regardless of age, I came here to say thank you."

I waved him off. "No need for that."

"I think there is," he said, his voice more serious now. "We have a… complicated past. I was on the other side of a wager, and part of the Silent Moon. You had every right to hold it against me. But instead, you saved us. You let us stay. You healed our wounds. That’s magnanimous of you."

I huffed, shaking my head. "I don’t think I’d call it that. It's just basic kindness. I owe your senior something anyway."

"I would." His tone was firm. "The Silent Moon Sect isn’t like the Verdant Lotus Sect or any of those noble, upright sects. We follow the rule of might makes right. And I once took pride in that. The strong lead, the weak follow—and we never owe debts. We were raised to fight, to claim what we wanted through power. But even we, once, held true to our promises. Even we, once, understood honor."

He exhaled, his massive shoulders rising and falling, before bowing deeply onto the snowy floor. "And that’s why I wanted to say thank you. Not just for the medicine. Not just for the shelter. But because you treated us like people—not just as enemies from another sect."

I didn’t say anything at first.

Because, honestly, what was there to say?

This wasn’t a conversation about debt. It wasn’t a conversation about obligation. It was just two people talking, trying to make sense of the world they had both been thrown into. And yet, somewhere in those words, I felt something click in my mind.

Maybe this is it.

Maybe this is my role.

Not to stand at the frontlines, leading the charge.

Not to stay behind, only protecting my own.

But to bridge the gap; to be the one who listens, who learns, and who finds a way forward.

I wasn’t a warrior. Or a hero from the tales that Liang Feng weaved.

I was a herbalist. An alchemist. A cultivator who had walked an unusual path.

But paths, no matter how strange, still led somewhere.

I looked at Ping Hai. "Then I’ll say this: thank you."

He blinked, caught off guard. "For what?"

"For reminding me that I still have a lot to learn," I said simply.

A small smile pulled at his lips. "I think we all do."

With that, he gave me a polite nod before turning back toward the Soaring Swallow, his heavy footsteps crunching against the frost-covered path.

I watched him go for a moment before finally heading back to my shop.

The sound of laughter greeted me as I approached.

Tianyi and Windy were playing in the snow—well, if you could call it that. Tianyi was tossing handfuls of it into the air, watching as it fluttered down, her wings, gradually healing, shimmering in the cold light. Windy, on the other hand, had coiled himself into the deepest mound of snow possible, his blue-and-white scales barely visible under the frost.

I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Even now, even after everything, there was still room for this.

Room for peace.

Room for moments that weren’t about survival.

I exhaled, my breath curling into the cold air.

I knew what I had to do.