Cultivation starts with picking up attributes
Chapter 127: Ch-127: Camp or What?

Chapter 127: Ch-127: Camp or What?

The morning mist rolled in gently over the Feilun Sect’s outer training fields, thin veils of white curling like breath against the ground.

The orchard beyond the fields swayed softly with the early breeze, its golden leaves humming faintly with energy that only those attuned could hear.

Tian Shen rose before the sun as always, his robe still creased from sleep, his hair loosely tied. He moved without urgency but with purpose.

The shrine beneath the spirit trees stood silent in greeting, lanterns swaying lazily. He paused to light one—a small ritual now, habitual and grounding.

The scroll of names was left untouched today. There were no new ones to add. And that was, in itself, a small victory.

By the time the first rays of sunlight sliced across the sky, the Scout Division had begun to stir. The orchard clearing, once little more than neglected terrain, now bore signs of life and rhythm.

Training dummies lined one edge. A small herb garden—tended by the more agriculturally inclined recruits—sat at the rear, sprouting a blend of practical and spiritual flora.

Today was not for missions. Nor tests. Just... living.

Feng Yin was the first to arrive, two steaming cups of tea in her hands. She passed one to Tian Shen without a word, settling beside him on the raised stone bench.

"No dreams, right?"

She asked.

He shook his head.

"Not the old ones."

She smiled faintly.

"Good."

Drowsy, ever the silent sentinel, dozed in her usual perch atop the orchard’s central tree. Despite her name, her ears twitched with every breeze, every footfall.

The first group to gather were the newer recruits, their movements unsure, their laughter tentative.

Ji Luan led them in stretching exercises—nothing intense, just slow, deliberate motions meant to wake both body and spirit.

"Reach past your limit," she instructed gently. "Not to chase power—just to know it’s there."

Others filtered in. A duo of brothers sparred lazily near the training dummies, their swings more playful than precise.

A small cluster worked on a weaving project—not for combat, but to create spirit nets to hang over crops, enhancing their yield.

Little Mei, dragging a basket twice her size, arrived fashionably late.

"Cooking lesson," she announced, dumping ingredients onto a stone table. "No explosions today. Probably."

The scouts laughed, gathering around as she began chopping vegetables with absurdly dexterous tail swipes.

Tian Shen, watching from the shade, allowed himself a moment to exhale. The Division was learning balance.

Mid-morning brought the sound of flutes and drums—not war beats, but rhythm exercises.

An older cultivator from the music pavilion had volunteered to train the scouts in harmonics, claiming that resonance training improved spatial awareness.

Whether it was true or not, the flutes echoed beautifully through the orchard.

During the lull, Tian Shen made his rounds. He helped a pair of recruits reinforce the archery range, advised another on adjusting her talisman pouch for quicker access. He didn’t hover. He guided.

Feng Yin found him after noon under the blossom tree, a slice of honeyed rice cake in each hand.

"You’re forgetting to eat again."

She said, pushing one into his palm.

He took it with a nod of thanks.

"Hard to forget when you always remind me."

"Exactly."

They sat together, sharing the quiet.

As the sun arced toward afternoon, the orchard hosted an impromptu sparring demonstration. Two of the more seasoned scouts dueled barefoot in the grass, their weapons swapped for branches.

It drew a crowd. Bets were whispered. Drowsy let out a lazy trill from above when one of them landed a clever feint.

By evening, the sky turned orange and pink. A group had gathered near the shrine to paint new wind chimes.

Each one bore a symbol—a name, a story, a hope. They would be hung from the orchard branches, singing in the wind.

Tian Shen helped carve the last one—a single stroke shaped like a curling flame. It wasn’t from any known script.

"What does it mean?"

Ji Luan asked.

"Nothing yet," Tian Shen replied. "But someday, maybe it will."

That night, as stars blinked into view, the Division gathered for evening meditation.

No one led. No orders were given. They simply sat in a circle, eyes closed, letting the day’s residue drift from their thoughts.

Little Mei fell asleep halfway through. No one woke her.

Afterward, Tian Shen lit the orchard lanterns himself, one by one. He paused at the final tree, gaze tracing the names sealed into the shrine scrolls.

Still no new ones. Still a victory.

Feng Yin joined him once more, her voice a whisper.

