Blossoming Path
Chapter 209: The Last Step of the Dance

The coals hissed beneath my feet.

Each step sent up tiny flares of ember-light, like sparks flung from Wang Jun's hammer. But they didn’t burn me as badly as before. The soles of my feet had thickened over time, and my body grew resistant to the flame.

Compared when I carried the crushing burden of the Black Tortoise, the Dance of a Thousand Flames now felt as easy as breathing.

I stepped lightly, shifting weight from heel to toe, tracing a slow arc through the ring of fire that surrounded me. The flames responded, drawn to my movement like silk tugged by wind. Each motion carried momentum into the next, as if the blaze itself had become part of the choreography.

Then came the spear.

I didn’t see Elder Ming, not clearly. His form flickered behind the curtain of flame, a silhouette within smoke. But I felt the intent. The blunted tip of the weapon thrust forward just as I dipped low in a sweeping step.

I rotated my arm upward, deflecting the strike with the flat of my wrist. A clang of wood on bone, dulled but precise. My flow didn’t break; the parry turned into a pivot, my left leg sliding over coals.

Another strike followed—high, downward, arcing fast.

I swayed aside, let the spear glance off my shoulder sleeve, then stepped into the next movement, arms sweeping outward. The flames followed, coiling around me, dancing at the edge of my limbs without ever touching skin.

But I understood them now.

Each dodge, each redirection, each twist of the body carried a piece of flame with it, trailing behind like brushstrokes on air.

Now, finally, I felt the tempo. The purpose. The fire did not resist me. It listened.

Elder Ming’s next strike came from behind; a jab aimed at my ribs during a wide turn.

I didn’t turn to face it.

I spun instead.

One leg swept low, kicking embers into a brief spiral. My other leg rose high in a snap-kick, the motion fluid, controlled. My heel stopped inches short of Elder Ming’s chest. The flame that had gathered around my leg dispersed in a clean gust, like a candle blown out.

Silence. Stillness.

My heart pounded from exhilaration. Not even a bead of sweat on my brow.

Then, with a gentle chime only I could hear, the Heavenly Interface pulsed to life.

Heavenly Flame Mantra has reached level 4.

I slowly lowered my foot, breathing in the scent of char and smoke, my heel pressing softly into the soot-blackened coals.

Two levels.

Within two weeks, I'd advanced the Heavenly Flame Mantra twice, and my Body once. Of course, it wasn't solely due to my effort. The Golden Bamboo proved itself as a vital ingredient for all sorts of physique-enhancing pills, allowing me to get past the diminishing returns from taking the Golden Drop over and over again by making variants that interacted with my body in different ways.

Elder Ming let out a quiet chuckle, the kind that held both pride and melancholy. I turned to face him fully, my stance loose but centered, flame-kissed embers still curling off my clothes.

“You’ve been working hard,” he said.

I nodded, the weight of that truth sitting heavily on my shoulders.

“I haven’t stopped,” I admitted. “Not since we returned.”

And I hadn’t.

Every morning, I woke before the sun to run drills. Every night, I buried myself in revision, replaying movements, reviewing sensations, dissecting flaws with the help of the Heavenly Interface. My days were split between the village’s needs and getting stronger. There had been no time for sleep, not really. A few hours here and there. Enough to keep moving.

And I could only do it because of the Black Tortoise’s blessing.

The increased recovery rate gave me more than just stamina. It let me bleed myself dry again and again without collapsing. Tianyi had replenished my qi often, too, and I’d brewed enough personal tonics to blunt the worst of the fatigue. But she was still recovering, her wings growing back steadily.

Even the Verdant Lotus disciples were feeling the after effects. Windy was only now beginning to regain his usual brightness after eating Yin Si's accumulating pile of webbed up pests.

But me?

I stood strong. Alert. Clear-eyed.

And I knew I couldn’t afford to waste that advantage.

Elder Ming studied me for a long moment, then gave a slow nod.

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“You’re past imitation,” he said finally. “You don’t just follow the form anymore. You’ve grasped the fire itself. You move with it—not against it.”

The words filled me with something fierce and bright. A quiet thrill stirred in my chest, tempered only by humility.

“So… what’s next?” I asked, trying to keep the excitement from my voice. “What do I learn now?”

Elder Ming’s smile faded. Not in disappointment; more like a candle dimming as it reached the end of its wick.

“There is no next,” he said. “At least… not from me.”

I blinked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, gently, “I’ve taught you all I can.”

