Blossoming Path-270. Moonlight on Broken Glass

The streets of Crescent Bay pressed in on them like a tide.

Everywhere they walked, eyes followed. Some sharp, others sunken with hunger, many muttering behind sleeves. Xu Ziqing bore the brunt of it. His Silent Moon robes, once a mark of prestige, now drew only glares and whispers.

He did not falter. Shoulders square, gaze forward, he walked on as though the weight of a city’s scorn meant nothing at all.

Ren Zhi’s cane tapped steadily beside him.

“You could change,” the old man murmured, his voice low enough that only the three of them would hear. “A borrowed robe. Less conspicuous.”

But Xu Ziqing only shook his head.

“Let them look.” His voice was level, without bitterness. “I will carry this.”

Windy stirred from his hiding place, coils shifting restlessly beneath the disciple's sleeve. His tongue flicked once, tasting the air, and Tianyi caught the hot flare of his irritation through their bond. As a creature of stealth, being forced to hide under the scrutiny of many eyes must've felt like sand grinding against his scales.

They moved deeper into Crescent Bay, the shadows thickening as the streets narrowed. At last, they stopped before a broad building of carved stone: the Alchemy Association’s towering building. Its high walls gleamed faintly even in the dim light.

Inside, the air was warmer, laced with the sharp tang of herbs. Rows of disciples bustled past with ledgers and trays, their eyes flicking to the group as they entered. Some paused at the sight of Xu Ziqing’s robes but turned away quickly, muttering under their breath.

The woman at the front desk stiffened as they approached. “Honored sirs,” she said quickly, her voice polite but wary. “How may I help you today?”

Ren Zhi’s answer came unhurried. From his sleeve, he produced a bronze medallion etched with flowing script unlike any Xu Ziqing had seen before. He laid it gently on the desk. “Guowei Wang.”

The clerk blinked, and swallowed nervously before nodding. “Honored guest, please follow me.”

Ren Zhi shook his head, the lines of his face unreadable. “No need. I know the way.”

The woman hesitated but said nothing further, only bowing as he retrieved the token.

Together, they moved past the front desk, deeper into the Association’s halls. Down staircases lined with guards whose eyes narrowed but did not challenge.

At the base of the stair, the corridor widened into a vault chamber. Shelves lined the walls, their spines worn by years of use. At its center sat an old man in sky-blue robes, his long white hair falling loose over his shoulders as he bent over a stack of books.

He looked up at the sound of their steps. His eyes—sharp despite his age—widened. In a rush, he rose to his feet.

“You—” His voice caught. Respect warred with uncertainty. His gaze flicked toward Xu Ziqing standing beside Ren Zhi, and whatever title had hovered on his lips faltered into silence.

The blind old man's expression did not change. “Ren Zhi will do.”

The old man straightened slowly, nodding. His eyes shifted again, this time toward Tianyi.

She felt it—the faint prickling of recognition.

“You… I’ve seen you before,” he said at last. “You are his companion. Kai Liu’s.”

The ache in her chest tightened at the sound of his name. She unfurled her wings slightly, meeting his gaze, and pressed her intent outward.

'My name is Tianyi.'

The words were not spoken, but they struck all the same.

The aged man blinked, his lips parting as though he wasn’t sure he had truly heard her. “You… you can speak?”

He pressed a hand to his chest and bowed lightly. “Forgive me. I am Guowei Wang, vault-keeper for the Alchemy Association.”

Xu Ziqing inclined his head and stepped forward, returning the courtesy with a formal bow. “Xu Ziqing, of the Silent Moon Sect.” His voice was steady, though his back remained straight with the stiffness of one braced against judgment. Despite it, Guowei Wang had no reaction to his affiliation apart from a polite nod of acknowledgement.

Ren Zhi stood silent between them, unreadable as ever. After a moment, he tilted his head, his closed eyes turning faintly toward Xu Ziqing’s sleeve. “Windy.”

