Blossoming Path-244. What Remains

Blossoming Path-244. What Remains

Recovery blurred into instinct.
Hours passed between voices, bandages, and the distant clatter of carts being righted. At some point, someone had patched my ribs. At another, I helped bury Cheng.
It was well past nightfall by the time we reconvened inside the Verdant Lotus compound. The walls still smelled faintly of smoke, and the torchlight danced across our tired faces.
Jian Feng placed Cheng’s storage ring on the table between us.
We all stared.
It clicked open with a nudge of qi. A handful of talismans, beast cores of mixed quality, emergency rations, and a few jade tokens from the Silent Moon sect.
And then… the vial.
Crystalline. Glowing with a faint, internal pulse.
The Phoenix Tears.
Even sheathed in wards, its energy felt near sentient. Like it was breathing.
None of us spoke immediately. Jian Feng broke the silence.
“We should preserve it. Protect it. If even half the stories are true, it could cure anything. It’s the last of its kind.”
Xu Ziqing, who sat with his arms folded, replied evenly, “And that’s precisely why it should be destroyed.”
Jian Feng tensed. “You would throw away something that may never appear again in our lifetime? This could save our lives, should we need it.”
Xu Ziqing, who sat with his arms folded, replied evenly, “And it could also be the very thing that ends them.”
He leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp. “Cheng killed for this. Cultists died for this. The Phoenix Tears are a
beacon
. Every faction with eyes will come sniffing the moment they learn it exists. And the cult? If this is part of the ritual they need, keeping it intact brings them closer to their goal.”
He glanced at the vial. “... Destroying it might be the only way to ensure they never get what they want.”
Their words fell around me, but I wasn’t listening. Not fully.
My gaze remained locked on the vial.
Even through the barrier, I could feel the temptation.
To refine it. To
study
it. Even from a cursory glance, I could tell; a single drop could outclass every medicine I’d crafted in my entire life. Maybe even all of them combined.
I shook the thought loose, forcing myself to breathe.
“I see merit in both sides,” I said eventually, my voice low. “It’s a medicine… likely the most powerful one I'd ever seen. But it’s also what made Cheng fight through plague and pain and
reason
. He died clutching it, even when his bones were already turning to dust.”
Han Chen, who had stayed silent until now, finally spoke. “Cultivators are greedy by nature. No sect is immune. Someone will try to use it. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But eventually.”
That was the problem.
There was no easy answer.
And so I made the only decision I could.
I turned to Jian Feng. “...Let's hold onto it. Keep it sealed. Don’t let anyone—”
He shook his head.
Then, simply, quietly.
“You keep it.”
The vial pressed into my palm; cool, delicate, impossibly heavy.
I didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. Not with the unspoken trust from warriors who had bled beside me.
And despite the flicker of temptation still whispering at the edges of my thoughts…
I closed my hand around it.
And nodded.
Jian Feng looked to the rest of the room.
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"Any objections?"
Ziqing didn’t object. Just gave the faintest nod. Despite his expression showing some reluctance.
I sealed it away in my ring.
We divided the rest.
Talismans and inscriptions were passed to the Verdant Lotus for study. Beast cores went to me; I could extract what they had and refine them for medicine. Ziqing took the remaining contents; scrolls, personal items, old relics of the Silent Moon.
When we stepped back outside, the sky was pale with approaching dawn.
The village was awake. Not in panic, but motion.
Li Wei and the other villagers had begun repairs already, clearing debris, filling cracks in the road with packed dirt and clay. The greenhouse had survived, save for a shattered pane of glass. The kudzu inside still curled along the walls, docile and coiled like sleeping serpents.
I knelt beside it.
“Thank you,” I murmured, brushing my fingers along its thickest vine. “You did well.”
It stirred faintly at my touch.
I only harvested what I needed; three coils, each long enough to make into meals. The rest I guided back into the soil, coaxing the vines to curl tight and sleep.
As I straightened, brushing loose soil from my hands, footsteps approached from behind.
Lan-Yin and Wang Jun approached from the side path, their steps cautious but steady. A few others from the Soaring Swallow Inn followed, lingering behind them. Their faces were pale, drawn by days of strain and recovery; but their eyes, clear now, searched me with quiet urgency.
Lan-Yin was the first to speak, her voice low. “What happened, Kai?”
I turned to face them fully. My throat felt dry.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” I said, a half-hearted deflection.
Wang Jun gave a tired shrug. “We were. Until the ground shook and the sky cracked open.”
I exhaled slowly. “It’s passed. The threat’s gone. For now.”
Lan-Yin’s eyes flicked to the square. “That man… the one you buried. Who was he?”
I hesitated, searching for the right words. There weren’t any.
“His name was Cheng. Elder of the Silent Moon Sect… before it fell.” I glanced down the path toward the cracked stone where we fought. “He was being hunted. Carried something the cultists wanted. It made him desperate. Mad.”
Wang Jun crossed his arms, brow furrowing. “How strong was he? To take you all to defeat him?”
I looked at him, saw the question behind the question. Just confusion and worry.
“At his peak?” I said quietly. “He was likely at the peak of Essence Awakening. Maybe even brushing beyond it. I don’t know.”
Wang Jun gave a low whistle, half-impressed. “Then that makes what you did even more—”
“It doesn’t,” I cut in.
He blinked, surprised. Lan-Yin stiffened slightly beside him.
I forced myself to breathe. My voice softened, but the edge in it lingered.
“He was already half-dead. The plague had hollowed him out. His mind, too. He wasn’t fighting to win. He was fighting to take the cure from me. There’s nothing impressive in beating a dying man.”