The coals crackled softly underfoot.

“My cultivation path ended long ago,” Elder Ming continued. “My dantian was shattered before I ever reached the higher stages. Everything I passed down to you—the drills, the footwork, the spear patterns, the mantra—they were inherited techniques. Refined through experience, yes. Sharpened by hardship. But not evolved. Not elevated.”

He shifted his weight, grounding the haft of the practice spear against the floor.

“Much of what I gave you came from my sworn brother. His insights. His notes. The teachings of our old sect. I passed them on faithfully. But the truth is…” He looked at me, solemn. “You’ve already gone beyond me, Kai.”

“That can’t be right,” I said, shaking my head. “You’ve trained me. You taught me how to fight. To think like a cultivator. Surely this isn't all?”

“I taught you the foundation,” he agreed. “But now, you've gone beyond me. Taken it farther than I dreamed."

I didn’t respond at first.

The thought of Elder Ming no longer guiding me—it sat poorly. Like stepping beyond the edge of a familiar path into dark, unknown woods.

“Where would I even find someone more knowledgeable than you?” I asked quietly.

Xu Ziqing? Jian Feng? They were formidable. But their strength came from swordplay, from combat honed through battle. They could teach me moves or techniques, but Elder Ming taught me more than that.

It wouldn't be the same.

Elder Ming let out a quiet breath. Not weary, but patient.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “that I can’t teach you more.”

“No,” I said immediately, shaking my head, stepping forward. “Don’t apologize. You’ve given me everything—”

“Let me finish.”

I fell silent.

“I’m proud of you, Kai. But you must not let me hold you back. I’ve only ever taught you what I knew. What I inherited. If you cling to my words too tightly, your flame will never grow. To cultivate your dao, you must challenge me. Not out of rebellion or disrespect, but because truth evolves. If you never question what I’ve taught you… then you’ll never truly surpass it.”

My mouth opened. Then closed.

Because I understood.

And he was right.

Still, my heart twisted. The words weren’t easy to accept, even if they were true.

I stepped forward and sank into a deep bow, knees pressed to the coal-scorched earth, hands flat against the ground.

“Even if you think I've advanced past you...” My voice was quiet, but firm. “You’ll always be my mentor. I’m forever grateful for all that you’ve given me. You taught me to stand. You showed me what it meant to move.”

Elder Ming’s face softened. “You’ve guided me, too, Kai. In ways you may never realize.”

He offered me a hand. I took it, and he pulled me gently to my feet.

“You don’t need to come here every morning anymore,” he said. “Your training has outgrown this little ring of fire. But I will always be here if you need.”

I smiled faintly. “I think I still will. It’s a pretty cozy space.”

Elder Ming snorted and turned away, waving me off.

“Fine, fine. But you’d better clear out quick. Elder Zhi’s coming over for tea, and I’m not letting him see me all sentimental.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, bowing again with a grin.

The sun had begun to rise over the mountaintops, golden light spilling through the trees.

And for the first time in weeks, the frost on the rooftops had started to thaw.

As I stepped out from the training grounds, I felt the warmth not just on my skin, but in my chest.

Spring was coming.

The village was already stirring. People passed with nods and bows, some clasping their hands in greeting, others offering grateful smiles. Gentle Wind had never felt so alive—and never so full.

There were more people than ever before. Many of them still bore the marks of hardship, but their movements had rhythm, purpose. They were adapting.

I saw Li Wei speaking with his father, both directing a group of workers near the southern fields. Wood beams rose where empty land had once been, a framework for something larger, dome-like, with glass tiles already laid out nearby.

The greenhouse.

My greenhouse.

Where I’d complete the quest set out before me.

But I wouldn't just complete it. Not this time. I'd go beyond what was asked, just as I had before with the Black Tortoise Tribulation.

Wang Jun stood nearby, sleeves rolled up, hammer slung over his shoulder as he worked alongside a man I didn’t recognize—older, hunched slightly, but with deft hands and a cloth roll of tools that glinted like carved crystal.

A glass artisan; one we’d rescued from Pingyao.

Fate, or something like it.

I kept walking, the hum of village life growing behind me, until I spotted Xu Ziqing kneeling near a tree stump, his sword balanced across his knees, blade glinting faintly in the morning sun as he slowly sharpened the edge.

“How’re you doing?” I asked, approaching.

He didn’t look up.

“I’m fine.”

It wasn’t clipped. Just quiet. Measured.

I waited a few seconds.