There was a pause. A pale head slipped out from the fold of Xu Ziqing’s robes, tongue flicking once in greeting. His body coiled upward just enough to incline his head toward Guowei Wang, the motion oddly dignified for a creature of scale and fang, before he retreated once more into the loose sleeve, vanishing from sight as though he had never been there.

Guowei Wang let out a quiet laugh before straightening. “Then I greet you all. But—” His eyes lingered on Ren Zhi, a shadow of unease crossing his lined face. “Why are you here? After your… disappearing act, the magistrate was most distressed at your absence. He had people searching everywhere.”

Ren Zhi leaned his cane against the table, his expression unmoved. “I am not here for the magistrate’s comfort. I came to gather information. About the demonic cultists.”

Xu Ziqing’s brow furrowed at that, though he held his tongue. Of all the men to seek in Crescent Bay, why a vault-keeper? Yet as he watched the old man, he found himself reconsidering. Perhaps, like Ren Zhi himself, there was more to this man than met the eye.

Guowei Wang seemed surprised, though not dismissive. He set aside the book in his hands and folded his sleeves neatly before speaking. “Information, you say. And what is it you want to know of them, exactly?”

For a moment, Ren Zhi was quiet.

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But before he could speak, Tianyi’s intent rippled through the chamber like a sudden breeze.

'We are looking for Kai Liu,' Her voice pressed gently into their minds. 'He vanished after the cultists attacked our village. We fear he has gone off to do something reckless.'

Silence followed. The vault-keeper’s eyes softened, though he said nothing at first. Then, slowly, a small smile touched his lips.

Guowei Wang continued, his voice firmer now. “Kai Liu entered Crescent Bay just two days ago.”

Ren Zhi leaned forward, cane tapping against the stone. “And what was he doing?”

The older man smiled, and replied. "It'd be easier to say what he hasn't been doing."

SCENE BREAK

The pace at which everything moved still left me reeling. Once the coalition was struck, all parties sprang into motion, each with their role.

Verdant Lotus and the Alchemy Association split their strength between research and production, refining pills to steady our ranks and fashioning new alchemical weapons from whatever we had at hand. Whispering Wind and the battered mid-sized sects took to the field, scouring three fronts for any trace of the cultists’ base, Tian Zhan himself driving the search. Meanwhile, the Association’s scholars worked alongside the magistrate’s clerks, combing through old records and star charts for patterns that might reveal the cult’s intent. Crescent Bay swelled under the weight of it all; ledgers stacked high, supply lines choking the streets, the city itself reshaped into something halfway between a fortress and a funeral march.

For once, I didn’t have to carry the Dawnsoul Bloom’s secret alone. Elder Zhu and the Pavilion masters took my rough notes and clumsy diagrams and spun them into lessons and ledgers that even novice disciples could follow.

In a matter of hours, what I had stumbled through in desperation at Gentle Wind became the subject of a dozen scholarly debates.

But when it came to the doing, the act of turning Bloodsoul Bloom seeds into the Dawnsoul—only I could manage it. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

The Whispering Wind sect's chamber bore witness. With the largest facilities that dwarfed even the Alchemy Association's, and close proximity to the city, we converged within the sect's premises to prepare for the confrontation with the cultists.

Tables overflowed with trays of Bloodsoul seeds, a mix of what I had brought back from Gentle Wind, as well as what the sects had looted from cultist bases.

I pressed my palm to ingredient after ingredient, coaxing them open, feeding each fragments of essence: beast cores, herbs, and rare metals. The metals fought me, their structures both rigid and unyielding, demanding I press harder, pull deeper, until I felt the slight ache behind my temples.

Around me, experts leaned in with quills and ledgers, measuring the reactions, comparing every flicker of glow to the single mature Bloom I had brought from Gentle Wind. That one—alive, hungry, and growing larger by the day as the alchemists tossed it dead pests—was our constant reference.

The Association could theorize. The Pavilion could refine. But without me to extract, to infuse, to make the plant shift, they could only watch.

