CHAPTER 215: THE QUIET BEFORE BLOOM

The days began to blur again.

Not in the frantic way they had after Pingyao, but in that steady rhythm that only came from a village at work. The kind of rhythm you could lose yourself in. Patrols widened. Schedules tightened. Even the air felt sharper, like the season had clicked one notch closer to spring.

At the break of dawn, a squad of Verdant Lotus disciples slipped out of the village under the guise of drifters; ragged clothes, dirt-smudged faces, travel-worn cloaks. Their packs were stuffed with more than rations, though. Each carried small vials of powder and tonic, in case of an encounter with either kind of predator: bandits or demons.

They’d been sent to the coordinates given by the messenger, pretending to be lost refugees hoping for shelter. A bait operation, but one with enough teeth to bite back if needed.

Meanwhile, Wang Jun and I worked side by side. Sometimes in the forge, sometimes hunched over parchment, sometimes out in the cold hauling crates and sacks into neat rows. We were preparing care packages: medicine, grains, backup tools, fire starters, cloth, and dried herbs. Enough for Qingmu to last the next few weeks at least.

I couldn’t afford to forget them.

The more the Interface spread, the more the world changed. The idea of letting them, Hua Lingsheng and the others, face these shifts alone—it sat wrong with me. Especially when the housed refugees from Crescent Bay City like we did.

After all, what good was strength if I didn’t use it to lift others?

I leaned against the doorway of the apothecary, looking out toward the edge of the village.

Windy was trudging along the perimeter, his body coiled in a lazy spiral that dragged through the thinning snow. He didn’t look alert; but I knew better. His tongue flicked out every few seconds, reading the air. A sentry pretending to be bored.

Tianyi was nowhere to be seen.

I tilted my head toward the sky, scanning the distant horizon. Nothing. Just pale clouds curling along the ridge lines.

Not because she was hiding, but because I'd asked her to help with the search efforts. The Verdant Lotus disciples were skilled, but they couldn’t cover ground like Tianyi could. With her wings fully healed and her flight more stable than ever, she was the only one among us who could patrol wide arcs of terrain in hours instead of days. Spotting movement from the air, weaving between forest canopies and mountain paths. Her senses were sharper thanks to her antennae.

She hadn't complained when I asked. Just nodded, turned, and vanished into the clouds.

That was three days ago.

She came back occasionally; silent, brief. Ate a bit. Slept by the window. Said nothing. Then vanished again before sunrise.

I didn’t push. Even if she didn't communicate it, I could feel her impatience; the desire to help outside of immediate combat.

And I trusted her. Because she was the strongest in the village, aside from perhaps Xu Ziqing.

"Or me," I muttered quietly to no one in particular.

But every time she left, the house felt a little emptier.

Windy paused and glanced up at me, flicked his tail once and slithered out of sight behind the fence. He was never much for conversation without Tianyi to translate.

I exhaled and turned back to the crate in front of me, slipping a bundle of dried mushrooms into the top. There were still two more shipments to make. Then I’d be off to Qingmu.

I wiped my hands on a cloth and made my way to the back room, where a large clay pot sat in the corner, half-buried in the floor and rimmed with straw to help insulate it from the last of the frost. I'd almost forgotten about it in the chaos of the week, but the moment I lifted the lid, heat bloomed against my face like a breath from the earth itself.

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The Spirit Soil was working.

The flesh of the Black Tiger, once riddled with corruption, had been refined into dark, nutrient-rich pulp. Its bones had been crushed and slow-roasted to white powder, then folded into the compost. Now, the soil didn't just smell rich, it felt rich. Like a heartbeat, soft and steady, pulsing with ambient qi.

Even standing near it made Nature's Attunement prickle at the edges of my mind, making me stronger just by nearing it's presence.

This wasn’t normal soil anymore.

If I mixed it with the greenhouse beds of my own garden, it would double their output. No—more than double. Stronger roots. Faster growth. Higher potency for every herb or hybrid I planted. But it couldn’t be used raw. No way. This soil was too alive.

Too much life would choke a weak plant just as easily as not enough.

I knelt beside it and sifted a handful through my fingers. Warm, slightly spongy. It almost glowed. This would be my base layer, the foundation of the greenhouse. But each planting bed would need adjustments. Drainage for qi-dense herbs. Decomposition regulation for roots. Pest-attractant measures for flower hybrids. The formula would have to change for every hybrid to optimize their growth.

My mind flooded with ideas. Ratios. Trials. Charts and planters and layered growth chambers. I grabbed my notes, pulled a mixing dish closer. I could start a few batches now before—

“Damn it!” I barked, jolting up as sunlight cut through the window.

I scrambled to my feet, cursed again, and grabbed the Tianqi Duel board and pouch from the worktable. I'd completely lost track of time.

I kicked open the door, focused qi into the soles of my feet, and leapt from the porch. My robes flared around me as I cut across the village rooftops like a stone skipping across water, landing in a final slide just past the pine ridge.

