Art of Creation [Eco-Cultivation Prototype]

After agreeing to Aoyun and Fujin's ambitious proposal, Devor returned to his quarters, the distant hum of the Venom Domain still thrumming softly in the back of his mind.

But it wasn't cultivation theories or garden formations occupying his thoughts now.

It was Fujin.

"Is he like me? A foreign soul? Another outsider pulled from Earth into this world of spirit and sword?" He sat cross-legged on a woven mat, then reached into his spatial ring.

Inside were dozens of Communication Tokens, sorted by aura frequency, authority tier, and secrecy level.

But this one was different.

Carved with the Azure Sky Sect's sigil and laced with the Sect Master's personal mark, this token had been handed to him with only one instruction:

"Use it when you need something... not just when you want something."

And right now, Devor needed clarity.

He activated the token and spoke with quiet deliberation. "I need your help, Senior. I'm investigating the background of an Outer Disciple named Fujin. He's planning to establish a viewing array and marketplace in my class sector. I'd like to know where he came from."

He closed his palm around the token. A heartbeat of silence passed. Then two. Then five.

Five minutes later, the token pulsed once—then again, vibrating gently in his hand.

He activated it.

A man's voice—calm, experienced, slightly amused—echoed in his mind. "Has that kid caused you trouble? If you're not comfortable with his plan, you can pull out. The Sect won't back him if you don't."

Devor responded immediately, voice steady but thoughtful. "No, Senior. There's no trouble. His proposal is bold—and surprisingly well-formed. Too well-formed, honestly. I just... want to understand who he is, and where he learned to think like that."

The token pulsed once more.

"I see. Give me a few days. I'll dig into his origins. From what I know offhand—he joined the Sect around the same time you did. Just... showed up one day and passed the Outer Disciple exam on his first try. Quiet kid. Smart. Good at reading people."

That tracked.

Too well.

Devor frowned slightly as he ended the transmission.

He tucked the token away and leaned back against the warm wooden wall of his residence.

Overhead, filtered sunlight danced through the leaves of the Venom Spiritual Tree, casting shifting shadows across his desk.

If Fujin really is from Earth... does he have a system, too?

That thought alone sent a quiet ripple of anxiety through him. He reached over and pulled out a scroll—his notes for the next cultivation theory class.

But his gaze was distant. "My system is passive—but efficient. I learn, and it refines. I observe, and it organizes."

It had never handed him quests. Never given him cheat codes. It offered no artificial power.

But in return, it had sharpened his comprehension to monstrous levels. He could grasp insights from a single leaf falling. He could sense the genetic deviation of a sprouting seed at a glance.

But what if his system is different? What if it grants power in exchange for performance?

A reward-based progression system. A quest engine. Instant breakthroughs in exchange for challenges, tasks, or contracts.

Devor had read those stories before. He knew the archetype.

Those people rose fast. Dazzling meteors that lit the sky.

But they often burned out just as quickly.

"If he really is like me," Devor murmured aloud, "then his strength will hinge on his restraint."

He stood, pacing slowly.

"If he leans too heavily on whatever's helping him… he'll never learn how to survive without it. And the first time it fails—he'll fall."

And Devor?

He had a system. But he had never leaned on it.

He'd tilled the soil with his own hands. Refined Spiritual Plants with nothing but intuition and sweat. Bled in fields and gardens alike.

His foundation was alive, layered in effort and understanding. No shortcut could replicate that.

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"So if Fujin's system feeds him," Devor said quietly, "and mine teaches me... then in the long run—"

He stepped back to the desk and unrolled his teaching plans. "—I have nothing to fear."

The following morning, the Azure Sky Sect made it official.

Fujin was granted full permission to build the spectator field adjacent to Devor's class—and more than that, he was authorized to charge entry fees to any disciple who wished to observe.

Devor, meanwhile, watched as Fujin moved into action without hesitation.

Under his supervision, Fujin assembled a team of skilled Rune Formation experts—Outer and Inner Disciples alike—forming what looked like a professional deployment unit.

Devor had expected hired help. He hadn't expected Fujin himself to be among them—on his knees, sleeves rolled up, sketching arcane glyphs into the soil with flawless precision.

"The way he moves," Devor thought, eyes narrowing. "He's not just a planner. He's trained. Thorough. Experienced."

This wasn't theoretical knowledge. This was someone who had learned the art of runes from the ground up—perhaps even before he ever joined the Sect.

More suspiciously, the work was fast. Too fast.

Instead of constructing each formation from scratch, Fujin had brought pre-made formation cores, carefully sealed within jade tiles. All that remained was linking them together and completing the external glyphs.

By nightfall, the entire formation array—complete with projection visuals, sound filtration, and tiered viewing wards—was complete.

Devor had to admit, it was impressive. Efficient. Purposeful.

And a little unnerving.

"No Outer Disciple should be this competent across so many disciplines," Devor thought. "Either he has help—or he's more than he seems."

By the next morning, vendor stalls had begun appearing around the perimeter of the viewing field. Spiritual snacks, quick-refining pills, artisan talismans—even formation diagram scrolls were on sale.

