Cultivation starts with picking up attributes
Chapter 128: Ch-128: As always

Chapter 128: Ch-128: As always

"No," Tian Shen agreed. "It’s becoming a home."

...

One morning, Drowsy didn’t return from her usual patrol.

She was not bound by leash nor command, but she had never missed her dusk rest before.

Worry rippled through the group like wind through wheat. Tian Shen said nothing at first. He merely picked up his spear and walked toward the high western ridges.

The others followed without being told.

They found Drowsy before sunset, crouched in a low clearing, wings mantled wide. Her eyes glowed softly, not in alarm, but mourning.

She had found an ancient altar, buried beneath roots and time. Carvings of forgotten beasts adorned its face. Offerings, long crumbled, lay scattered.

Feng Yin traced the edge of the stone.

"A guardian altar. Very old."

Tian Shen lit incense without a word. Ji Luan offered a wildflower. Little Mei poured out a handful of sweets.

Together, the Scouts knelt and gave silence. Not prayer. Just presence.

The wind changed.

And Drowsy, content, lifted her wings and flew home.

...

That night, Tian Shen sat alone beneath the lantern tree, scroll in hand. Still no new names. Still a quiet victory.

But instead of writing, he drew.

A house beneath trees. A meal shared. A spear resting peacefully beside its owner.

He smiled.

Because for once, the world was not demanding a battle.

Just a breath.

And the Scout Division, for all their training, had learned to breathe.

Together.

...

The Scout Division awoke the next morning to a mist that clung to their robes like memory, light and unintrusive.

The orchard shimmered faintly in the dew-drenched dawn, wind chimes whispering soft notes as if reluctant to wake the world.

Tian Shen stood at the edge of the training field, already halfway through his forms.

Each movement flowed with the ease of repetition, yet carried the weight of something freshly contemplated. The spear in his hand was no longer an instrument of war, but of rhythm. Of breath.

Drowsy circled overhead once before finding her perch, wings catching the rising sun. She had returned different—not in form, but in bearing.

As if she had remembered something the others had yet to learn. The others had noticed it, too.

Feng Yin came bearing the morning’s tea again. She did not speak, nor did he. They simply stood side by side and watched as Ji Luan organized a new training regimen.

"We’ll rotate between physical, spiritual, and harmonic disciplines every third day," Ji Luan explained to the gathered scouts. "We’re no longer surviving. We’re cultivating."

There were nods. More than that—sparked eyes.

The day unfolded with quiet productivity. The orchard hummed with subtle energies as scouts split into smaller groups. One worked on refining their footwork along the spirit line trails that crisscrossed the clearing.

Another followed Elder Su’s tutelage on recognizing leyline fluctuations, their hands pressed to the earth, eyes closed, breathing as one with the flow beneath.

Little Mei established a makeshift kitchen hut using talisman-bound wood that smelled faintly of plum and lightning.

She declared it the "Mei-kery" and began the day’s task of baking spiritual focaccia infused with root energy. Most importantly—no explosions.

Mid-morning brought a surprise.

An envoy from the Artisan Pavilion arrived—a silver-haired woman in pale robes, carrying with her a cartload of enchanted tools and blank banners. She bowed low to Tian Shen.

"Sect Master says your division is overdue for its sigil."

There was a murmur of excitement. A crest? An identity beyond mere numbers?

The scouts took to the project with an enthusiasm that rivaled battle fever. Ideas poured in.

"A tree!"

"No, a spear inside a lantern."

"How about a sleeping bat? That’s obviously Drowsy."

In the end, it was Ji Luan who suggested what became their final sigil: a curved path winding around a tree whose leaves became wind chimes. A single spear leaned against its roots.

The Artisan Pavilion envoy smiled approvingly.

"Simple. Honest. Beautiful."

Tian Shen stood aside as the scouts painted it onto a massive cloth. He didn’t interfere. This was theirs.

That afternoon, sparring resumed. It wasn’t formal—just playful, curious. Feng Yin challenged Tian Shen to a match using spirit strings woven from her hair, and he countered with blunted strikes.

Their duel was less a clash and more a conversation. Their movements spoke of shared memory, mutual pain, and silent trust. At the end, she feinted and tripped him into a pile of half-dried laundry.

"Still too linear."

She teased.

"Still too dramatic," he replied, brushing a sock from his face.

Laughter followed.

Evening brought storytelling.

The scouts sat around a fire pit, flame crackling with soft purple light. Each told a tale—some real, some wildly exaggerated.

Little Mei described taming a thundercloud as a pet. Ji Luan confessed to once mistakenly challenging a mirror spirit to a duel—then complimenting its style and befriending it.

Then, unexpectedly, one of the younger scouts asked.

"Senior Brother Tian, what’s the first thing you remember wanting?"

