Art of Creation [Eco-Cultivation Prototype]

Devor pictured the Venom Domain not as a flat field of influence, but as a towering, translucent spire—rising endlessly into a sky of swirling green-black mist.

Each floor hovered above the last, narrowing in size, complexity increasing with height. At its base, the laws were crude and accessible.

But as one ascended—even metaphorically—their precision grew razor-thin, as if etched into the very fabric of reality by an immortal hand.

Of course, it was all just conjecture.

There was no proof that the Domain's law structure worked that way—no ancient diagram or manual to explain it. But the image stuck with him, nagging at the edges of his perception.

"Even if I do figure out the structure of the laws… what can I actually do with that knowledge?" Devor wondered silently.

He could enter the Venom Domain, yes—at least with his spiritual sense. He could observe the threads of law suspended within it like luminous veins across the heavens.

But inside that world, he was like a blind man stumbling through an unfamiliar house. His feet found no floor, his hands grasped no railings. The domain was too vast. Too unrefined.

Even when he'd uploaded his Spiritual Plant database into it, he'd done so instinctively—scattershot, like a farmer throwing seeds on a windless day. There had been no strategy, no guidance. He didn't know what would root or rot.

Back then, it was all I could do.

He remembered the words of Master Nie, when he'd asked what it truly meant to control a domain.

"The right to own it is one thing," the old cultivator had said. "The power to command it? That comes later—once you have the soul and strength to shape its sky."

Right now, Devor could observe the Venom Domain. He could experiment at its edges. But to control its laws? To rewrite them?

That was a dream still far beyond his grasp.

"Still," Devor thought, carefully gathering the loose pages he'd filled with sketches and calculations, "some truths are meant to be studied before they're ever used."

He bundled the notes neatly and slid them into a sealed scroll case. Then he stood and stepped into the Venom Garden to begin the daily harvest.

The plants shimmered with a low, dangerous light—purples, blacks, and eerie greens. Each one was a different experiment, the result of hundreds of micro-adjustments, tests, and fusions.

A few bore small blossoms with thickened stamens—a sign of increased toxin density. Others radiated unstable energy waves, indicating partial mutation.

Despite his efforts, only a handful of species showed consistent paths of trait development. It was frustrating—but expected.

"Compared to the thousands of Spiritual Plant types that exist," Devor reminded himself, "I've barely scratched the surface. Even with a system."

Still, one victory stood out: he had confirmed that feeding structured plant data into the Domain helped. It acted as a form of scaffolding, guiding the mutations away from chaotic collapse and toward specific—if limited—traits.

It was slow progress, but it was real.

After harvesting several dozen specimens, Devor stored them in spatial scrolls and brought them back inside.

He planned to send them to Nyuru later—she was overseeing several cultivation experiments across the sect's outer districts, where younger disciples tested new elixirs and poison-neutralizing techniques.

He sat down at his table, where an open tome waited. It was thick with handwritten notes, diagrams, and coded categories of Spiritual Plant traits—compiled over years.

Flipping to a bookmarked page, Devor frowned as he traced a diagram showing the interaction between three specific plant traits and different types of elemental circulation.

"Aside from combining plant traits," he muttered, "energy circulation plays a huge role in the results. Gentle energy flows stabilize early mutation stages—but they don't trigger dominance."

He tapped the inked page.

"If I want a dominant trait to emerge, something new and absolute… then just balancing the energy isn't enough. I need contrast. I need tension."

What he sought wasn't harmony anymore—it was evolution.

Dominance required pressure. Environment. Purpose.

And that meant his next step would be the most difficult yet.

Devor sat quietly at his desk, quill in hand, as pages fluttered in the soft breeze of the open window. The scent of rich, fertile soil and blooming pollen lingered in the air—earthy, grounding.

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Before him lay the first Poison Codex, a tome now thick with handwritten notes, diagrams, and dead-end hypotheses.

Every line he scribbled came straight from his thoughts—insights drawn from direct experimentation, instinctual theories, and even occasional wild guesses.

"Not everything written here is truth," Devor reminded himself as he marked another flawed idea with a red X.

There were entries he'd spent an entire day refining, only to scratch them out by nightfall after a closer look revealed contradictions in logic or failed correlations during synthesis testing.

After two focused hours of writing and revision, Devor finally shut the book with a tired sigh and leaned back in his chair.

His shoulders ached from tension he hadn't noticed while working, and the room had grown quiet—almost reverent.

"Break time," he thought, stretching until his bones popped. "Or I'll end up mutating myself next."

After a short rest and a cup of warm spiritual tea, he reached into a drawer and retrieved another book. This one bore the same title—Poison Codex—but unlike the first, this was not a study in harmony or optimization.

"This one is for war," Devor thought solemnly.

The first Codex focused on cultivating balanced, high-yield plant mutations within the Venom Domain.

This second volume sought something more aggressive—specialized traits. Traits that pushed a Spiritual Plant's potential beyond balance and into purpose: plants tailored not just to grow, but to serve.