"Do you think they’d be proud? The ones who came before?"

"If they could see this," he said, "I think they’d finally rest."

And above them, the lanterns swayed gently in the summer wind, the orchard alive with breath, with rhythm, with peace.

Not warriors. Not ghosts. Just people.

Becoming something better, one quiet day at a time.

...

The days after the orchard gathering blurred together like threads woven into a tapestry of simple, intentional living. For the Scout Division, it was not a time of glory, but a time of quiet strengthening.

And in many ways, that was rarer.

It began with a new routine, one suggested not by Tian Shen, but by Ji Luan.

"What if," she had said one morning, hesitantly, "we began the day with silence? No drills, no chants, no lessons. Just listening."

To her surprise, Tian Shen had nodded.

So each morning, just before sunrise, the Division gathered in the orchard clearing and stood together in stillness. The trees rustled, the spirit wind hummed, and the world spoke.

Some days it sang in birdcalls and leaves. Other days it whispered of coming rain, or the tension of a fox hunting in the hills. Some days it said nothing at all.

And on those days, they listened even harder.

By mid-morning, the Division would break into cycles of training and tending.

Half the scouts studied physical conditioning and coordination under a Technique which Little Mei called "Grace in Chaos."

"You don’t need to fight beautifully," she said, balancing on a pole swaying on a narrow stream, "but if you can’t fall without breaking your ribs, you’re not ready to jump."

The obstacle course had been built by hand over several weeks, its paths winding through the trees with irregular terrain, sudden elevation shifts, and branches that had to be crossed blindfolded.

Each mistake was met with a playful tail-swat and a lesson.

Meanwhile, Feng Yin taught layered perception drills. In pairs, recruits practiced reading subtle emotional cues, not just in faces but in posture, breath, and tone.

"Your enemy won’t always growl," she reminded them. "Sometimes they’ll smile while plotting. Learn to see beneath."

For those not in training rotation, there were tasks: feeding Drowsy (who, to no one’s surprise, was fond of salted yams), tending to the herb garden, maintaining the orchard shrine, or helping refine the spirit nets that now protected nearby fields.

Tian Shen walked through it all like a quiet current.

He did not command loudly. He corrected gently, praised with precision, and led through example.

If someone skipped a step in cultivation technique, he showed them his own. If a tool broke, he helped repair it without remark.

If a scout lingered too long in thought, he merely stood beside them until they were ready to speak.

He rarely had to raise his voice. But the Division always listened.

...

One afternoon, a sudden storm rolled in. The kind that built itself out of stillness and snapped into thunder with no warning.

Tents were not yet sealed. The herb rows were half-covered. Some of the scrolls were still outside beneath the reading platform.

There was no panic.

The Scouts moved in synchronized flow. Some ran to cover the nets, others to salvage parchments.

Little Mei pulled Ji Luan into the shelter of the root cave, laughing as rain soaked her tails.

Tian Shen and Feng Yin remained outside a few minutes longer, redirecting water channels with makeshift barriers, digging trenches along the orchard slope.

By the time the worst of the rain passed, no supplies were lost.

That evening, they shared sweet rice under the communal tent, steam curling up into the now-cool air.

Wet boots were stacked neatly, and someone had tied flower stems into a garland over the cooking pot.

The Scouts sang a song none of them remembered learning. It had no beginning, no end, just a rhythm passed between them like a shared breath.

...

As days passed, word of the Scout Division’s growing harmony reached even the inner halls of the Feilun Sect.

Elders began to send quiet observers—disciples from their lineage tasked with learning, or perhaps confirming rumors.

Some came with curiosity. Others with skepticism.

But none left unchanged.

A boy from the Pill Refinement Hall had arrived with a chest of medicinal drafts and an air of detachment.

By his second evening, he was trading mushroom recipes with a girl who swore by crushed pearl broth.

A pair of blade initiates joined sparring rounds and found themselves repeatedly outmaneuvered by Ji Luan, whose style resembled more wind than war.

Even an aloof talisman artist found his seals humming more smoothly after spending a day sketching by the orchard shrine.

Tian Shen did not seek to impress. He simply welcomed.

Feng Yin remarked one night, watching the newcomers join in a late meal.

"This place isn’t a camp anymore."