The fire cracked and spat, smoke curling upward as the scent of roasting meat clung heavy to the clearing. Stripped bones already lay piled to the side, proof of how thoroughly they had butchered the macaque.
The four of them sat cross-legged around the flames, hands slick with fat, ferns bundled neatly behind them in little stacks.
Thirty-four in total.
Sana's pile dwarfed the rest. She didn't bother hiding her pride—her eyes gleamed in the flicker of firelight as she chewed and swallowed. Then, without hesitation, she leaned forward.
"You said we could ask for a technique. Then teach me…" Her gaze fixed on him with an almost feverish intensity, "…how you made those needles you shot into the macaques."
Oliver didn't answer at once. He kept working, slicing sinew and fat from the grayish pelt laid across his lap. He inspected it, then stood, wrapping it around his waist like a crude sash.
"Sure," he said at last. "But I'll only demonstrate the principle."
He picked up another skinned hide—the torso and head of a large macaque—and slung it across his shoulder. Its skull hung low from his right side, yellowed teeth clamped together as if pinning the fur in place across his chest.
"That's fine, as long as I can come back to you if I can't grasp it," Sana replied, rising and wiping her greasy hands on a strip of fur. Her eyes flicked toward the peach tree, its roots twisted tight around several macaque corpses. From its branches, new buds swelled—peaches already restarting their cycle, faint outlines of embryos stirring inside.
"Also… can you tell us how you were born again from that tree?" she asked, voice edged with curiosity and unease.
"It looks similar to that monkey's wooden puppets."
She lingered on the peaches, frowning. "Did taking whatever was inside it turn you into a yokai or something?"
The other girls shifted, their eyes narrowing in the firelight, waiting for his answer.
Takara also chimed in while skinning a pelt to wear, her knife—scavenged off a corpse—glinting faintly in the firelight.
"Yeah, that thing could make multiple clones." Her eyes flicked from the tree back to him, sharp with suspicion. "So… does that mean those are your clones? Are you a clone right now? Because I'm pretty sure I saw you get buried underneath that tree."
"Yes and no," Oliver replied, answering her first. "I'm still me—just… split up, I guess. Most of my soul is anchored in this body, and only fragments are in those other embryos." He scratched the back of his head, looking almost sheepish.
"As for whether or not I'm inhuman now… I honestly don't know." His gaze shifted from Sana to the others, finally settling on Luna, who had fully returned to her deer form and grazed quietly at the grass.
"If anything, I'd say it's closer to having something like a heavenly body, rather than my race actually changing. I'm still myself, buried beneath the roots below." He turned back to Sana, eyes steady. "And that should also answer your first question. That tree only sprouted after I stole that cultivation treasure for myself."
Oliver let the silence linger for a moment after his explanation. The fire popped, throwing sparks into the night. Takara's knife scraped along the pelt, and Luna's soft chewing was the only other sound.
"Come with me," he said simply.
Sana blinked, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face, but she nodded. "Where?"
"Just follow," Oliver said, his tone firm but calm. "I'll show you something practical. Words only get you so far."
She glanced back at Takara and Luna, who gave her subtle nods of encouragement. Then she fell in step behind him, the firelight shrinking behind them as they walked toward the outskirts of the clearing. The scent of burnt ferns and scorched wood lingered in the air, heavy and acrid, but Oliver didn't seem to notice.
He stopped a short distance away, in a small clearing where the moonlight cut through the trees in narrow beams. The night was quiet here, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the faint hiss of cooling sap from the tree's roots. Oliver turned to her, eyes glowing faintly with the energy still coursing through him.
"Watch closely," he said, raising his hand. A faint swirl of light coalesced between his fingers, threads of Qi condensing into a delicate, needle-like shape. It hovered for a moment, then, with a quick thrust, he shot it toward the ground.
It lodged itself into a large stone, the surface cracking like a spiderweb. He let her watch it for a moment before allowing it to dissipate.
"That's a Qi needle," he explained. "It's simple in concept—take a stream of Qi, compress it, and stabilize it into a sharp, concentrated point. You can pierce meridians, disrupt circulation, or immobilize a target."
