The herb gardens of Azure Sky Sect stretched across the eastern slope like a patchwork quilt of green and gold, terraced beds carved into the hillside, bordered by moss-covered stones and whispering reeds. Every morning, sunlight crept over the cliff peaks and spilled across the terraces first, draping the herbs in warmth and gilding the edges of their dew-soaked leaves. It was a quiet place. No sparring students or thunderous cultivation strikes here—only the rustle of leaves, the soft hum of insects, and the steady drip of water from bamboo pipes.
Unlike the sect's martial arenas, lecture pavilions, or ancestral shrines, the gardens didn't demand strength or cunning. They demanded patience. Consistency. Attention to detail. The spirit here wasn't combative—it was cyclical, regenerative, and deeply alive. Elliot, still adjusting to the strangeness of this world, found himself drawn to it like a magnet. There was something sacred about the way the mist rolled through the beds or how even the smallest weed knew where it belonged. He stood quietly at the edge of a field of spiritgrass, watching slender stalks sway beneath a veil of silver mist. The air carried a scent of damp soil and something floral and faintly medicinal, a sweetness he couldn't quite place but instinctively trusted.
Jin Bao stood beside him, pointing to a tangled web of bamboo tubing snaking through the garden. The system, at first glance, resembled a makeshift plumbing network from a very patient apocalypse survivor—part irrigation, part hazard.
"The irrigation broke last week," Jin Bao explained. "Only the north beds are getting watered now. Elder Huo said, and I quote, 'If someone messes with it again, it better end in enlightenment.'"
Elliot raised an eyebrow. "An engineer's words to live by."
Jin Bao grinned and handed him a wrench older than most fossils. "Welcome to the farm team."
The work, surprisingly, suited him. There was a rhythm to it—something methodical that pulled him in and quieted the noise of his thoughts. He spent the morning patching joints with spiritual wax, replacing cracked bamboo with carefully carved sections, and rerouting water flow with a kind of meditative precision. It wasn't glamorous work, but it was honest. He understood it. Pipes were logical. Pressure moved through channels, and when you balanced the system, the result was harmony. Unlike some of the more arcane and mysterious aspects of cultivation, irrigation made sense.
By noon, half the southern beds glistened with moisture for the first time in days. Dew gathered on the leaves like blessings. Somewhere beneath the surface, roots stretched toward the sudden bounty. Birds chattered softly from the trees, and the scent of the earth had shifted—richer, calmer.
A familiar shimmer flickered at the edge of his vision.
+1.0 Insight: Harmony in Systems
+0.5 Physical Qi Circulation
Elliot smiled to himself. "Apparently, plumbing is sacred now."
He was crouched over a particularly stubborn valve when he heard footsteps—not hurried or careless, but steady and precise. He turned, expecting Jin Bao, but found someone else entirely.
A young woman stood at the edge of the bed, arms folded. Her dark hair was tied into a braid so tight it could probably cut wire, and her posture radiated discipline. Her plain robe hung straight and clean despite the garden dust, and a wooden training sword rested at her hip—worn, dulled at the edges, but clearly kept close. Her presence was sharp. Still. Like a drawn bow.
Elliot recognized her instantly. Mei Lin.
He'd seen her around the sect—usually alone, always observing, never lingering. The younger disciples whispered about her: once an inner court prodigy, now reassigned without ceremony to labor duty. No one knew why. No one dared ask.
"You're in my patch," she said flatly.
Elliot straightened, hands still coated in wax and grime. "Is it embroidered with your name, or…?"
She didn't smile. "You're not funny."
"My enemies agree."
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, unexpectedly, she stepped past him, knelt beside the junction he'd been working on, and examined it. Her fingers moved deftly, tracing the bamboo's grain and feeling the pressure in the lines.
"This is clever," she admitted. "But the tension here—" she tapped a joint "—will rupture under peak flow. You need a secondary anchor. Otherwise, it'll blow apart before dusk."
From her pouch, she pulled a stake and handed it to him.
Elliot blinked. "Thanks. I think."
Without another word, she knelt beside him and set to work.
They fell into sync faster than he expected. She didn't speak, didn't offer instruction, but adjusted his placements when needed and reinforced seals with practiced hands. For a woman who had once trained to master qi and blade, she worked with the quiet confidence of a gardener who knew that one wrong cut could ruin a season.
The sun had shifted by the time Elliot moved to the edge of the terrace to replace worn soil. The sky shimmered with late afternoon haze, and the scent of warmed herbs drifted in the air. He was halfway through spreading a fresh mix of spirit ash and soil when a sharp breath behind him made him pause.
He turned and saw Mei Lin—still, alert, eyes fixed on the underbrush at the garden's border.
A low growl rumbled from beyond the trees.
Then it lunged.
A spirit-burrower—a beast roughly the size of a mastiff, covered in mottled green scales—exploded from the foliage. Its claws tore into the dirt, amber eyes wild with panic and fury. It was clearly displaced, its territory disturbed by their repairs, and now it was lashing out.
Without thinking, Elliot moved.
He stepped between the creature and Mei Lin, snatching up a broken length of bamboo from earlier repairs. The beast lunged. He twisted, redirecting rather than resisting, letting the creature's own momentum work against it.
The bamboo splintered in his grip.
The beast crashed into the ground, dazed.
Elliot kept his footing, barely. His legs shook. His heart hammered in his chest. "Back. Off."
The spirit-burrower growled, one eye twitching.
Then, perhaps sensing something shifting, it turned and fled into the woods.
The silence that followed was profound.
Mei Lin stood still, watching him. Not just startled—evaluating.
Elliot's arms trembled. He let the bamboo fall from his hands, which were now scraped and raw. His whole body burned—not from wounds, but from adrenaline.
And then came the glow.
The Golden Ledger shimmered into being, golden script unfurling before his eyes.
+1.5 Virtue: Selfless Intervention
+0.7 Insight: Flow and Reaction
+Minor Breakthrough Achieved
His breath caught.
Warmth surged from his core, not in a rush, but in a graceful wave. His vision sharpened. He could feel his dantian expand slightly, spinning with subtle momentum. A soft hum filled his limbs. The light traced along his meridians like threads of silk sewn into muscle and breath.
He felt—whole.
Not invincible. Not transformed.
But aligned.
This was the kind of cultivation the novels never glorified—the kind born from instinct and compassion, not dominance.
Mei Lin stepped forward, crouching to pick up the fractured bamboo. She studied the break, then looked at him.
"That was reckless."
"It worked," Elliot replied, voice rough.
She stood slowly, meeting his gaze. "It was still reckless."
He didn't argue. He just stood there, breathing in the scent of damp grass and shaken earth.
"You're not strong," she continued. "Not yet. But the way you moved—you've been trained."
"Not formally," he said. "Just... practiced. I taught middle school. Broke up a lot of hallway fights."
She blinked.
Then, unexpectedly, her mouth twitched.
A laugh escaped. Soft. Brief.
"You're still an idiot," she said, and walked away.
Elliot sat down on the garden path, letting his breathing slow. The world around him had returned to its rhythm—mist curling over the grass, insects humming at the edges of the stone beds, the steady trickle of water through repaired irrigation lines.
But inside, something had shifted.
Not just his qi.
Not just his strength.
For the first time, Mei Lin hadn't looked at him like a burden or a curiosity.
She looked at him like a cultivator.
