After a short stroll through the marketplace, Li Qiong returned with a pouch of herbs and a few medicinal pills. The evening was quiet, lanterns dim, and the courtyard smelled faintly of sandalwood.
Min He was already waiting, arms folded, eyes bright as if she had spent the entire day rehearsing her words. The moment he sat, she plopped herself opposite him, pouring tea with exaggerated care.
Their talk began innocently—weather, traveling merchants, the taste of the new mooncakes brought from the south. Most of it was nonsense, and Li Qiong answered with a nod here and there, his mind clearly wandering elsewhere.
When the dishes were set, Min He kept sneaking glances at him, cheeks faintly flushed. The maidservant passing by nearly dropped a tray when she caught sight of Min He's expression. Li Qiong, as usual, remained unmoved, calmly eating his rice as if he hadn't noticed at all.
Annoyed by his indifference, Min He changed topics abruptly.
"Li Qiong, what kind of girl do you think makes a good wife? Someone rich? Or beautiful? Or maybe kind and thoughtful?"
He chewed slowly, as though he hadn't heard. His gaze drifted elsewhere, and when no answer came, Min He puffed her cheeks, lips tightening in a pout.
Her pout deepened. He wasn't even listening!
They sat to eat, and Min He caught the faintest flicker of the maid stealing glances at Li Qiong, her cheeks blooming red like spring peaches. Min He's chopsticks froze. Her lips curled into the tiniest pout. Unacceptable.
The next day her behavior worsened. Wherever he went, Min He followed—like a shadow with a voice that never rested. Even when he went to relieve himself, she stood outside the door, giving life lessons through the panels.
"Remember, Li Qiong, a man who knows how to endure hardships is stronger than ten who only seek ease! Don't forget to nod if you agree!"
When he didn't reply, she called again.
"...Are you listening?"
Even the dogs were irritated. That night, as she sat under his window rambling about the meaning of perseverance, the hounds began howling at the moon in despair. The guests at the estate, robbed of sleep, started shouting through their windows. "Quiet down already!"
No one slept a wink for an entire week. The maids had it the worst, enduring her chatter while trying to serve tea or sweep the floor, their expressions hollow from exhaustion.
Li Qiong finally rubbed his temples, realizing the truth.
If he didn't send her home soon, the entire inn would collapse from lack of sleep.
At last, he understood why, in his past life, his master had once sewn Min He's mouth shut with extra stitches.
He needed to send her home. The sooner, the better.
The morning sun was barely warm when the group departed. Min He never once looked back; her steps were light, her laughter crisp, but her eyes remained fixed on the road ahead.
The inn staff and doormats stood in rows, waving them off with tears and joy. They could not let the hero leave with empty hands—so baskets of pears, jars of dried spices, bundles of rice, even salted meats were piled into their carriage.
Not long after, five travelers appeared at the village's eastern gate. Each carried themselves with the ease of trained martial artists, and when they saw Li Qiong departing, they cupped their fists respectfully.
One, broad-shouldered with a red headband, introduced himself as Zhao Wuming of the Chasing Cloud-Sect.The second, slim and scholarly, bowed and gave his name as Jiang Rui of the House of Flowing Ink.The third, a woman in blue robes and a bamboo hat, was Mei Lanyin of the Eastern Sea Clan.The fourth, with a sword slung across his back, declared himself Chen Huo of the Blazing Saber Pavilion.And the last, youngest and most carefree, grinned wide and said, Sun Yan of the Hundred-Herb Tribe.
Each had traveled far, drawn by word of the Grand Martial Arts Banquet, and their paths—so they claimed—had "coincidentally" aligned with Li Qiong's.
Together, the company moved forward.
By dusk, they stumbled upon a place drowned in silence. It was a village in ruin: scorched houses, blackened pyres where the dead's are burning, and children with shrunken bellies and hollow eyes laying by the roadside. Those still alive clung to breath with begging voices, stretching their thin hands toward passing caravans. But wagons rolled by faster, wheels screeching, merchants averting their eyes in fear of infected by disease.