“Have you put any more thought into what's next?” I asked, watching his face carefully.

Xu Ziqing was still for a moment.

“I thought I’d return to Silent Moon,” he said.

Then he exhaled, slow and deliberate.

“But now I know… that’s not where I need to be.”

He looked up at me at last, eyes clear.

“For now, I want to see Ping Hai’s last wish through. I want to ensure those from Pingyao are safe. Settled. And I’d like to stay here a while longer. If you don’t mind.”

I smiled. “I’d be glad to have a strong disciple among us. And with that, I have a request.”

He arched an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt.

“Would you be willing to teach me a few things?”

Xu Ziqing tilted his head, brow raised in disbelief. “You want to learn swordsmanship?”

“No, no. Definitely not. I’d probably trip over the sheath trying to look cool. I’m set on fist-based arts,” I said, tapping my knuckles together. “That’s my path, and I know it. But that’s not what I meant.”

I sat down across from him, letting the silence settle for a moment before speaking again.

“I watched you during the cultist fights. Not just how you moved, but how you fought. You struck to open space, to give me and the others room to breathe, to retaliate. You maneuvered the enemy like pieces on a board.”

His expression didn’t change, but he paused sharpening his blade.

“You weren’t just fighting like a cultivator. You were thinking like a commander.”

Xu Ziqing didn’t answer right away. Instead, he ran the whetstone down the length of the blade one more time, the sound clean and steady.

“Most disciples your age,” he said finally, “are obsessed with output. Cultivation speed. Stronger techniques. Bigger explosions. Flash and fury.”

He set the sword aside.

“You’re not wrong. Strategy was my edge. Not raw power.”

I nodded. “That’s what I want to learn. How to read a battlefield. How to see what comes next. Elder Ming's already said I need to learn from more than just him; and I think you're the person for that task.”

A long breath passed between us. Just months ago, Xu Ziqing was closer to being considered as an enemy more than anything else. But now, we'd come together in the face of loss and a greater threat.

In the Jianghu, there was no such thing as eternal allies or enemies; only eternal interests.

Then he looked up and nodded once.

“Very well.”

Relief flickered through me.

“Great,” I said, stretching out my arms behind me. “Even if the Heavenly Flame Mantra slows down now, I’ve still got a dozen other ways to grow.”

I’d already been planning to supplement my martial forms with regular sparring matches against the Verdant Lotus disciples. It wasn’t easy—many of them were doubling their patrols now, especially after Jian Feng found three more cultist corpses half-buried in snow near the northern ridge. But if Xu Ziqing was willing to teach, I’d make time.

“Come back tomorrow, I’ll prepare something for you to start with.”

“Really?”

He gave a small shrug. “You want to learn tactics, then you’ll learn properly. We’ll start from the basics. Formations. Reading movement. Predicting flow.”

I stood up, brushing soot off my knees and offering him a quick bow.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t respond, just went back to sharpening his sword—but there was a slight lift to his posture now. A man with a purpose again.

As I walked away, the sound of steel rasped behind me, rhythmic and certain.

One more teacher.

One more path.

I walked home for a bit, savoring the quiet warmth in my limbs, the feeling of sunlight finally starting to feel like spring.

There was one more stop I had to make.

I turned off the main path, heading through the denser part of the village and toward the outskirts.

I reached the Verdant Lotus sect's longhouse and pushed open the doors. The scent of antiseptic herbs clung to the air, mingling with the faint iron tang of old blood and smoke.

A disciple on duty glanced up, stiffening at the sight of me.

"Is Jian Feng there?"

He nodded and allowed me to enter.

A moment later, Jian Feng emerged from one of the inner rooms, arms crossed over his chest, robes darkened by sweat at the edges. His eyes were tired, but steady.

"Are the converts awake?"

He held my gaze for a long moment… then inclined his head.

I stepped past Jian Feng, the wooden floor creaking faintly beneath my feet as I moved deeper into the longhouse.

Past the threshold, beyond a half-drawn curtain and a small cluster of disciples maintaining a respectful distance, sat three figures: two men and a woman.

They didn’t rise.

Didn’t speak.

There was something hollow in their gazes. Something frayed. Like the memory of who they’d once been had slipped just out of reach, and they were trying to hold onto the thread with bloodied fingers.

I stopped just short of them, hands open at my sides. I drew in a slow breath, steadying myself.

Now came the hard part.

"I'm Kai. You're here at Gentle Wind Village. Could I ask you three a few questions?”

Time to talk.