Blossoming Path-Chapter 182: Walls That Do Not Protect

Their movements were too sluggish, their bodies hunched from exhaustion rather than battle readiness. These weren’t bandits or wandering cultivators looking for trouble.

Still, caution was necessary.

I turned to Wang Jun. “Go get Elder Ming. Let him know what’s happening.”

He hesitated, gaze flicking between me and the approaching figures, then nodded and sprinted off. My attention shifted to Tianyi and Windy, both watching intently.

“You two stay here,” I ordered, though I had a feeling Tianyi wouldn’t listen if things went south. Windy flicked his tongue, his blue eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn’t argue.

Several of the Verdant Lotus disciples on patrol had already begun moving, their sharp awareness proving itself as they stepped in to assess the situation. Among them was Jian Feng, one of the second-class disciples. He met my gaze as I approached, his posture rigid, hand resting lightly on his weapon.

“They’re refugees,” Jian Feng said before I could ask. “From Crescent Bay City.”

I blinked, taken aback. “Crescent Bay? What happened?”

A man at the front of the group took a step forward. He was older, possibly in his forties, his face lined with fatigue. A crude bandage obscured one of his eyes, his posture unsteady but determined.

“We belong to the districts beyond the city wall,” he said, his voice rough, likely from dehydration or strain. “The ones outside the protection of Crescent Bay’s core. We’ve been facing attacks from demonic cultivators.”

A cold weight settled in my gut. “Demonic cultivators?”

He nodded. “They come in waves. Unpredictable. Some nights, nothing. Other nights, whole families disappear. We tried to resist, but…” he gestured behind him to the ragged group. “We’re not warriors. The city guards have abandoned us. They’re moving inward to defend the wealthier districts, leaving us to fend for ourselves.”

A murmur passed through the disciples, their expressions darkening.

“What about the sects?” I asked. “Crescent Bay has several. Why aren’t they helping?”

The man let out a short, bitter laugh. “Some do. Some don’t. The attacks are scattered, random. The sects only move when a pattern emerges, and since there isn’t one, they’re hesitant to commit forces to defend us.” His gaze hardened. “Some just don’t think we’re worth saving.”

My jaw clenched. This wasn’t the first time I’d heard of sects prioritizing strategic interests over people’s lives, but it still made my blood boil.

“But why come here?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around it. “Qingmu is much closer. Why didn’t you seek refuge there?”

Before the man could respond, Elder Ming arrived with Wang Jun. The village head took in the scene quickly, his sharp gaze sweeping over the refugees. He didn’t speak immediately, simply listening as the man explained further.

“We did go to Qingmu,” the refugee admitted. “But they could only take so many. The most injured and weak were prioritized, and the rest of us were told to move on. We had nowhere else to go.”

Elder Ming’s expression remained unreadable. “Were you attacked on your way here?”

“No,” the man shook his head. “We’ve been fortunate. The weather and lack of supplies have been our biggest threat.”

Then, with great effort, he bowed, pressing his forehead to the cold earth. “Please… let us stay here. We do not know how much longer we can keep going.”

I looked at the group again, really looked at them. I had been so focused on their words that I hadn’t fully taken in their condition. Exhaustion lined every face, their bodies trembling from hunger and exposure. Some had makeshift bandages covering injuries that should have been treated long ago. Others clutched at their children, shielding them as best as they could from the bitter cold.

They had nowhere else to go.

All eyes turned to Elder Ming. The Village Head.

He exhaled slowly. Then he nodded. “Come inside. You will be fed and treated. We will discuss your stay after you have recovered.”

The collective sigh of relief was almost palpable.

SCENE BREAK

The Soaring Swallow Tea House hadn't been this crowded since the Verdant Lotus disciples first arrived.

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Refugees filled nearly every available seat, their weary bodies slumped over steaming bowls of rice porridge. Some sat in silence, too exhausted to speak, while others murmured quietly amongst themselves, their voices tinged with lingering fear and uncertainty. Outside, several villagers and disciples helped move their carts of supplies, relocating whatever meager belongings they had managed to bring with them. The air was thick with the scent of hot food and the low hum of conversation, but beneath it all lay a weight that pressed against my chest.

This would put an immense strain on our resources.

I knew that. Elder Ming knew that. Everyone in the village knew that.

But what were we supposed to do? Turn them away? Send them back into the cold, with no certainty of shelter or safety? The villages beyond ours were even more remote, and the closest sects—Narrow Stone Peak—would not be much better than Crescent Bay itself.

Despite everything, though, there was something else that troubled me far more than the logistics of food and shelter.

He was seated quietly in the corner, hunched slightly over his bowl, eating in small, deliberate motions. He was old—perhaps older than I had initially thought. His robes, once fine, were now lined with wear and tear, stained with ink and dust.

I stepped forward, approaching him with measured steps. "Elder," I greeted, my voice careful, respectful. "It has been some time."

The blind man tilted his head slightly, as though studying me despite the absence of sight. Then, recognition flickered across his face, and he smiled.

"Ah… the young master who purchased many of Liang Feng's novels."

I let out a small laugh. I didn't think he'd actually recognize me. "It is. My name is Kai Liu."

"Ren Zhi," the man introduced himself. "It seems fate has brought us to the same place once more."

I hesitated before asking, "Why did you leave Crescent Bay? You lived within the walls—you should have been safe."

The concept of an old, blind man enduring the winter cold to reach all the way here was astonishing. If they left behind the oldest and weakest refugees in Qingmu, then what did it spell for them if Ren Zhi wasn't included among their ranks?

The older man's smile faded slightly. "Nowhere is safe, young master. Not truly. The walls were protection, yes. But they were also a prison. As tensions rose and fear took hold, the people turned inward. Refugees were forced to the outskirts, and those who remained within the walls…" He shook his head. "They grew desperate. I chose to leave before the situation worsened. When the first group of refugees fled, I went with them."

