Art of Creation [Eco-Cultivation Prototype]

Devor had spent the past few days immersed in one of his most meticulous rounds of experiments yet—channeling his energy into a wide variety of Spiritual Plants.

The results had been... enlightening.

Whenever he released even a fraction of his energy, the plants would visibly react—quivering as though struck by a gentle breeze, then standing taller, more vibrant.

Their leaves would shimmer faintly, their stems firming up as if they were basking in sunlight drawn directly from his body.

"Just like Venom said," Devor thought, eyeing the nearest stalk of Duskmire Grass, "my energy really does increase their appetite."

But appetite wasn't the same as nourishment. And Devor needed to be certain.

With care and precision, he peered into the internal structure of each plant. Using his refined Spiritual Sense, he observed their roots, stem veins, and internal Qi patterns.

It took several days to gather reliable results.

And the conclusion?

His energy did nourish the plants—but only a little.

While it produced short-term stimulation and visible vigor, the deeper benefits were minimal.

His energy didn't fuse with their core traits or improve their long-term vitality the same way a true cultivation technique might.

That was one surprise.

The next came shortly after.

After their initial energy high, several of the plants began to wither slightly—not because they were dying, but because their vitality had been triggered and then abruptly unfulfilled.

Their appetite had surged, but they had no way to keep feeding it.

"It's like I'm making them dependent," Devor muttered, crouching beside a patch of Ashvine. "That first burst of stimulation… it fades, and the crash leaves them even weaker."

It wasn't exactly poison. But it wasn't harmless, either.

He began a series of comparative experiments—selecting paired specimens of each plant species, treating one with his energy, and allowing the other to grow naturally.

Each test plant was near harvest, which meant any fluctuations in yield would soon become clear.

He monitored their color, structure, root density, and spiritual toxicity index with meticulous care.

And then, without warning, Yulin returned.

She arrived like a soft breeze brushing across the garden.

Venom—now returned to his sealed tree form—chimed immediately at her approach, a warm tone echoing through the Domain like the delighted greeting of a child seeing their favorite older sibling.

"Sister Yulin!" the tree's consciousness pulsed, its voice clear even without a physical form. "You're back!"

Yulin smiled faintly, placing a hand on the bark. "Of course. I promised, didn't I?"

They talked for hours beneath the shade of the World Tree.

Venom's lingering discomfort from losing his bird form was soothed by her presence—her calm, patient tone, the way she explained the world without judgment.

Devor watched them from afar for a time, then quietly turned away and returned to his notes. "She filled in for me again... without saying a word."

Yulin never scolded, never pointed it out. But the truth was clear.

While Devor had offered Venom power and tools, it had been Yulin who gave him understanding. Language. Perspective. Emotional context. A window into what it meant to be.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"She did everything I forgot to do," Devor thought, a bitter edge in his chest. "Without asking for thanks."

After two days, Yulin prepared to leave again.

She didn't explain where she was going. She never did. And the sect didn't ask.

Back in his study, Devor stared at the edge of a paper scroll and whispered, "Why does something feel off?"

Yulin's visits weren't what puzzled him.

It was the sect.

Her movements aren't being tracked. She's not being rewarded. And no one seems to care that she saved a Divine Disciple's life.

That alone should have made headlines throughout the inner court. Instead, there was nothing. No mention of Yulin.

No rewards. Not even access to the higher cultivation zones she should have easily qualified for.

Then there was the Shadow Puppet Pill incident.

Cultivators across several regions had been attacked. Devor himself had nearly perished—and Yulin had intervened to save him.

And yet... no investigation. No reports. Just silence.

Even Azure Peak—where he'd once been secluded—had tighter security than the Vault of Heavenly Treasures. But Yulin had been able to visit him there. Unannounced. Unquestioned.

"That wasn't luck," Devor whispered to himself, eyes narrowing. "That was permission."

Which meant someone at the very top had allowed it.