Sana crouched, fingertips brushing the pierced stone, as she drew a slow, deliberate breath. "Show me… step by step," she whispered, eyes wide.
Oliver nodded and guided her hands with his own, feeling the flow of her Qi and nudging it gently. "Draw it from your dantian. Don't force it—guide it. Imagine the energy condensing into a single droplet at your fingertip."
Her first attempt sputtered out. A faint glimmer appeared at her fingertip, then collapsed like a candle in the wind.
"Again," Oliver said, voice patient. "Focus. Control comes from feeling it, not forcing it."
She took another breath. This time, the Qi gathered more steadily, threads coiling into something needle-like, but it wavered, bending and twisting before fading entirely. Her shoulders slumped, and she muttered under her breath, frustrated.
Oliver crouched slightly, watching her. "Relax. You're too tense. Let the energy flow naturally—it will sharpen itself if you let it."
On her third attempt, Sana closed her eyes and steadied her breath. She imagined the Qi like water narrowing through a channel, pulling it inward, compressing it, and condensing it into a single point. Slowly, deliberately, a slender, glowing needle of energy formed at her fingertip. It shimmered faintly, held its shape, and hovered steadily.
Her eyes flew open in disbelief. "I… I did it?"
Oliver's lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. "Third try. Not bad at all. Now you've got the principle—next, you'll learn precision and timing."
Sana's fingers tingled where the energy had gathered. Her chest heaved with exhilaration, and a spark of pride flickered in her eyes as she stared at Oliver. "Thank you… I'll get better. I promise."
The night seemed to grow quieter around them, as if the grove itself were holding its breath, witnessing the first successful forging of a new skill beneath the shadow of the reborn tree.
Oliver nodded, satisfied, and motioned for her to relax. "Alright. Rest for now. We'll start real training in the morning."
Sana's grin lingered as she sank back onto the soft earth, her hands still tingling faintly from the Qi. Oliver stretched his limbs, letting the tension drain from his body. The night held a strange stillness, almost sacred, as if the grove itself acknowledged their moment of accomplishment.
"Close your eyes," Oliver said, voice low and calm. "We'll rest here for a while."
Sana nodded, leaning against the moss. A little distance away, Takara and Luna sat beneath the night sky, tending to the fire as they kept watch over the glowing bundles of ferns. One worked on skinning pelts while the other arranged them. The warmth of the flames licked their faces, mingling with the faint scent of peach sap and scorched greenery.
At the base of the peach tree, its roots stirred and writhed upward, reaching toward the sky. A sharp pulse of energy rippled from them, deliberate and clear, enough that the girls by the fire paused to glance at each other.
We won't be returning to the tree tonight.
The intent carried through them like a whisper. Takara blinked, unsure if she had imagined it, but Luna only turned her gaze toward the tree with quiet recognition. Oliver's eyes opened. He drew Sana closer.
Satisfied the message had been received, he looked at her just as she stirred.
"I thought you said we should rest," she teased.
He smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Relax. I'm not that sex-driven," he murmured against her lips. "But…"
She could tell that was a lie. Instead of waiting for him to ease into it, she kissed him. Her hands slipped around his neck as their tongues intertwined.
Meanwhile, the roots of the peach tree crept toward Oliver's school bag by a trunk. They curled around it, nudging at the items scattered nearby—the deer antler he'd taken from Luna, the bundle of books, and the sheaf of notes. Paper rustled as the roots rummaged through, pulling free the dream-pattern printouts, a small pair of scissors, his dream notebook, and a container of glue.
"Hey," Oliver called softly through a root toward Takara, "can you help me with something?"
Takara lifted her head, brushing sleep from her eyes. "Huh? Oliver? That voice earlier—was that also you?" She eyed the root warily, as if it were some strange, living creature.
"I need these pieces cut and glued together," he explained, laying out the materials neatly on a flat rock. "Precision matters. I could use another pair of hands to make sure it's stable."
Takara sighed, stretching as she shook off her drowsiness and moved closer. "Fine, fine. Just don't make it complicated."
Oliver passed her a thin strip of paper, pointing to the exact line. "Cut here. Careful. Then we'll glue it along this seam, and—ah, I forgot a pen. I'll get one quickly. Once we're done, you'll write…"