These extreme variants would be the foundation for practical applications outside of cultivation: toxin-imbued textiles, resonance-enhanced formation fuel, flexible but indestructible plant-fiber armor, and even seed-based talismans.

It was a dangerous line to walk. But in this world, professions like Alchemy, Formation Mastery, Blacksmithing, and even Beast Taming all relied on specialized reagents.

"Most people hunt rare beasts for those materials," Devor mused. "But what if I could grow them instead?"

He envisioned a future where cultivators could purchase Portable Gardens—custom-grown plots optimized for specific outcomes. Defense gardens. Medical gardens. Combat supply gardens. Even Stealth gardens, where roots mimicked concealment formations.

This was a vision that would change the world of auxiliary professions.

Of course, to achieve it, Devor knew he couldn't do it alone.

"I'll need Nyuru," he thought, flipping a page to review notes on toxin retention curves. "She's been overseeing a lot of cross-disciplinary studies. And if Fuyin's insects keep evolving... she might play a role too."

The sun had shifted several degrees in the sky before Devor finally leaned back and closed the book, exhaustion settling behind his eyes. He hadn't spoken to anyone all day, hadn't even noticed the passing of time.

"I should sleep. Even cultivators need it when their mind's this worn out." He allowed himself the rare luxury of a full night's rest, uninterrupted by alarms, cultivation cycles, or restless thoughts.

The Next Morning

Devor stepped out of his home and into the warmth of a late morning sun. He stretched slowly, rolling his shoulders as golden light filtered through the thick canopy of his personal grove.

Birdsong filled the air, and the scent of pollen and herbs tickled his senses.

Off to the side, Venom—still in bird form—was strutting around one of the Five Elemental Spiritual Trees, his feathers puffed and his wings spread in theatrical grandeur.

Devor squinted.

"Is he… challenging it?" he muttered aloud.

The tree in question, the Zephyrplume, stood calmly, its slender trunk swaying gently in the breeze, entirely unbothered by the posturing bird fluttering at its base.

Devor sighed.

"Looks like Venom's trying to assert dominance again. As long as he's not breaking branches or biting leaves, I'll let it go."

He paused, studying the interaction with quiet amusement.

"Honestly... he's growing. Slowly but surely, he's becoming more than just a tree with a soul. He's developing a personality. Curiosity. Even... pride?"

These small daily moments grounded him—reminded him that cultivating life wasn't just about plants, power, or even survival. It was about fostering something new. Something that could think, change, and grow.

Devor's body felt renewed, humming with refined Spiritual Essence that pulsed gently through his meridians like a well-tuned instrument.

With a calm breath, he stepped out of his home and into the soft morning glow that spilled across his garden. The leaves rustled with vitality. The plants shimmered with health and elemental presence. Everything thrived in harmony.

"Even if I did nothing… they'd continue to grow," he thought with mild amusement. But old habits die hard.

Though the plants no longer demanded his attention, Devor still walked the rows, crouched by stalks, and touched leaf and stem with quiet reverence.

He had built this place from seed and spirit—it was more than just soil and crop. It was part of his Dao.

He paused beside a mature water-element plant, its stalk swaying gently despite the absence of wind. "Let's see what else you can show me."

With a breath, he activated Spiritual Perception.

His pupils shifted, iris fading into molten gold. His vision deepened, cutting through the visible world to something far more fundamental.

The plant glowed with a calming deep-blue hue, the clear signature of its water affinity.

But beneath that surface… something new.

Thin layers of color spiraled inward—like strata in the flesh of a gemstone—each layer radiating a different essence.

There were faint greens, soft purples, even a trace of amber.

The colors were subtle, blended almost imperceptibly beneath the dominant blue. And at the very core, nestled like a seed of truth, glowed a golden hue that closely mirrored Devor's own energy.

And hidden even deeper—buried like thread in silk—a sliver of white.

"White…?" he murmured, eyes narrowing.

He studied it carefully. It didn't flicker like the rest. It didn't pulse. It was still.

"The neutral base layer—the zero point. This must be the raw, unprocessed energy—the blank canvas everything else is built on."

With a flick of his wrist, he summoned his notebook and began scribbling.

"White is foundation. Coloration shows transformation process. Final hue represents elemental identity."

What he saw perfectly aligned with cultivation theory… and yet it was the first time he had truly understood it, not just read about it in books.

He turned to another plant—a second water-element variety grown in identical soil conditions.

At first, it seemed identical. But the longer he stared, the clearer the differences became.

Its outer aura was also blue… but the internal bands told a different story. Less purple. More green. The golden layer was thinner. And the white thread at its core was faint, almost flickering.

"Same final affinity," he whispered, "but a different composition. Different ratios… different developmental path?"

He blinked, the implications hitting him.

"The same element doesn't mean the same plant. Even identical outer auras can grow from vastly different inner processes."

That meant something radical: two water-element plants could have completely different uses depending on how their inner energy formed.

One might be better suited for healing. The other for cold resistance. Another for movement-enhancement or water-channeling formations.

The color layers weren't just showing energy transformation—they were showing purpose.