Devor overheard whispers.

"Fujin's charging rent for the vendor spots. Price scales depending on how close you are to the front."

Every Spiritual Stone spent here turned into pure profit—split evenly between Fujin, Devor, Aoyun, and the Sect.

But for Devor, the money was secondary.

When the first day of class finally arrived, Devor stood atop the raised platform in the center of the teaching field.

Before him, a line of one hundred and twenty students waited silently, each standing beside their assigned garden plot.

The scent of spiritual soil and morning dew lingered in the air, rich with earthy promise.

But when Devor turned toward the viewing area behind him—

He froze. "What…?"

A wave of awe washed over him.

The crowd was massive. Not just a few curious onlookers. Hundreds. Maybe even over a thousand. Disciples from every tier—Nameless, Outer, Inner—and even a few Core Disciples.

They filled the terraces of the viewing formation, eyes sharp, some already taking notes, others discussing quietly among themselves.

A soundstone recorder buzzed faintly at the center, inscribing every word and image.

"I'm not just teaching a class anymore," Devor realized. "I'm leading a demonstration."

A ripple of spiritual tension rolled over him.

And just then, a familiar voice reached his ear—soft, playful.

"Well, well. Becoming quite the sensation, aren't you?"

He turned to see Yulin, her arms folded, black eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Sister Yulin? I thought you were busy," Devor said, blinking.

"I am," she replied, stepping up beside him, "but I figured I could delay a little. I had to see this with my own eyes."

Her gaze swept over the crowd, the formations, the eager students.

"This spectator model is genius," she said softly. "You'll be able to share your Dao faster—and still keep the hands-on teachings intact. I can see why Fujin's idea caught the Sect's attention."

Devor nodded, still quietly processing the scale of what was unfolding.

"If it weren't for Aoyun bringing him here, I might've dismissed the whole thing. But now…" He looked out over the crowd again.

It wasn't about the profits. It wasn't even about fame.

This… this is opportunity. To teach. To shape. To leave something behind.

As Devor and Yulin chatted, a familiar presence emerged at the edge of the formation field.

Fujin walked toward them at a casual pace, his posture composed, steps precise. Once he reached them, he clasped his hands together and bowed lightly.

"Greetings, Senior Devor. Senior Yulin."

"Fujin," Devor returned with a nod, "did everything go smoothly with the vendor placements?"

"Perfectly, thanks to your specifications," Fujin replied. "I've assigned the stalls based on spiritual sensitivity and audience flow. Merchants are… quite motivated, given the turnout."

He handed Devor a small piece of reinforced paper etched with glowing runes, delicate as silk yet humming with restrained power.

"This is for you, Senior."

Devor took it carefully, brow furrowing. "A Rune Formation? What does it do?"

"It links to the primary projection array," Fujin explained. "Once activated, it'll capture your voice and image and broadcast it across the viewing wards. Think of it as… a mirror that listens."

He gestured to the paper's faint violet sheen. "Just place it on your skin and infuse it with a sliver of Qi. The Rune will bind to your body automatically."

Yulin stepped forward, intrigued. "That simple? No binding array? No anchoring glyphs?"

"It's a prototype," Fujin admitted with a modest smile. "Still a bit resource-intensive, and not very scalable—yet. But for limited use, it's effective."

Devor nodded and pressed the paper to his wrist.

The Rune flared briefly, then melted into his skin like ink sinking into parchment.

It felt warm. Familiar. Fleetingly nostalgic.

"It's like a temporary tattoo," Devor thought, a quiet ache rising from some long-forgotten part of him. "Like something I saw back on Earth."

The way Fujin thought. The way he constructed solutions. The efficient layering of formations with commercial viability…

It was almost too familiar.

He wasn't just mimicking Earth tech—he was remembering it.

Fujin offered a final bow. "I'll return to the spectator ward. Everything's ready on my end. May your class flourish, Senior."

He turned and walked off, vanishing into the crowd like a pebble dropped into still water.

Devor watched him go, silent.

Yulin raised an eyebrow. "You're not usually that quiet when someone's that helpful. Jealous of his Runes?"

Devor smirked faintly, but his eyes remained distant. "No. I was just thinking... This world feels quiet now. But when too many seeds are sown in the same garden... eventually, the roots start to tangle."

Yulin tilted her head. "You sound like you're expecting trouble."

"Not trouble," Devor murmured. "Just… inevitability."

Because he couldn't shake the feeling anymore.

Fujin might be like him. And if there were two of them… there could be more.

Others who had awoken in this world with foreign memories and borrowed knowledge. Other minds shaped by science, strategy, and survival games—transported into a world of swords and spirits.

And if they had systems? Systems unlike his—reward-based, power-focused, aggressive?

Then one day, those systems might drive them into conflict. Not because they wanted to. But because they were designed to win.

"When they bloom," Devor said quietly, "they won't just grow. They'll compete."

Yulin's expression grew thoughtful, her smile fading into something more serious.

"Then let's hope your roots go deep enough to withstand the storm."