Blossoming Path

Moonlight stretched into dawn, dawn into dusk, again and again. With my cultivation rank at the Essence Awakening stage, my body worked in even greater harmony and allowed me to operate with less sleep than before, without compromising my limit within the Manifold Memory Palace.

I barely left the shop, except to check the greenhouse or tend to the more vulnerable elders. Everything else came second.

Tianyi and Windy hadn’t left the shop in nearly two days.

I’d confined them to rest, but it was no victory. Windy’s body curled tighter with each hour, his breath slow and uneven, his normally brilliant scales now mottled with purple undertones that wouldn’t fade. Tianyi slept more than she was awake. Her wings now drooped against her back like they were too heavy to lift. Her antennae twitched sluggishly even in dreams. Whether it was their innate nature or something else; the Amethyst Plague seemed to accelerate twofold within their body compared to that of a regular cultivator's.

And I didn’t know how to stop it. Not when my progress towards the cure felt days away.

I went to the greenhouse.

The greenhouse's door hissed as I pulled it open. The warmth inside was soft, earthy. Even in the face of plague, of exhaustion, of despair, this location was thriving.

The petals of the Calming Lotus were paler than I’d expected; but I didn’t need perfection. it was unrealistic for everything to go as I expected, when most of my calculations were focused on theoretical work.

If I could refine it into a tincture or incense, it might pacify the qi flows in Windy and Tianyi’s bodies. Slow them. Numb them. Maybe even give them a chance to endure the plague without exertion. A gamble of time versus decay. It'd be ideal to utilize the rest of them when the rest of the village who utilized qi faced more severe symptoms.

I moved to the next section. Spirit Moss blanketed the soil like dew-drenched velvet, its growth far ahead of schedule. Its roots curled around the edge of the planter, drawing heavily from the Spirit Soil below.

That one, I’d refine for the villagers who were suffering from the early stages of the illness. Fever suppressants, respiratory salves; Spirit Moss would be the foundation. It wasn’t a cure, but it could buy them comfort. Stability.

The hybrid kudzu was less elegant. Thick, tangled vines with bulbous nodules that tasted vaguely like clay no matter how I cooked them. But it grew fast. Needed little. Even the livestock could eat it without falling ill.

I stood there a while, baskets in hand, watching the rest of the greenhouse.

Other plants were still maturing; slowly, stubbornly, without any regard for urgency.

My qi stirred in my dantian, instinctively rising, and I nearly gave in to the temptation.

Just a little. Just enough to expedite their growth.

But the memory of yesterday’s coughing fit; of the wrongness twisting in my chest when I cycled too much, held me back. I couldn’t afford it. Not now. Not when even one slip might be enough to push me over the edge and doom everybody else. I sighed and checked the quest.