I nodded slowly, absorbing his words. "You're safe here," I said firmly. "Elder Ming will not let you suffer. And though you may not know me, I’m a fairly decent herbalist. I’ll do what I can to support you."

Ren Zhi was silent for a long moment. Then, he exhaled. "I apologize for not being of more use," he murmured. "As a bookseller, my skills will be of little help. But I will work hard to ensure I am not a burden."

I opened my mouth to reassure him, but before I could, another voice cut in.

"That won’t be necessary."

I turned, watching as Elder Ming stepped forward. His gaze met Ren Zhi’s.

And then, to my utter shock, Elder Ming bowed.

"Venerable Elder," he said, his voice calm yet deeply respectful. "Long time no see."

I turned to Ren Zhi, but he looked just as beffudled as I did.

His brows furrowed slightly.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice steady but laced with genuine confusion.

Elder Ming did not answer immediately. Instead, he exhaled, his expression unreadable. "You may not remember me, and that is fine. It has been many decades since our paths last crossed. But I am glad to see that you have found some peace."

Ren Zhi was silent for a long moment. Then, his head lifted just a fraction, and in a voice softer, almost distant, he murmured, "Shan Ming?"

The name sent a jolt through me.

I had only ever known him as Elder Ming or Village Head. Never by any other name.

But what stunned me even more was what came next.

Ren Zhi's fingers tapped lightly against the side of his bowl. "That boy... from the boat."

A quiet moment passed between them, a flicker of something old and unspoken stretching across the years.

I frowned. "Wait. How do you know each other?"

Elder Ming’s gaze flickered toward me, his usual firm composure returning. "It is not my place to divulge," he said simply.

Ren Zhi, however, exhaled and gave a small nod. "We met on a boat," he said. "Traveling from the mainland to Tranquil Breeze Province. Our paths crossed briefly, then parted soon after."

His words were so unassuming, so casual, that for a moment, I nearly let them pass.

But then my mind caught up to the details.

"Wait—what part of the mainland did you come from?" I asked, my curiosity flaring to life. "What was it like? What was—"

"Enough," Elder Ming interrupted, his voice firm. "Let Elder... Ren Zhi rest. He must be tired from the journey."

But his voice faltered ever so slightly on the name, as though it was unfamiliar. As though he had known him by something else.

Ren Zhi merely smiled, shaking his head. "Nothing special. Nothing worth talking about. It bears more similarities to here than one might think."

I paused, watching him closely. There was something in his tone—not quite reluctance, but something close. He didn’t want to speak further.

I sighed, relenting. It was impolite to bring up old memories if one didn't want to divulge. "Then, venerable elder, make yourself at home."

I stole a glance at Elder Ming, who had yet to look away from him.

Who exactly was this man? I thought he'd been peculiar; a blind bookseller that happened to be the only one carrying Liang Feng's novels. But now...

I shook my head.

It wasn't my place. Despite my curiosity, everyone was privy to their secrets.

Leaving the Soaring Swallow, I returned to Wang Jun's forge to collect Windy and Tianyi.

The cold air bit at my skin as I stepped outside, my breath misting in the evening air. Despite the warmth of the tea house and the lingering confusion from my encounter with Ren Zhi and Elder Ming, the moment I was alone, my thoughts hardened, turning toward the reality of our situation.

Even with the hybrid millet we planted, even with Tie Niu’s newfound Dao of Fishing, this wasn’t sustainable.

How long before a person comes to me with an ailment I can treat, but without the needed herbs? What good was all my knowledge, all my formulas, if I lacked the raw materials to put them to use?

If I didn’t do something, if I didn’t find more before winter deepened its hold, then the next time someone came to me...

I might have nothing to give.

It was one thing to ration food, to cut portions and make every grain stretch. But herbs were another matter entirely. I could live on thin meals. The disciples could tighten their belts. But if I ran out of medicinal herbs, if I had nothing left to treat injuries and sickness, then the consequences would be irreversible.

That wasn’t something I could allow.

I tightened my fists as I walked through the village, my steps leading me instinctively toward my shop. Inside, the scent of dried herbs filled the air, jars and pouches lining every available shelf. I moved with practiced precision, gathering the essentials—ginseng for strength, frost-lotus for fever relief, qi-restoring mushrooms, and as many wound-purifying salves as I could carry. I sorted them quickly, wrapping them in cloth before tucking them into my satchel.

But as I worked, my mind drifted toward what needed to be done next.

I would need to speak with Jian Feng. We had to return to the forest.

I wasn’t blind to the dangers. The demonic cultivators might still be lurking, waiting for another opportunity to strike. But what choice did I have? The Verdant Lotus disciples had scouted the surrounding areas, but their focus had been on security, not resources. The forest held herbs I couldn’t cultivate in my garden. If I wanted to keep treating the wounded, if I wanted to keep this village alive through the winter, then I needed to gather them myself.

A rustling sound broke my train of thought. I glanced up, spotting Windy slithering over the counter, his pale scales catching the dim light. Tianyi hovered nearby, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite place.

"You are troubled," Tianyi murmured.

I exhaled. "There’s a lot to think about."

She tilted her head. "You plan to leave again."

It wasn’t a question.

I hesitated, then nodded. "I have to. If I don’t, people are going to die."

Windy flicked his tongue, his tail coiling loosely around my wrist.

Tianyi was silent for a long moment before she finally spoke again. "I will come with you."

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I looked at her, then at Windy, considering. "... I still need to talk to Jian Feng first. If the disciples can support us, we’ll have a better chance."

With the supplies packed and my mind set, I slung the satchel over my shoulder and stepped back into the cold, heading toward the village square.

Things needed to change.