The days that followed Lu Chenyuan's breakthrough and marriage passed quietly, but not without consequence. The stale despair that had long soaked into the bones of the Azurewood Lin Clan courtyard now began to lift, not vanishing, but thinning—like morning mist before a tentative sun. Hope, faint and unfamiliar, stirred within its crumbling walls. It clung not to miracles or grand gestures, but to the small, steady changes: in routine, in tone, in presence.
Lu Chenyuan spent those early days in focused consolidation. His Fourth Layer cultivation, though modest by the world's standards, gave him clarity he had never known. Thoughts no longer came muddied or slow. His mind, sharpened by a marginal increase in soul strength, absorbed the contents of the 'Azurewood Art – Supplement Part 1' with an almost greedy hunger.
The manual was more than a refinement; it was a revelation. The patched-together remnants of their clan's core technique now pulsed with coherence, guiding cultivation smoothly through the Sixth Layer. Better still, it introduced foundational practices in Wood-aligned spiritual plant care and spiritual field enhancement. It wasn't just theory—it was a roadmap. One that could lead Shen Yue toward a future not defined by her curse, and perhaps, in time, carry the clan along with her.
Beneath the loose floorboard in his modest room, Lu Chenyuan had stashed seventy-seven low-grade spirit stones: fifty from the system, twenty-seven from before, minus ten for the bride price. It wasn't a king's ransom—but to the Lin Clan, it was the edge of possibility.
One morning, as thin congee steamed weakly on the table, he broached the topic.
"Uncle Liu," Chenyuan began, breaking the quiet between spoonfuls. "We have a chance to change things."
Uncle Liu looked up. His eyes still carried the weight of years spent in disappointment, but now they held a glint—no brighter than an ember, but there. Shen Yue, quietly sweeping the floor nearby, paused only briefly before continuing her work.
"Your advancement is a blessing," Uncle Liu said, voice low, as if afraid to jinx it. "And Mistress Shen Yue... she's brought something new to this old place. Calm, maybe. Diligence."
Chenyuan nodded. "The Azurewood Art has evolved. There's a section on spiritual agriculture. And the Qi Nourishing Pill recipe. If we can grow or buy the herbs, it could sustain us—or at least keep us from starving between opportunities."
Uncle Liu's eyebrows twitched. "Qi Nourishing Pills? Even low-grade ones sell well in Serpent's End. But the herbs—Green Dew Grass, Three-Leaf Ginseng, Earth Spirit Root—none of them come cheap. And they're not easy to grow."
"We have to try. The spirit field must come first. Grains for food, and maybe a few useful herbs. I'll head to the market in a few days. We'll need seeds—resilient ones—and proper tools. Maybe even a cheap pill furnace if we can stretch the funds."
"A furnace alone could run thirty stones," Uncle Liu muttered, but not in protest. More like he was doing math out loud. "Still, we've wasted time before. Might as well gamble on effort."
Shen Yue didn't speak, but she finished sweeping and quietly rinsed a cloth, wiping down the table with practiced, unhurried movements. In the week since her arrival, she had folded herself into the rhythm of the household without fuss. No complaints. No demands. Just quiet contribution—cooking simple meals, cleaning the neglected rooms, repairing threadbare clothes with careful stitching. She didn't speak of her past, nor of the future. She simply did.
Chenyuan hadn't yet told her about her dormant Wood spiritual root. The Azurewood Art offered gentle guidance for awakening it—inviting Wood Qi into the body, breathing with it, listening. But trust was essential. And Shen Yue had no reason to trust anyone just yet.
So he waited.
Instead, he began cultivating near her deliberately, drawing Wood Qi around the courtyard. It was subtle—barely a shimmer in the air, a murmur in the soil. But he watched, quietly, for any sign.
He got one.
One afternoon, as he practiced in the courtyard, Shen Yue paused by a dry, half-dead potted herb on the windowsill. It had been there since before his time as Patriarch—an abandoned project. She had watered it daily, without being asked. This time, as her fingers brushed one of its brittle leaves, Chenyuan thought—no, imagined—a faint flicker of green. A shimmer, gone as fast as it came. The next day, one of the leaves looked less brown.
It might have been coincidence. Or it might have been the first stirrings of something long buried.
When Chenyuan finally set out for Serpent's End Market, he took Uncle Liu with him. Shen Yue stayed behind. He had hesitated—leaving her alone felt wrong—but the market was rough, and she deserved time to settle in safety. Before they left, he instructed her to keep the gates closed and answer to no one. She only nodded.
The market, as always, was chaos incarnate. A ramshackle sprawl of traders, drunks, wanderers, and mercenaries. Spices mingled with the scent of sweat and steel. Deals were struck in whispers and shouts alike.
They started at a seed merchant's stall—Elder Tan, a gnarled man with a pipe that never left his lips. After tough negotiation, they left with a pouch of Iron Vigor Millet—a hardy Grade One grain—and a smaller pack of Green Dew Grass seeds. Three stones for a dozen. Pricey, but essential.
They also bought new farming tools: a hoe and spade etched with simple Qi-conducting runes. Five stones.
Then came the pill furnace. After hours of haggling in a cluttered shop that smelled of mildew and failed dreams, they found it: an old bronze furnace, scratched but functional, its core array intact. Twenty-five stones.
When they returned at dusk, Shen Yue unbarred the gate without a word, but her shoulders relaxed visibly at the sight of them. That evening, for the first time in months, they ate something more than thin gruel—coarse rice, cooked soft. It wasn't spiritual grain, but it filled the belly differently. Hopefully.
As they ate, Chenyuan outlined the plan.
"Tomorrow, we begin restoring the spirit field," he said. "Uncle Liu, I'll need your help with the soil. I'll channel Wood Qi to enrich it. Shen Yue—"
She looked up.
"—you have a way with plants. I'd like you to plant the Green Dew Grass seeds. They're fragile. They need careful hands."
It was the first time he had asked her to participate in anything beyond chores. Her eyes widened briefly, but she nodded.
"Yes, Patriarch Lu. I'll do my best."
The next morning dawned pale and quiet.
Their spirit field was barely 0.1 mu—nothing compared to even a modest sect farm—but it was theirs. Lu Chenyuan knelt at its edge, breathing slowly, drawing in the faint threads of ambient Wood Qi and infusing them into the ground. The soil resisted at first, then began to yield, softening, warming under his spiritual influence.
Uncle Liu tilled with a surprising vigor, sweat gleaming on his brow. Every motion was practiced, deliberate. He moved like a man who hadn't had a reason to move like this in years.
Shen Yue followed in their wake, cradling the seeds. Her touch was gentle, precise. As she placed the seeds into the enriched earth, Chenyuan, under the pretense of guiding ambient Qi, extended a wisp of his own Wood Qi toward her.
And there it was—undeniable, this time. A faint glow around her fingers. Like a firefly blinked once, then vanished.
She didn't notice. But he did.
And he smiled.
The seeds of change had been planted—in earth, yes—but also in her, and in all of them. The road ahead was uncertain, but no longer hopeless.
The hearth had been rekindled. The system had provided the tools.
Now, it was time to grow.