Blossoming Path - A Xianxia LitRPG

It was a hot day.

That by itself wouldn't have been anything to comment on.

But even in the furthest recesses of the world, the Heaven's Pillar Sect, stationed in a land of perpetual winter, felt the heatwave.

In an instant, the heavy snow that pervaded the sect's territory turned into rain. The hail quickly turned into a torrential downpour, alarming the sect's disciples.

Elder Li narrowed his eyes.

'Impossible...'

It wasn't a word that the Sect Leader used lightly. For a man who had lived an uncountable number of years, it wasn't something said often. Although he mused that two anomalous events that never occurred during his lifetime had happened in quick succession; the rise of the Heavenly Interface, and this.

The Heaven's Pillar Sect resided in a realm saturated with yin qi, where the chill cut to the bone. Lower-level cultivators risked freezing to death without proper preparation, a testament to the harshness of the land. Yet, this perilous environment held an allure – it was one of the richest locations for gathering qi.

But today, a shift rippled through the air. Snow morphed into torrential rain, melting the icy mountain crowns and unleashing devastating floods. Slopes crumbled in landslides, crushing unprepared creatures beneath the onslaught of earth and water.

A catastrophe of epic proportions.

For the sect's inhabitants, many of whom had never ventured beyond these icy borders, the world was turning upside down. This event was as unimaginable as pigs sprouting wings and taking flight.

But the Sect Leader didn't move from his spot, high above the courtyard where the Heaven's Pillar sect was running amok wondering what happened. He only spoke a few cryptic words.

"Damned brat..."

"Senior Brother! What are you doing?!"

The disciple was startled. Their senior brother had gone mad, running straight towards the dining hall in a panic when the sudden change occurred. A drop of sweat sizzled away on his brow, disappearing in a wisp of steam as the heatwave intensified.

The senior brother in question ran through the sect premises, barreling down and making the world tremor with every step. Despite his large stature, he moved with a speed that surpassed common sense, creating a gust of wind in his wake. The disciple following after him shouted.

"READY THE DINING HALL! SENIOR BROTHER'S GETTING FOOD PANGS AGAIN!"

A wave of dread washed over the sect, a collective gasp echoing through the premises. Some took action, taking advantage of their lighter figure to make it to the dining hall to prepare them for the ensuing disaster.

It wasn't the heatwave that caused the deepest fear, but the monstrous figure rampaging towards the dining hall.

Senior Brother was a force of nature–both figuratively and literally. Standing nearly eight feet tall, his physique could only be described to a massive boulder. Broad shoulders, bulging biceps, and a frame that could easily crush a lesser man...it was a miracle he hadn't brought down any buildings in his frenzied dash.

His once bright eyes, now perpetually hooded, held a strange emptiness. Unkempt hair, and a scruffy beard belying of a man his stature and reputation.

A cruel reminder of the promising young cultivator he once was, now forever broken.

With a roar that split the heavens, the giant crashed into the dining hall. Panic ensued. Disciples scattered like ants before a foot, their shouts drowned out by the terrifying sounds of splintering wood and shattering porcelain. Tables flew, benches were overturned, and trays of food scattered in a chaotic explosion of color and scent.

Senior Brother paid them no mind. His gaze was fixed on the feast with a single-minded intensity that burned with madness. He lunged forward, a gargantuan hand reaching for the nearest plate.

Roast beast, still steaming, disappeared into his maw in a single bite. A whole glazed fish followed, its delicate bones crunching ominously. He chewed and swallowed with inhuman speed, oblivious to the growing mound of empty plates beside him.

Another disciple, braver or perhaps more foolish than the rest, attempted to intervene. "Senior Brother, please! You must control yourself!"

The only response was silence. The disciple, frustrated, stepped closer, assuming the giant hadn't heard him.

A grave mistake.

With a flick of Senior Brother's wrist, the disciple blurred. The unfortunate soul crashed into a wall, his body crumpling like a discarded puppet.

An elder, responsible for overseeing the dining hall, gripped his staff until his knuckles turned white. "This… this is unacceptable," he sputtered, his voice tinged with both fear and sorrow. "His strength… it grows with each passing day. It's..."

Unfair.

That was the closest thing that could be said to describe the broken man.

For all his monstrous strength, the last time that hulking man had stepped foot into the courtyard to train was a decade ago. His robust body maintained itself, evidenced by the raw, unbridled strength that was once thought to usher in a prosperous era for the sect.