Devor's eyes drifted across the horizon, but inevitably settled back on the World Tree—a small, unassuming sprout only a few dozen centimeters tall.

And yet, it radiated the presence of something far more ancient than its size suggested.

"There's something more to that tree," Devor murmured, his brow furrowing. "It feels... important."

But as his mind spiraled around the mystery of the World Tree, it circled inevitably back to Yulin.

There was something different about her now—subtle, but unmistakable.

Whenever she spoke of cultivation theory, or of the Dao and the deeper Laws of Nature, she no longer sounded like the soft-spoken Inner Disciple he'd known for so long.

She sounded like someone far older.

Wiser. Weightier.

Her unchecked movement through even restricted areas. The way no one ever questioned her presence—no matter how high the security.

If her background really tied back to the Fu bloodline... the Azure Sky Sect not only knew about it—they trusted her. Or feared her. Possibly both.

Still, he set the thoughts aside with a long breath.

"Everyone has secrets," he muttered. "As long as she's still Sister Yulin, that's enough for me."

He pushed the thoughts away and returned his focus to the work that mattered most—his upcoming Spiritual Farmer class.

A few days later, a group of Outer Disciples arrived at his hilltop residence, robes fluttering in the spring breeze.

One of them, a calm and efficient young man, stepped forward and handed Devor a neatly rolled scroll sealed with the Azure Sky Sect's emblem.

"This is the finalized student roster for your first class, Senior Devor," the disciple said with clear respect. "We followed your guidelines precisely. One hundred and twenty disciples, evenly distributed by division."

Devor nodded, accepting the scroll and unrolling it with a flick of his fingers.

The parchment listed names neatly categorized by rank:

40 Apprentice Disciples

40 Nameless Disciples

30 Outer Disciples

10 Inner Disciples

Seeing it in ink felt surreal.

"These slots filled fast?" he asked without looking up.

The man offered a wide grin. "Instantly. The moment your Art of Creation manual was added to the sect library, your reputation exploded. You're already being called the 'Green Flame Scholar' by some of the younger disciples."

Devor raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. "That makes me sound like some kind of eccentric herb master."

"You're not far off," the man replied without missing a beat.

Devor scanned the Inner Disciple section more carefully now. He hadn't expected such enthusiasm from that tier.

Most Inner Disciples were elite cultivators—more advanced than he was in terms of combat strength and refinement.

And yet… ten of them had signed up to take his class?

"If these slots hadn't filled, I would've passed them down to the lower ranks," Devor admitted.

The man smirked. "You might have to expand the class. There were more requests coming in even after the list closed."

Devor blinked. "You're saying even these ten slots weren't enough?"

The disciple's smile faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression. "That's just the start, Senior Devor. I received direct requests from over one hundred Inner Disciples, asking if more slots could be made available."

The scroll nearly slipped from Devor's fingers. "One… hundred?"

The man nodded. "They're interested. Some are intrigued by the manual, others just want to see what kind of cultivator wrote it."

Devor exhaled slowly, processing the weight of that interest.

These weren't ordinary disciples-they were among the best in the sect. Even a passing curiosity from them was notable.

"I didn't expect this much attention," he muttered.

Whatever the reason, the response was bigger than he had anticipated.

"I've already stretched the class to 120 students," Devor muttered, rubbing his temples. "Anymore and I won't be able to provide the personal guidance I promised."

"That's understandable," the man replied. "Should I relay your response?"

Devor exhaled and gave a small nod. "Yes. Let them know this session is full. But I'll open a dedicated Inner Disciple class in the next cycle."

The disciple's eyes widened slightly, but he quickly bowed. "Understood. I'll make sure the message reaches them."

They discussed a few more administrative matters before the group of Outer Disciples bowed and departed, leaving Devor alone with the scroll still in his hand.

He turned and looked out over the five-garden hilltop, eyes drifting from the rows of experimental plants to the World Tree's tiny canopy swaying in the breeze.

So many seeds already planted. And not just in the soil.