He paused. The firelight caught the edges of his expression, revealing the edges of old scars, softer now.

"To survive."

He said.

"But not just by fighting. By being seen. By being remembered not for my blade—but for something that mattered."

The fire hissed quietly, as if acknowledging the truth in those words.

That night, no drills were called. No lessons scheduled. Instead, the orchard was lit entirely with lanterns, each hand-painted by a scout. The air was rich with incense, pine, and laughter.

Tian Shen found himself by the guardian altar again. Drowsy sat beside it, tail curled, eyes half-lidded.

He placed something new there—a tiny carving. It was crude, almost childlike. A house. A tree. A group of mismatched figures beneath it, all smiling.

"We never had time for dreams before," he whispered. "Maybe it’s time we started."

Drowsy yawned, stretched her wings wide, and dozed again. She approved.

As he returned to the orchard, he paused to see the scouts dancing to the beat of makeshift drums and hollowed gourds, the sigil-banner swaying above them.

The Scout Division had no great legacy. No ancestral techniques. No grand bloodline.

But they had peace.

They had each other.

And sometimes, that was more powerful than any cultivation.

Before turning in, Tian Shen added one more image to his scroll—a group sitting beneath stars, spears set aside, hands held in circle.

Not warriors. Not ghosts. Not legends.

Just people, learning to breathe.

And in that breath, a storm once waiting to return... quietly chose not to.

...

The lanterns swayed gently in the orchard, their glow casting long, dancing shadows across the soft earth.

It was late now—deep into the night—but no one hurried to sleep. The Scout Division had learned the taste of silence that wasn’t empty, and rest that wasn’t escape. For once, quiet was allowed to exist for its own sake.

Tian Shen lingered on the edge of the orchard, just beyond the lanterns’ reach. His eyes were on the stars.

Footsteps approached, light and deliberate.

Feng Yin stood beside him, a small flask in her hands. "Plum wine," she said, offering it. "Ji Luan smuggled it in."

He accepted it without comment and took a slow sip. It was sweet with a sharp edge—like memory softened by time.

"You look like someone who wants to be alone," she said, not leaving.

"I do," Tian Shen replied. "But not entirely."

She smiled, and the silence that followed was warm, not awkward.

"The altar," Feng Yin said after a while. "You think it was for beasts like Drowsy?"

"Maybe," he answered. "Or maybe for people like us. Wanderers. Guardians without names."

She nodded. "I used to think legacy was about strength. That I had to become my father’s shadow to be remembered."

"And now?"

"Now," she said, "I want to build something no one else ever has."

A pause.

"With you."

He glanced at her. Her eyes were steady, her presence unflinching.

He didn’t say yes. He didn’t need to. His hand found hers, fingers interlocking like roots growing in shared soil.

They stayed like that, hand in hand, until the lanterns burned low and the orchard settled back into its dreaming.

...

The next morning brought change—not with violence or warning, but with an old friend.

Lian Hua arrived.

She appeared between two wind chimes with her usual grace, her robes dusted with travel and her expression unreadable. Drowsy was the first to notice, dropping from her perch to land silently beside her.

"Still fond of dramatic entrances, I see," Tian Shen greeted her.

"Old habits," Lian Hua said, brushing a pine needle from her sleeve. "Besides, I brought news."

Feng Yin straightened. "Good or bad?"

"Both," she said. "The Hidden Sky Vault is opening faster than expected. But more than that—there are signs others have already entered."

The orchard seemed to still, the leaves pausing mid-whisper.

Tian Shen’s eyes narrowed. "Who?"

"Remnants. Warlocks. Perhaps even a rogue sect or two. But it’s not the danger that worries me."

"What then?"

Lian Hua’s expression softened. "It’s the call. The Vault isn’t just unlocking. It’s choosing."

Silence again.

Feng Yin spoke first. "And you think it’s calling to Tian Shen?"

"No," Lian Hua said, turning to him. "It’s calling to all of you."

Tian Shen glanced back at the orchard. At the scouts sharpening tools, mending robes, feeding the soil with spiritual compost. At Ji Luan laughing with Little Mei, and Drowsy snoring under the guardian altar tree.

"They’re not ready for war," he said.

"They don’t have to be," Lian Hua replied. "But they need to be ready for choice."

Tian Shen turned toward the orchard fully, taking a long breath.

Not yet a home. But close.

He looked back at Lian Hua.

"Then we prepare. Quietly. Together."

She nodded.

"As always."

And so the next Chapter of the Scout Division didn’t begin with swords drawn or banners raised.

It began with morning drills and sweetbread. With shared glances and whispered warnings.

Because while peace had settled into their bones, the wind was changing again.

And this time, it carried the scent of starlight, ruin... and revelation.