The encounter with the rogue cultivators left a bitter chill in the air long after their silhouettes vanished from the path. Though Lu Chenyuan had turned them away with a measured show of strength, the victory tasted more like a warning than a triumph—a reminder of how thin the veil of their safety truly was.
"They'll talk," Lu Chenyuan said that evening, his voice low as they sat around their modest dinner of spiritual millet and foraged greens. The single Moonpetal Leaf sprout, hidden just beyond the main hall, drank steadily from the soil, a silent, fragile hope that was demanding more with each passing day. "Men like that don't keep quiet after being turned away with their pride bruised. They'll either brag about staring down a fierce recluse or spread fear about some hidden danger."
Shen Yue, now comfortably anchored at the peak of the Second Layer of Qi Refinement, nodded as she gently rotated the tea bowl in her hands. "Your mention of ancestral energies… it might deepen the rumors Uncle Liu started. But what if Shadow Hand Xue hears of it? Will he believe there's ancient power protecting us—or will he see it for what it is? A bluff from a desperate clan guarding something?"
Her words were quiet, but precise. The way she weighed risks had grown sharper. The same woman who once worried over every market errand now spoke with the cool edge of someone who understood the stakes.
Lu Chenyuan met her gaze. "That's the gamble. Xue doesn't just chase clues—he hunts patterns. If we seem too weak for too long yet keep surviving, that itself becomes suspicious. But a hint of something old, mysterious, and untraceable… that might slow his hand. He'd be forced to ask whether we're worth unraveling. Or if there are better threads to pull."
It was a delicate tightrope—appear too strong, and they'd draw blades. Appear too weak, and they'd be wiped out as a matter of efficiency. But a story of half-forgotten blessings and ancestral shadows? That might muddle the scent.
A few days later, Uncle Liu returned from another careful trip to Serpent's End Market. His shoulders sagged from fatigue, but his eyes held a glimmer of reluctant satisfaction.
"Chenyuan," he said, setting down his travel sack, "they've been talking. The rogues. Not about their bravery—no, they complain. Call you a 'pretty-faced snake with unexpected fangs.' One of them claimed the air around our courtyard made his bones ache. They speak of 'ancestral wrath,' of ghostly protections. The whispers are spreading."
Lu Chenyuan absorbed this, his expression unreadable. It was both a shield and a blade. The tales might ward off lesser threats. But they could also pique the curiosity of the very man they most wanted to avoid.
Fortunately, their earlier misdirection—the suggestion that the Deng Clan had dealings with strange fungi and subtle poisons—seemed to be holding. Word was that Xue had shifted his scrutiny there, probing into old Deng rumors with his signature thoroughness.
But the true problem wasn't outside their walls. It was nestled in the soil behind them.
The Moonpetal Leaf sprout was thriving in its quiet corner, cared for with almost sacred devotion by Shen Yue. It had pushed forth a second delicate, crescent-shaped leaf, its silver-green glow faint but undeniable, thrumming with pure Wood Qi. But its appetite was growing—greedy, relentless.
That evening, after a long nurturing session, Shen Yue leaned against the doorframe, pale and weary.
"It's... not enough anymore," she whispered, exhaustion in her voice. "My Qi alone can't sustain it much longer. It's beginning to crave what the Azurewood Art calls 'Spirit Dew Concentrate' or... 'Wood Essence Crystals.' But we don't have anything like that."
Lu Chenyuan sat in silence, watching the shimmer of lamplight on her sweat-damp brow. Her awakening was progressing—her bond with the Wood element deepening by the day. The system confirmed it: Spiritual Root Awakening (Wood Variant): 50%. Clan Prosperity Meter: 30/100. His own insights into elemental cultivation had grown stronger, but even that knowledge couldn't conjure resources from thin air.
Their spirit stone hoard—just thirty-five—wouldn't buy even a diluted vial of Spirit Dew. And their remaining Qi Nourishing Pills were too precious to waste on soil, no matter how vital the sprout was. The contradiction tore at him.
He felt the pressure mounting. They had gambled everything on this seed. It could not fail—not now.
One night, unable to sleep, Lu Chenyuan paced their narrow chamber, tracing the same worn floorboard patterns over and over.
"The Serpent's Coil Hills," he murmured aloud, half to himself. "They're named for their chaotic Qi flows. Most clans dismiss the terrain as unstable. But that same chaos… it can create isolated anomalies. Micro-climates of spiritual energy. Forgotten pockets where rare materials form—Verdant Jade Sand, Heartwood Nodules. Low-grade, but potent."
Shen Yue, wrapped in a thin cloak, looked up from her seat. "You're thinking of going out there to find one?"
"I am," he said. "It's a long shot. But I've gained insight from the system—refined geomantic sense. I can follow the tangled threads of Wood Qi. Not for a spirit vein. Just a single rich patch. Something, anything, to keep the Moonpetal alive."
Her expression flickered—fear, then resolve. "It's dangerous. The hills aren't empty. Bandits, beasts, lingering formations…"
"I know," he said. "But going to the market invites questions. Trying to trade pills invites worse. This is cleaner. Risky, but quiet."
For a moment, neither spoke. Then she stood, crossing the room to him. Her voice was soft, but firm.
"If you go… I'll take care of things here. I'll keep it alive, even if I have to drain every drop of Qi I have. And Uncle Liu and I will watch the gate."
He looked at her, really looked, and saw how far she'd come. The fear in her hadn't vanished—it had simply learned to live beside her courage.
The next two days were spent preparing. Lu Chenyuan mapped a route through the tangled outskirts of the hills, targeting regions where old forestry reports hinted at strange soil behavior or unusual moss blooms—signs of subtle, long-term Wood Qi concentration. He would stay within a half-day's walk, far enough to avoid detection, close enough to return swiftly. He packed light: dried rations, a sealed compass attuned to Wood resonance, and a single Qi Nourishing Pill.
On the morning of his departure, mist blanketed the hills. The world felt hushed, as if nature itself were holding its breath.
Shen Yue met him at the gate, a woven pouch in hand.
"For the road," she said quietly. Inside were a few dried Green Dew Grass leaves from her recent harvest, and a single ripe spirit fruit, its skin glistening with stored Qi. "It's all I can offer… husband."
The word caught him off guard. It wasn't their first exchange of closeness, but it was the first time she'd called him that aloud.
It landed softly, yet powerfully.
He reached for her hand, calloused fingers wrapping around hers.
"I'll return," he said, his voice hoarse. "With something. Anything. I promise."
She smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried both belief and fear. "Then go. Before the mist lifts and our luck with it."
He stepped out into the swirling fog, the cold wrapping around him like a silent guardian. Each step away from the gate felt like a stretch of thread pulled tighter between them. But he didn't look back.
The sprout had survived the first storm. Their whispered defiance had bought them time. Now, desperation was leading him beyond the safety of walls, into the wild unknown—chasing a sliver of hope hidden deep within the bones of the earth.