Before he had been shattered. Given a heart demon that could never be overcome.

"If it weren't for him!" The elder said, his voice shaking with something beyond anger, unable to speak the person's name without risking Qi Deviation. "Curse him! Curse his bloodline for a thousand years!"

The feast turned into a grotesque parody of itself. A man turned into a ravenous beast, barely pausing to breathe between mouthfuls. Spices and sauces smeared his face, dripping onto his robes in a grotesque display of gluttony. He moved with desperate urgency, as if driven by a hunger that could never be sated.

The elders who came to see the havoc watched in mounting despair. He was their tragedy. Once a beacon of hope within the sect, a catastrophic incident had shattered both his body and mind. Despite recovering physically without any problem, his spirit had been irrevocably broken. All that remained was a shell of a man, driven by base instincts and an insatiable appetite that mirrored his bottomless grief.

"What…what triggered this episode?" an elder asked, his voice hushed. "The heatwave? This…could it be a sign he's drawing near?"

A painful silence descended upon the room. It was the question they all pondered, the question that haunted their every waking moment. They had dedicated their lives to mending the man who once was the rising star of their sect, to returning a semblance of light to his vacant eyes. But as he continued to gorge himself, his monstrous silhouette a stark contrast to the fading sunlight streaming through the shattered windows, they were forced to confront their devastating failure.

Gossamer curtains, diaphanous as spiderwebs, billowed gently in the sudden burst of hot air. Inside the opulent chamber, a gasp of surprise rippled through the gathered jade beauties. They fluttered around their master like exotic butterflies trapped in a gilded cage.

The man, a vision of ethereal beauty with his pale, porcelain skin and hair the color of moonlight, tilted his head back, his crimson lips forming a pout. A single, unexpected crack marred the otherwise flawless surface of his face – a split lip, from which a tiny ruby bead of blood welled. It trickled down his perfect chin, tracing a crimson path before plopping with a soft plop into the jade cup of spirit wine he held delicately in his hand.

"Strange," he murmured, his voice a melodic chime, "even the air itself seems to thirst today."

His words were met with a chorus of concerned murmurs from the jade beauties. Their hands hovered anxiously, searching for a way to soothe their master's discomfort. He paid them no mind. He swirled the blood-tainted wine in his cup, watching it bloom like a macabre flower.

"This sudden heatwave…" he mused, his voice filled with an unsettling undercurrent. "A harbinger, perhaps? A catalyst?"

The jade beauties exchanged nervous glances. His poetic pronouncements, often laced with cryptic meaning, were a source of both fascination and trepidation for them.

Suddenly, the opulent chamber door slid open with a hiss, revealing a figure clad in stark black robes. Their voice held an unmistakable urgency.

"My Lord," the figure rasped, bowing shortly. "The Wing Clan. They've attacked our southern outpost. They are mobilizing towards us with alarming speed."

A soft, melodic laugh filled the room. Xiu Mei waved a dismissive hand, the jeweled rings on his fingers catching the sunlight like miniature suns. "My dear crow," he cooed, addressing the messenger, "do inform them that we are most appreciative of their…haste."

He raised the blood-stained cup to his lips, the jade beauties flinching as the crimson liquid passed over his cracked lips. A single, cherry-red stain bloomed on the pale skin.

"Thank them," he continued, his voice laced with a dangerous sweetness, "for coming to us. It's discourteous for me as a host to keep them waiting, no?"

The messenger, despite his stoicism, visibly bristled at the ease he had taken the news in stride. "My Lord," he pressed, "the situation is critical. We need to-"

"Ah, but haste is of the essence, isn't it, my little crow?" The white-haired man interrupted, his smile widening, though it failed to reach his eyes. "Not because of these…impatient insects," he gestured towards the approaching Wing Clan, "but because the world waits. And we cannot, shall not, disappoint it, can we?"

The murderous expressions of the Wing Clan were visible from here, not even bothering to hide their intent which threatened to crush everyone in the room.

Except him.

In front of the dozens of cultivators aiming for his life, he only laughed. A beautiful and innocent sound. But, it was a sound that struck terror far deeper in the present group than the presence of martial artists converging on their location.

The city would soon become drenched in red.

