Art of Creation [Eco-Cultivation Prototype]

On the second day of instruction, the cultivation fields came alive.

Devor stood at the head of the classroom grounds as each of the 120 disciples took their assigned three-by-three meter plots.

The soft rustle of robes and the muted chatter of anticipation filled the air. Spirits were high.

Today, they were going to plant.

For most cultivators, growing a Spiritual Plant was a basic skill—almost a rite of passage during early training. But what Devor was teaching wasn't basic cultivation.

This was cultivation as philosophy. A path of balance, resonance, and awakening.

Devor had established one guiding rule for the day:

"Each of you must cultivate four different elemental Spiritual Plants. All four must survive—no exceptions."

The assignment caused quite a stir.

"All four? In this tiny space?" someone muttered.

The challenge wasn't physical. The seeds were small. The tools were sharp. The soil had been pre-treated with nutrient-rich Spirit Essence. No—the real challenge was resonance.

Different elemental plants each had their own spiritual frequencies, their own temperaments and absorption patterns.

Even a slight imbalance between them could cause one to dominate the others, leading to decay and spiritual death.

Devor had calculated once: to achieve stable, natural harmony between four elemental strains required at least a forty-square-meter environment—minimum.

Here, students were working with less than one-tenth of that.

"This isn't about succeeding," Devor had said with a small smile, reading their anxiety. "It's about seeing. Feeling. Adapting."

Then he said no more.

He walked among them like a quiet wind, hands behind his back, offering short, cryptic insights:

"Try spacing the roots three finger-widths apart."

"The fire element likes to compete—have you asked why it's facing water directly?"

"There's a reason this species bends toward light, even when the sun isn't visible."

He gave no full answers—only the kindling of insight, letting them discover the fire on their own.

As the students bent to their tasks, Devor turned to observe one plot that stood apart—not because of what was planted, but because of what was flying above it.

Fuyin knelt at the edge of her garden, sleeves rolled up, brows furrowed in intense focus.

Above her fluttered a swarm of insects—glowing softly, each one a unique shade of green, amber, or sapphire blue.

Their gossamer wings left shimmering trails of powder in the air as they danced.

Ten of them. All synchronized. All moving with elegant, deliberate precision.

"That's not wild behavior," Devor murmured. "They've been trained."

As he watched, the insects dipped low and dusted the soil, each release precisely timed.

The fine powder they left behind wasn't just nourishment—it was coded guidance, layered with trace Qi that aligned with the elements of the seeds below.

Some insects released warmth to bolster fire-aligned sprouts. Others cooled and soothed the spiritual soil for water-based roots. It was... genius.

"She's pre-programming the conditions for harmony," Devor realized.

It was exactly what his Venom Domain did on a macro scale—self-regulating evolution guided by knowledge and intent—but here, Fuyin had achieved something similar using live agents.

"A living formation," he thought. "Not crafted with runes or talismans, but with wings and instinct."

Yulin appeared beside him, sensing his stillness.

"She's the only one not using her own energy directly," she said softly.

Devor nodded. "She's not forcing harmony. She's guiding it—using intermediaries that reflect her will. It's cultivation by delegation, but with finesse. If she masters this method…"

He didn't finish the sentence. But Yulin understood.

Fuyin's path wasn't just valid—it was revolutionary.

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"Insects and plants really are nature's perfect match… What if Fuyin reaches my level one day and starts working with Spiritual Trees?"

Devor stood silently at the edge of the field, watching Fuyin and her gleaming insect companions.

His thoughts drifted ahead—not toward the next hour or the next harvest, but toward the future of cultivation itself.

What if she used the technique Juyin developed—the bond seal between cultivator and tree?

Would the Spiritual Tree accept her, with her delicate swarm of helpers?

Or would the insects—so interwoven into the garden's rhythm—be the ones acknowledged first?

It was a wild theory… but not an impossible one.

What if the bond wasn't only between human and plant—but between the plant and the entire ecosystem the cultivator brought with them?

The question lingered.

Soon after, the students began activating their early-stage Spiritual Farmer techniques, pouring energy into the soil to awaken their seeds.

Vials of basic growth elixirs were uncorked and dripped sparingly over the ground.

Small waves of elemental light—green, blue, amber, and crimson—rippled across the plots like waves on a calm lake.

"The harmony won't reveal itself until the roots intertwine," Devor had warned. "That's when the true balance—or imbalance—begins."

As sprouts broke the surface, the first signs of failure began to emerge.

Leaves curled unnaturally. Roots twisted toward unnatural polarities. A plant that looked healthy one moment would suddenly weaken the next, its essence bleeding into the soil.

Devor remained calm.

Thirty failed.

He had expected worse.

Each failure came from students in the lower ranks—Apprentice, Nameless Disciples, Outer Disciples.

Not a single Inner Disciple had failed yet—but Devor knew their true test was still to come.

Where others might have sneered or dismissed failure, Devor moved with quiet purpose.

He crouched beside each struggling disciple and asked questions first:

"What did you feel between these two species?"