Everywhere I looked, familiar faces marked the crowd. Jingyu Lian stood among the observers, sleeves rolled, hair tied in her silver clasp, directing supplies and scribes with a precision that bent even stubborn instructors into line. And then there was Zhi Ruo.

Seeing him in the purple robes of the Whispering Wind instead of his patched old garb was odd enough; seeing him take orders from Jingyu Lian was stranger still. His beard was scruffier than ever, his robes half-unraveled, but his hands moved with practiced ease as he brought out ingredients for me, recording measurements she called out.

We worked side by side, the fumes of heated roots curling around us. Jingyu Lian leaned in over the bench, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Have you considered other synergies? If the Bloom can redirect hunger, perhaps there are ingredients that can sharpen its appetite—not just for plague, but for corruption itself.”

I shook my head. “Back then, I didn’t have the luxury of choice. I worked with what I had. But after comparing notes with the Verdant Lotus, there are a few candidates. Nothing proven.”

Across the table, Zhi Ruo scratched his jaw, smearing a streak of ash across his cheek. “I’ll comb the archives,” he said. “The Pavilion hoards plenty of half-forgotten methods. Maybe something in there can twist the Bloom’s bite deeper.”

I glanced at him; this same man who had once struggled alongside me at the Gauntlet, now handled vials of Dawnsoul Bloom's essence with a care that belied his sloppy look. Working with him felt… strange. Working with Jingyu Lian beside him felt even stranger. My loss to her in the Gauntlet felt like a lifetime ago.

But I wouldn't forget the favour I owed her.

I cleared my throat, breaking the moment. “Thank you. For the supplies you sent when Narrow Stone Peak destroyed my garden. If you hadn’t… I wouldn’t have had the plants I needed when the plague came.”

Her eyes flicked toward me, unreadable, then cracked just enough for a faint smile. “I am glad they were of use to you.”

We fell back into the rhythm. Extract. Infuse. Observe. Record.

Hour after hour, tray after tray, until the piles of pitch-black seeds dwindled and the floor grew cluttered with budding tendrils.

The act of extracting and infusing had become as natural to me as breathing.

But even breathing, when pushed too far, could choke you.

Every time my palm pressed down, every time essence bled into the waiting seed, it was as if some invisible muscle inside me strained a little tighter. My vision wavered at the edges. The ringing of pestles and furnaces dulled into a hollow hum.

Still I pressed on. The others needed results.

A soft clack of wood against stone broke the haze. Elder Mingmei had set her cane across the bench, her sharp gaze cutting straight into me.

“That will be enough for tonight,” she said, tone clipped but not unkind. “Even a vessel cracks if you pour too much into it at once. Rest. We will continue tomorrow.”

For a moment, I almost argued. But the look on her face brokered for no disagreement. I exhaled slowly, bowed my head, and stepped away. I moved past the tables and pill furnaces, inclining my head to the few still actively working.

The air outside was cool, a welcome balm against my heated skin.

The Whispering Wind Sect unfurled before me in full sprawl—terraces of tiled roofs and pavilions sprawling across the side of the mountain, lanterns gleaming like constellations fallen to earth. From here, Crescent Bay stretched in the distance, the city walls stark against the night, its streets a patchwork of shadow and light.

I leaned against the rail, breathing in the cool air until the tension in my shoulders began to ease. The night stretched wide, the city below still buzzing faintly despite its exhaustion.

A shuffle of steps came from behind me.

Zhi Ruo emerged, two small cups balanced carefully in his ink-stained hands. The liquid inside wasn’t quite liquid; more like a translucent jelly that trembled with each step. He offered one toward me with a lopsided grin.

“Try this. My own concoction. Tastes better than it looks. Good for soothing the mind when you’ve strained it too far.”

I accepted it, curiosity outweighing hesitation, and tipped it back. The substance slid down smooth, dissolving on my tongue into sweetness. Floral, with a faint cooling note that spread through my chest and into my temples. The pulsing ache behind my eyes dulled, receding like a tide.

“…Not bad,” I said, surprised. “Refreshing. Working with one of the best Alchemy Pavilions in the region's given you time to hone your craft, I see.”