Sure enough, Xu Ziqing was already there, seated cross-legged, sword across his lap. Xin Du stood a few paces off, copying a simple practice stance, brow furrowed in concentration.

Xu Ziqing glanced over as I skid to a halt, unimpressed.

“I’m not late,” I lied breathlessly.

“You are,” he said without looking. “And making a habit of it.”

I bowed hastily. “The soil was—look, I’ll explain later.”

He didn’t respond, just motioned toward the stump across from him. I dropped into place and began unpacking the pieces, apologizing again under my breath.

We started immediately.

Each game was a different scenario. Sometimes I defended, sometimes invaded, sometimes played a third party caught between two moving sides. I lost the first match just shy of a hundred moves. Not great. But a few days ago, I couldn’t even see the loss coming.

Now, I saw it just before it arrived. Improvement.

The second-to-last game took place in a simulated forest terrain. My role: the invader.

I pressed early, using a side-route I hadn’t tried before. I flooded the left flank with scouts and forced Xu Ziqing’s defenders to pull back from high ground.

He raised a brow. “Oh?”

I didn’t respond. Just advanced again, faster this time. Pressing. It felt good.

But then, his side reshuffled. He triggered a terrain collapse in the center, isolating one of my pieces.

I paused, then retreated, cutting my losses before the flank broke entirely.

Xu Ziqing leaned back, arms crossed. “Better.”

I nodded, pulse quickening. “I’m learning. It’s not just about reading the board, it’s about reading you. You bluff with symmetry. But you never double-stack defenders unless you’re baiting.”

A small glint of amusement flickered in his eye.

I kept playing, absorbing every feint and counter. Every formation, every shift in the board.

Then, the chime hit me.

Mind has reached Qi Initiation - Rank 5.

I blinked. The clarity, the focus… it was real. I was evolving.

We finished the match in near silence. I still lost, but barely.

By two pieces.

I grinned. “Not bad, huh?”

Xu Ziqing raised an eyebrow. “It was competent.”

“Come on, you’re impressed.”

He didn’t answer. Just reset the board for the final match.

Maybe I got too confident.

No... definitely too confident.

By move seventy-five, I was surrounded. Crushed. He didn’t even need a finishing blow. He just walked into the fortress like he’d owned it from turn five.

I stared at the board in disbelief.

“Complacency,” Xu Ziqing said, calmly placing the final token. “Is defeat. Especially in warfare.”

I groaned and let my forehead hit the table.

He stood, dusted off his sleeves, and turned away.

“Same time tomorrow,” he said.

I sat there for a long time, watching the pieces while Xin Du continued to swing away. I gave him a small nod as I passed, then made my way down the slope, cutting through the village.

I stopped briefly by the Soaring Swallow to grab a meat bun, half-eaten before I even left the porch, then detoured past Wang Jun’s forge to drop off a packet of refined iron essence he’d asked for. The door was open, glowing with amber heat. He shouted a muffled thanks without looking up from his anvil, sparks painting the walls.

I headed home, lips still burning from the too-hot bun.

The village was lively under construction, but my workshop was quiet. I ducked inside, tying up my sleeves and pulling out two fresh clay pots I’d assembled earlier. I’d laid them beside the Spirit Soil container, already filled with mixes I was experimenting with. One was dense, good for moisture retention. The other? Dry, loose—ideal for fast-growing herbs that needed oxygen at the root.

My hands moved on autopilot. Grinding, mixing, folding in the powders of bone, wood ash, crushed stalks, old molting from Windy’s last shed. Each combination produced something new. Some smelled sharp, others sour. All were teeming with qi.

The sun had long since begun its descent when I finally stopped, hands stained dark brown, wrists splashed with heaven-knows-what. I looked down at the clay pots in front of me and felt… something close to pride.

The plants would thrive in it.

I rinsed my arms in a shallow basin of clean water. Then, drying my palms on my sash, I stepped outside into the evening chill.

It was time for my last task of the day.

I walked to the packed dirt clearing behind the house and let the quiet settle around me. Twilight stretched its cool fingers across the sky, casting soft shadows along the edges of my vision. No sparring. No boards. Just movement.

I took a deep, steadying breath, loosening the belt around my waist and shrugging off my outer robes. The cool evening air kissed my skin, sharp yet refreshing. I tugged off the lightweight shirt beneath, feeling the soft fabric glide off to reveal a body marked by cultivation and conflict alike.

The once skinny frame I had was now packed with lean muscle, shaped by endless drills and tempered through countless battles. My fingers brushed over the familiar ridges of scars. Some faint, others etched deeply into my flesh.

My left shoulder carried the jagged puncture from a fight I'd never forget, the skin there puckered slightly.

I closed my eyes briefly, allowing myself a single moment to feel the memories they held. Each scar a story, a lesson, a warning.

Then, opening my eyes slowly, I stretched, rolling my shoulders and feeling the satisfying pull of muscle, the quiet creak of joints easing into readiness.

I planted my feet firmly, feeling the earth beneath me, solid and grounding. With a final, deep breath, I began.