"Did you notice the way their roots repelled each other?"

"Tell me what you hoped would happen."

He didn't scold. He listened.

"Try again. But this time… don't place the plants. Let the energy flow guide your hands."

Under his guidance, the students slowly realigned their layouts.

He explained how harmony wasn't about peace—but about purposeful tension. Plants needed opposition to grow strong, the same way cultivators needed hardship to refine their Dao.

"If all your plants are gentle," Devor explained, "they won't support each other. You'll get a weak bloom, and then silence. But too many aggressive ones? They'll burn each other out. You need both."

It wasn't just balance between elements. It was emotional, spiritual, elemental, and biological.

Fire brings life to Earth.

Earth holds Water.

Water soothes Wood.

Wood tempers Fire.

And around and around they turned.

Devor even helped them identify weak points—resonance gaps where energy didn't circulate properly.

He showed them how to replace a single plant with a "mediator species"—a strain that could bridge opposing energies.

"Don't think in terms of power," he said. "Think in terms of flow. Cultivation isn't about control. It's about cooperation."

The spectator formation buzzed faintly as hundreds of disciples and cultivators watched in silence.

To them, this wasn't just gardening anymore.

They saw sword masters watching him.

Array specialists scribbling notes.

Alchemists murmuring ideas to each other.

Because everything Devor said—about resonance, balance, guidance—could be applied to their fields too.

He wasn't teaching farming.

He was teaching Dao.

The Dao of life. The Dao of synthesis. The Dao of control through understanding.

Fujin couldn't stop the flicker of satisfaction that spread across his face as the crowd murmured in awe.

The lessons Devor delivered were far more than just about gardening or Spiritual Plants—they were revelations cloaked in soil and roots.

Each example Devor used—balancing firewood seeds with water blossoms, harmonizing light-absorbing vines with shade-heavy herbs—was a metaphor. One that even non-Spiritual Farmers could interpret.

"He's teaching them how to regulate their own cultivation. That's the real draw."

To the untrained eye, it was just a class on plants.

But for anyone with deeper insight—especially those watching from the spectator formation—the lesson was a masterclass on energy circulation, Qi harmonization, and real-time Dao refinement.

Fujin let out a soft breath and surveyed the swelling crowd. "Still only half full... next time, it'll be overflowing."

Around him, vendor stalls hummed with activity.

Merchants sold quick-reference scrolls on plant resonance theory, talismans with quotes from Devor's lecture, and even novelty items shaped like the Venom Spiritual Tree's temporary bird form.

Each sale—every coin—nudged a small counter in the corner of Fujin's vision upward.

Ching. Ching. Ching.

He didn't just see customers. He saw conversion ratios, revenue channels, and future branches of a growing empire.

And then his gaze drifted to a certain girl in the garden fields.

"Fuyin... you're finally walking your own path." His expression softened as he watched her command her iridescent insects with careful, practiced grace.

Her confidence had bloomed. Her spirit had stabilized.

"That teacher Father picked nearly broke her. Too strict. Too rigid. Too obsessed with perfection."

Devor was different. Malleable, adaptive, patient with others—yet sharp enough to cut through ignorance without drawing blood.

Still, Fujin narrowed his eyes just slightly. "But if she ever surpasses him… if she rises faster… will he accept it?"

Fujin had seen enough of the cultivation world to know one harsh truth: power didn't always bring wisdom.

The higher someone climbed, the harder they fell—especially when pride outpaced perspective.

"I'll be watching you, Devor. Closely." As the clamor of the market swelled, Fujin's focus drifted to something no one else could see.

A transparent screen—faint, ethereal, hovering before his eyes like a divine relic. His personal System Interface.

[Enlightenment Realm Points: 160 / 1000 (to access)]

"Tch. I sold that many talismans, booked dozens of vendor permits, charged premium rates for the formation slots—and I only got ten points for it all?" His brow twitched.

The system rewarded tangible growth—expansion, profit margins, scalability.

Every coin he earned needed to reflect real business development to gain Enlightenment Realm Points.

Fujin's ultimate goal wasn't just wealth—it was transformation.

He didn't aim to peddle scrolls or operate stalls forever.

He wanted to forge a modern cultivation economy—one that could bridge sects, clans, and traditions.

A new foundation built on information, efficiency, and systemic progress.

If the Enlightenment Realm unlocked deeper comprehension, then he needed it—not to compete, but to realize that vision.

Fujin looked up again, his gaze settling on Devor—who was busy explaining energy resonance to a pair of Outer Disciples kneeling by a garden plot.

Calm. Humble. Unwavering.

"You don't even know how much you've helped me, Senior."

Without Devor, there would've been no stage. No opportunity to test his formations. No spectacle to anchor his business experiment.

"Let's stay allies, Devor. Let's build something together."

But as the System Interface glowed faintly, Fujin couldn't help but tighten his grip on the edge of the wooden railing before him.

"Because if we ever become enemies…"

"I swear—I won't lose."