The Emerald Spirit Forest pulsed with unease. The sudden surge of heat ripped through the verdant expanse like a searing wind, a stark contrast to the usual cool embrace of the ancient trees. Creatures stirred in their nests, nocturnal predators emerging in the sudden, oppressive light. Spirit Beasts, attuned to the subtle shifts in their environment, let out panicked cries, the symphony of life replaced by a frantic discord.

High above it all, amidst the swirling clouds of emerald leaves, the World Tree stood unmoving. Its colossal form dwarfed even the mightiest of its brethren, its roots snaking deep into the earth's core, its branches reaching towards the heavens. Unlike the lesser trees, their crowns wilting under the scorching sun, the World Tree remained stoic. A few leaves, brittle and brown, danced away on the hot wind, but the vast majority held firm.

Within its ancient heart, a consciousness stirred. It was older than time itself, a silent observer of the world's birth and evolution. It had witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the dance of creation and destruction. Yet, even in its vast memory, this event felt…unnatural. The heat, the pressure, it was a harbinger of change, a tremor in the delicate balance of the world.

'Perhaps it was...?'

To the entity, decades were ephemeral. Old monsters, shining empires...they all felt fleeting to the World Tree, which had existed for millennia.

But one figure stood in its recent memory, a cultivator of unknown origin. It hadn't stayed long, perhaps two or three years, before vanishing.

It strongly reminded the World Tree of an ember, but one that, if left unchecked, threatened to consume and turn all to ash.

This heatwave felt so distinct. The towering entity knew what it was.

An awakening.

As the heat intensified, so did the World Tree's resolve. Its roots dug deeper, and its branches spread wider, drawing strength from the very lifeblood of the forest. The radius of the Emerald Spirit Forest shimmered, the effects of the devastating heatwave slowly ebbing away.

It would stand firm, an immovable pillar against the coming storm. It would be the silent sentinel, the unwavering guardian, ensuring the delicate equilibrium remained unbroken.

A wave of warmth washed over Elder Ming, so sudden and unexpected that it stole his breath for a moment. He blinked, the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees momentarily blinding him. Gone was the usual bite of the approaching winter in the Tranquil Breeze Province, replaced by a gentle breeze and a sky the color of a robin's egg.

For a heartbeat, Elder Ming was transported back in time.

He was no longer the village elder, his weathered face etched with the trials of a long life. He was a young cultivator, his spirit alight with the thrill of discovery, the world a playground of endless possibilities. He could almost feel the burning of incense on his hand, hear the resonant chime of an ancient temple bell.

A pang of something akin to longing shot through him. Memories, hazy and fragmented, flickered at the edge of his consciousness. The gleam of a sword, the camaraderie of fellow disciples, the heady feeling of boundless potential...the fragments of a life lost in a single, devastating night.

Elder Ming shook his head, a wry smile pulling at the corners of his lips. What a fool he was, an old man getting sentimental over a bit of unexpected heat. He glanced down at the rows of tender herbs Kai had entrusted to his care. Perhaps this sudden warmth would give them a much-needed boost before the real winter arrived.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Elder Ming knelt beside the fragrant lavender, his calloused fingers gently brushing against the soft blooms. He may have left his past behind when he fled to the Tranquil Breeze Province, burying the pain deep within, but his memories always acted as a companion on his lonely nights.

The Jianghu held no allure for him anymore, not after the tragedy that marred his youthful aspirations.

But maybe, just maybe, this odd heatwave wasn't just a change in the weather. Maybe, it was a sign of new beginnings, a chance to cultivate something new, not just plants, but perhaps...himself.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "Off gallivanting around the Crescent Bay City...Making an old man like me work double-time tending these herbs." He chuckled softly.

With a sigh that escaped his lips like a wisp of smoke, Elder Ming rose from his kneeling position. His muscles creaked in protest, a stark reminder of the years etched into his body.

Elder Ming rose, joints creaking in quiet protest. The years lay heavy on his frame, but today, a lightness stirred within him. He walked into the shop and reached for Kai's meticulously kept notebook. The boy's clear script chronicled the care of each plant, and as Elder Ming flipped through the pages, his eye fell on a section filled with short recipes. Ways to transform the essences into even more exquisite teas.

"Well," he murmured, a flicker of mischief in his eyes, "no sense dwelling on the past. There are herbs to be watered, and perhaps...a new tea blend to experiment with." The thought warmed him, a spark of anticipation chasing away the shadows of old regrets.