The silence that followed was too long. I hated it. Not because of them. Because of me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “That sounded harsher than I meant it to.”
Wang Jun gave a short nod. He rubbed my shoulder reassuringly. “We get it.”
Lan-Yin stepped closer, laying a hand briefly on my shoulder. “You’re still allowed to be tired, you know. You don’t always have to explain it away.”
Her voice was soft. Familiar. It hit harder than any strike Cheng had landed.
I offered them a faint smile, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes.
“Thanks. Really.”
As I stepped back from Lan-Yin and Wang Jun, a new presence approached through the dispersing crowd.
A cane tapped gently against the stone.
Elder Ming.
He moved slowly, hunched more than I remembered, his robes looser on his frame.
Then he paused, letting the cane take more of his weight, and looked up with that same steady gaze I’d grown up beneath.
"You did well," he said. "You saved the village."
I stepped forward instinctively, ready to offer him support, but he raised a hand, stopping me.
“Still stubborn, I see.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, reading me in a single glance.
I looked away.
“You’ve changed,” he continued, voice soft. “But not that much. Still holding the world in your ribs.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. My throat was too tight.
In that moment, I turned inward. And what I found wasn’t pride. Wasn’t strength.
It was
frustration
.
Cheng had been dying. He had nothing left; his flesh brittle, his core dimmed. He was running on spite and instinct. And even like that, it took all of us.
And what if the next threat wasn’t dying?
What if the next enemy was whole? What if the next Envoy didn’t give us time to prepare? What if the Heavenly Demon rose, and I was still like this?
I clenched my fist until my nails dug into my palm.
Too slow. Too scattered.
Too
—
“Enough,” Elder Ming said, cutting through the spiral like a blade.
I blinked. My thoughts stalled.
“You’re doing it again,” he said. “Taking every weight onto your own shoulders. Carrying every what-if like it’s your duty.”
I swallowed, suddenly cold.
He leaned closer, voice lowering so only I could hear it.
“You only owe the world what you choose to give.”
The same words he told me once, not so long ago—after I confessed the truth about the Interface. About the weight it placed on me. The choices it presented. The paths I was being forced to walk.
To the others, it sounded like simple encouragement. To me, it was a lifeline.
I met his eyes again. And in them, saw not a master or a mentor.
Just someone who had lived long enough to know what it meant to break.
And not want that for me.
He patted my shoulder with the hand not gripping the cane, and turned away, heading toward the square, where villagers continued working through the early light.
And for a moment, I just stood there.
Breathing.
Then I turned.
I couldn’t rest. Not yet. Not until I saw them.
I broke into a jog, past the village square, past the row of carts and debris piled neatly to one side, until I reached the steps leading up to my shop.
The door was already ajar.
Inside, I felt them.
Tianyi and Windy sat curled up in the corner.
Tianyi’s antennae twitched as I stepped in. Windy’s tail coiled slightly, the soft hiss he let out more like a sigh of relief than a greeting.
My feet carried me closer, and I knelt beside them. My hand brushed the top of Windy's scaled head, the other resting against the smooth shell of Tianyi’s folded wings.
The silence between us wasn’t empty. It was heavy with meaning. With all the things I didn’t say.
They were still recovering. The plague had left them weak.
But that wasn’t why I’d kept them from the fight.
It was because the last time they’d fought for me, they became weapons. Extensions of my will. My hands, striking down Red Maw bandits with ruthless precision.
I hadn’t let them come this time because I feared I'd follow that path again. Using them like pieces on a board, with no regard or will for themselves.
Tianyi tilted her head slightly. Perhaps she could hear the unspoken words. My hidden fears.
Then, with a calm, almost blunt directness, she asked me a question.
"Are we too weak? You don't want us to fight anymore?"
I looked into her eyes, saw the earnest question beneath the words. No accusation. No wounded pride. Just a quiet request for truth.
I sighed.
“No,” I said at last. “You’re not too weak.”
Windy shifted, pressing his weight against my leg, watching me with those pale blue eyes.
“It’s not about strength,” I continued. “It’s about… I didn’t want to see you hurt. Not again. Not like with Red Maw.”
Tianyi blinked slowly, absorbing it.
“But,” I added, “I trust you. That’s the truth. I feel safe when you’re beside me. Knowing you have my back. But I don't want it to happen just because you're going along with my request. I want it to be of your own volition.”
She touched her forehead gently to mine.
"Then we’ll fight. If that’s what you choose. We choose it too."
Windy gave a low rumble of agreement, his tail curling in an affirmative loop.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Alright,” I whispered. “Then we’ll move forward. Together.”
But the weight of everything was starting to pull on me again.
My legs shook as I rose. “I'm going to wash up."
Tianyi nodded.
I took off my bloodstained robes, the armor and bracers. I cleansed myself with water drawn from the nearby barrel; cold, but sharp enough to wake the last of my nerves. I changed into fresh robes, simple and familiar, and fell into bed, the straw mat groaning softly under me.
A moment later, Windy slithered onto the foot of the bed with a light thump, curling like a coil of white silk. Tianyi followed, leaping lightly beside me and tucking her knees beneath her chin, wings folded neatly behind her back.
It was cramped. Familiar. Almost comforting.
“It’s been a while since we all slept together,” Tianyi murmured.
“It has,” I agreed, already feeling the pull of sleep.
Silence reigned. The soft chatter of the village outside prevented it from being too quiet.
“...Okay, Windy. You’re too warm.”
Windy let out a lazy hiss of protest.
“Tianyi, make him curl on
your
side.”
She giggled, and gently nudged him toward her.
I didn’t hear the rest.
Sleep took me, somewhere between exhaustion and peace.

244. What Remains