Chapter 159: A Thousand Flames, One Shell
The days passed with an ease that felt almost unfamiliar, a calm that belied the chaos we’d endured just a few months ago. The second-class disciples of the Verdant Lotus Sect had become a steady presence in the village, their teachings a quiet boon. Able-bodied adults and curious children alike flocked to their drills, learning not just self-defense techniques but the basics of cultivation. Lan-Yin and Wang Jun were particularly instrumental, rallying even the most hesitant villagers with promises of strength and confidence that extended beyond the training grounds.
Of course, putting wooden swords and blunted spears into the hands of children and untrained adults came with its share of... incidents. It wasn’t long before the disciples’ roles expanded to include patching up the inevitable scrapes, bruises, and occasionally sprained wrists that came with enthusiastic but clumsy sparring sessions. But they weren’t just warriors; they were healers too. Each carried a satchel at their hip, stocked with an assortment of medicinal goods. Powders to stave off infections, and small clay jars of salves for burns and sprains seemed to appear out of nowhere whenever someone stumbled too hard or swung their staff the wrong way. Their efficiency was remarkable, their hands moving with practiced ease as they mended the bumps and cuts of their trainees.
But they didn’t stop there. The disciples insisted on teaching the basics of first aid alongside their combat drills. Bandaging a wound properly, recognizing signs of infection, and even basic pressure points to stop bleeding—all of it was woven into their lessons.
As one disciple put it, “What good is strength if you don’t know how to recover from its consequences?”
And then there was the wine.
I smirked to myself at the thought. Nearly every disciple carried a flask of medicinal wine in their satchels, ostensibly to disinfect wounds or ward off illnesses. I’d watched them dab it on cuts and scrapes with a flourish, the sharp, heady scent filling the air as they muttered about purification. It worked, sure.
But let’s be honest—it wasn’t just about healing.
“Medicinal wine,” I muttered under my breath one day as a disciple poured a generous splash onto a scrape. “The cure for wounds, colds, and sobriety.”
The disciples' patrols, meanwhile, ensured a sense of safety that allowed us to focus on developing the village.