Min He's breadth faltered. Her hands trembled at the sight of the starving children. She rushed forward, fumbling for the food in her pack. But Jiang Rui caught her wrist.
"Don't," Mei Lanyin said quietly.Zhao Wuming's voice was hard. "If you cannot feed all, feeding a few will only breed envy. That kindness will turn to hatred."Sun Yan looked away, grim. "A single bowl of rice can divide a hundred starving throats into knives."
Yet before their words finished, Li Qiong descended from the carriage. He walked past them without answering, his robes trailing dust. His silence was heavy, his gaze steady.
There, in the cracked earth, Li Qiong drew his sword.
With one motion, he plunged it deep into the ground.
A thunderous boom echoed. The earth shuddered like thunder rolling beneath their feet. Then—vines burst forth, surging up in thorny arcs, pouring like rain from beneath the earth.
vines thick as pillars shooting upward, writhing like serpents. Thorns the size of daggers split open the soil. The earth cracked as a monstrous form—roots tangled into a grotesque body—rose with a shriek that rattled the heavens.
The Vine Demon had awakened, furious at its stabbed.
"Careful!" Zhao Wuming shouted, summoning his sword aura. His blade cut down with a storm of arcs, but the vines absorbed the strike, splitting into dozens more.
Chen Huo roared, thrusting his spear. Flames spiraled down the weapon, igniting thorns, yet the fire only made the vines thrash wilder.
Mei Lanyin unfurled her willow whip, each lash sharp as a guillotine, severing tendrils that regrew instantly. Jiang Rui flicked open his fan, characters of black ink fluttering out, sealing characters that barely slowed the monster's advance.
The villagers screamed, scattering. Min He's breath caught in her throat as thorned vines struck toward her—
—and froze.
A sheet of frost spread across the ground from a single step.
Li Qiong stood tall at the village's heart, towering over the rest, his presence dwarfing them as if they were children playing at war beside a giant.
Ice skated outward from his boots, climbing the vines in pointed frost. The tendrils froze mid-thrash, snapping like glass when they struck against him.
The Vine Demon shrieked and hurled a dozen more whips of green death. Li Qiong moved, calm as flowing water. He slid along his own ice like a phantom, closing distance in an instant.
A dagger flickered from his sleeve—he cut through three vines with the casual precision of slices. Another coiled at his back, but he struck with the blunt spine of his sword, shattering it without killing momentum.
Where others roared and struggled, Li Qiong walked past most of the attack. Cold mist trailed every movement.
The monster reared, roots tearing from the ground to entangle him from all sides.
Li Qiong exhaled. Frost spiraled from his breath. His blade stabbed into the earth once more—ice spikes erupted outward, freezing the entire circle of vines into a ice.
The cultivators gasped as he vaulted upward, soaring above the battlefield, descending like a dragon. His shadow fell long across them, and with a sweeping arc of his sword's flat side, he shattered the frozen forest. Shards rained down like silver meteors, cutting through every last tendril.
The Vine Demon collapsed in a roar, its body splitting, roots snapping under the weight of frost.
When the ice mist cleared, Li Qiong stood tall, calm as ever, sheathing his sword. Behind him, the others looked small—breathing heavy, bloodied, their attacks like sparks compared to the glacier that had just crushed a mountain.
The frozen battlefield seemed still. Yet as the shards of ice melted, the ground convulsed again.
Not one demon.
Thirteen.
The vines split, unraveling like snakes from a nest. Twelve more bodies rose from the soil, each a writhing demon of roots and thorns. They hissed and shrieked together, but moved as one, their tendrils braiding into a colossal form. For years they had masqueraded as a single creature, sucking the land dry of vitality, turning the earth into barren dust.
The five cultivators staggered back, their faces pale.
Min He's hand trembled on her blade. "So many… impossible—!"
But Li Qiong's gaze never wavered.
He stepped forward, each movement deliberate, towering over the chaos. Ice trailed in his wake, veins of frost locking down every writhing root. With a flick of his wrist, his dagger carved out the first demon's core. A Green pill gleamed, pulsing with vitality qi.