He chuckled, taking a sip from his own cup before sighing.

“Aye. It’s been good to my family as well. More stable than anything I managed before. But…” He scratched at his messy beard, smearing the faintest trace of jelly across his chin. “…Jingyu Lian works me like a dog. Fair, but relentless. If there’s a ledger left unchecked or a root unsorted, she’ll find it and chew me out.”

I huffed a small laugh. “That sounds like her.”

I let him speak. The words carried a kind of warmth I hadn’t realized I missed. For a while, it was enough just to stand there, the jelly’s sweetness still on my tongue, the city flickering below like a field of fireflies.

But the images of the summit pressed back into my mind, sharp as broken glass. And as the night waned, I spoke about what I saw there.

“They all seemed… too focused on themselves,” I said finally. My voice sounded raw in the quiet. “Sect after sect, arguing over recognition and reward, while the cultists are trying to destroy the world. Even the magistrate—” I bit off the rest, jaw tight. “He was just… there. A man in fine silk, nodding at the right moments. Isn’t he supposed to be the one in charge of this province?”

Zhi Ruo glanced sidelong, his grin fading. He swirled the last of his jelly in its cup before answering.

“There’s nuance to it,” he said. “Zheng Bao wasn’t chosen the way a magistrate usually is. Normally, you pass the Imperial Exam, get appointed from the mainland.”

I frowned. “We have an exam. Don’t we?”

“The mainland exam,” Zhi Ruo corrected, his voice dry. “That’s the difference. The one here is just to appoint officials within our government.”

“…So he was never officially recognized.”

“Exactly.” Zhi Ruo tilted his head back, watching the lanterns ripple against the night air. “The old magistrate picked Zheng Bao to succeed him. Passed the seal down as if it meant something. But without imperial recognition? He’s little more than a placeholder. A figure with no army, no mandate. Just a treasury and a title.”

He drank the rest of the contents in his cup, before setting it down with a sigh. “The sects are the real power here. Always have been. Whispering Wind, Verdant Lotus, even Silent Moon when it still had teeth. When it comes to crisis, no one looks to him. They look to banners, not seals.”

I said nothing for a long moment. The weight of his words pressed against what I had always assumed; that authority meant capability, that titles meant strength. That the men and women seated above me carried the burden better than I could.

But watching them barter at the summit, watching the magistrate sweat and stammer, I had already begun to doubt.

Zhi Ruo glanced at me, his beard catching the lantern-light. “Are you going to try and change that? Step in, make yourself a force within their government?”

I stared at him, then barked out a laugh before I could stop myself. The sound felt too sharp against the night. “Me? I’d sooner join the Silent Moon sect.”

His raised brow made me sober. I exhaled, shaking my head. “No. That isn’t my path. I’ll do what I can from where I am. The Verdant Lotus, the Whispering Wind… they’re better suited to lead in this. Better suited to hold the line. Whatever strength I have, I’ll lend it to them.”

He studied me for a long moment before tipping his empty cup in a lazy salute. “Just don’t be so hard on yourself. This isn’t your burden alone to bear.”

I swallowed down my reply, though it pressed hard against my throat.

He was wrong. The weight was mine. For losing the Phoenix Tears. For ridding them of their Interfaces. For being too weak when it mattered most.

At least now I had the chance to atone.

Zhi Ruo stretched, his joints cracking like dry twigs, and pushed away from the railing. “Best not to linger. Tomorrow there’ll be a mountain of work waiting for us.” He clapped me lightly on the shoulder, a rough but steady weight. “Goodnight, Kai.”

I nodded, watching him disappear into the lantern-lit halls.

The city stretched below, its streets winding like veins through the dark. Fires burned in pockets, small and flickering, but alive. Crescent Bay was bruised, exhausted, straining under the weight of too many hungry mouths, but it still endured.

I let the sight settle into me one last time before turning back inside.

Tomorrow, the burden would return. Tonight, I could at least breathe.