Demon Pill.
One… then two. Three.
His movements were terrifyingly precise, sliding along his ice like a specter, blades flashing—dagger in one hand, sword in the other. Thirteen Vine Demons shrieked as one, yet fell one after another beneath his strikes. The thorns lashed but shattered on frozen air. Roots writhed but were snapped in half by the flat of his blade.
When the last shriek faded, thirteen green demon pills floated above his palm, gleaming like drops of life itself. He closed his fist—light cracked across the surface of the orbs before vanishing into silence.
The land lay ruined. Dead roots and withered soil stretched for miles, the village staring in despair.
Li Qiong did not leave it so.
He knelt, stabbed his sword deep into the earth. His other hand carved a series of seals in the air. Spiritual power surged upward, spiraling into the heavens. The bright sky dimmed. Clouds gathered, black and swollen.
A thunderous boom.
He used demonic arts. sacrificing the corpse of the demon vines as a medium. thunders strike again and again.
Rain fell.
thunders striked the ground tiling the land swapping the fresh soils small explosions sending ripples.
Heavy, unrelenting, washing away dust and filth, soaking the dead soil until cracks closed and the dust became rich loam. The villagers raised trembling hands, mouths open, drinking the downpour as if it were nectar.
But Li Qiong was not finished.
He stabbed the sword again, deeper this time. The earth rumbled, sinking, forming a basin where the Vine Demons had nested. For three days and nights the rain did not cease, filling the wound of the land. By the third sunrise, a pond shimmered, reflecting dawn like a jewel born from destruction.
Children wept and laughed at the water's edge. The villagers knelt, their voices hoarse from shouting thanks.
Above them all, Li Qiong stood tall, the thirteen demon pills hanging at his waist
Li Qiong raised his head, his voice steady.
"Bring me seeds."
The elders, weeping, scattered to find what little they had left. Li Qiong took the seeds, whispered spells over them, and scattered them to the four winds.
Green life surged instantly—sprouts tearing through the cracked soil, fields of rice rising where dust had lain, stalks of corn, waves of barley. The fragrance of fresh crops spread like hope.
The five cultivators exchanged glances. None spoke aloud, but in each of their hearts the same thought formed
The rain slowed, mist coiling above the newborn pond. The earth breathed again, wet soil rich with life.
Li Qiong stood still at the center of the village, his sword sheathed, his tall figure casting a long shadow over the kneeling crowd. Slowly, he raised his hand—palm open, steady—as though awaiting something.
The villagers looked at one another, bewildered. what does this mean. we have nothing ? What could this man possibly want?
Confusion rippled through them. None dared jump to conclusion.
A heavy silence hung over them, broken only by the soft patter of rain.
Only the old village chief understood. His eyes widened, and he bowed deeply before rushing to one of the grain sacks. With trembling hands, he gathered a handful of seeds, tying them carefully into a small, weathered pouch. Carrying it with both hands, he approached the tall figure and placed it reverently into his palm.
Li Qiong accepted without a word. His expression neither joy nor disdain—merely the faint curve of satisfaction, like a man completing a transaction. With the pouch tied at his waist, he turned and walked away, His steps were light, as if the earth itself parted for him.
He was satisfied.
The cultivators exchanged confused looks, Min He furrowed her brows, even the children did not understand why their savior would take so little after giving so much.
The chief sighed, shaking his head.
"You do not understand… For us mortals, family, neighbors, and gratitude bind us. But for cultivators, ties must be cut. Family, love, karma, debt—these things weigh like chains. If the savior left without receiving anything, a connection would remain. It might drag him back to us in the future, bringing us calamity… or endangering his path."
He looked at the pond, where rain still rippled the surface like liquid silver.
"By accepting our gift, no matter how small, he made it even. The kindness is balanced, the debt repaid. No ties remain."
The villagers shivered, realizing the depth of the cultivator's world.
High above, Li Qiong's figure grew smaller against the mist, walking the road beyond their sight. He did not look back.