Art of Creation [Eco-Cultivation Prototype]

Devor sat down, hands calm on his knees—but inside, a quiet unease churned through his chest. He wasn't nervous, not exactly. But facing Leifu like this—directly, not as a student but as a cultivator walking his own path—felt different.

Across from him, Leifu studied Devor with a curious glint in his eye. He had been watching Devor since his earliest days in the Sect.

But Leifu never asked for thanks. Never called attention to himself. Never once tried to bind Devor to his service with grace-debt or obligation.

And now, watching Devor voluntarily sit across from him—not to beg for knowledge, but to debate it—Leifu felt a quiet satisfaction stir in his soul.

"He's ripening," Leifu thought. "No longer a seed. He's a sapling now—maybe one day, a forest."

Master Nie, seated beside them, remained silent but intrigued. Though he and Devor had shared countless hours together, their exchanges had always centered around technique—cultivation, structure, optimization. Not once had they ventured deep into the philosophy of spiritual plants.

But now? This was the realm of Leifu, the Spiritual Hall Master. And Master Nie was eager to watch.

The two elders were close. Not just in status, but in vision—an alignment of thought refined by decades of shared study. Their specialties differed, but their minds complemented each other like twin rivers flowing into the same ocean.

Devor, seated before them, exhaled quietly.

"May I ask, Master Leifu," he began, "what do you believe is the true nature of Spiritual Plants?"

Leifu's eyebrow twitched upward. It wasn't a basic question. It was fundamental.

Devor didn't wait for permission to elaborate.

"To me," he said slowly, "they're like people. Some are stubborn. Some are kind. Some want to dominate, and others just want to survive. Every one of them has a personality—something woven into their essence."

Leifu smiled faintly, recognizing the sentiment immediately. He'd heard it before.

The Sect had never opposed Devor's beliefs, nor did they try to interfere with his methods. But they had kept watch.

Not to control him. But to understand him.

After all, a Divine Disciple was no mere student. He was a symbol. A seed of the future the Sect was planting in full view of the cultivation world.

"You're talking about trait classification," Leifu said, stroking his chin. "Cataloguing innate tendencies. Instincts. Behavior. But here's a question: is personality something a living being is born with… or something imposed on it by the world it grows up in?"

Devor nodded slowly. That, more than anything, was the heart of the problem.

"If nature is fixed," Devor said, "then my research may never succeed."

"Because you're trying to change it?" Leifu asked, his voice turning thoughtful.

"Not just change it. Transform it," Devor replied. "I want to create a system where a plant's nature can adapt based on the environment I shape around it. A domain that isn't just poisonous or harsh—but fluid. Able to mirror the soul and temperament of the plants growing inside."

Leifu went still, eyes narrowing slightly. "So you're trying to alter the soulprint of a spiritual plant... through environmental stress?"

"Not stress," Devor corrected. "Stimulus."

There was silence. Even Master Nie leaned in now.

Devor pressed on.

"There's a saying," he said, "that those who live beneath different skies think different thoughts. But even under the same sky, two people can see the world in opposite ways. I believe the same is true for plants."

"You want to make them see a new sky," Leifu said quietly.

"Exactly," Devor nodded. "The Venom Domain is still incomplete. But every plant grown inside it mutates—and those mutations differ wildly, even among identical species. It's as if the Domain is trying to learn... but doesn't yet know how to speak the right language."

"Spiritual plants are living beings of nature," Leifu said slowly, his fingers interlaced as he leaned forward, gaze steady. "They may be passive, unlike us, but they are alive. They have rhythm. Memory. Response. If you try to force a change in their nature—if you shatter what they are at the root—they'll collapse under the pressure. Some may twist into madness. Others… simply wither away."

Devor's chest tightened. That was a possibility he had never allowed himself to fully consider.

His entire path had shifted over the years. He had started as a quiet gardener—one who studied each root and bloom with reverence, coaxing harmony through gentle guidance and natural progression.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

But now?

He was something else entirely.

A manipulator of essence. A forger of new principles. A Creator, no longer merely tending the garden—but reshaping it.

"If my garden were a kingdom…" Devor thought "…then I would be its tyrant king."

The thought struck him like a blade drawn across still water, sending ripples across his core. In his pursuit of greater resonance, of deeper harmony, had he gone too far? Had he begun demanding obedience from nature, rather than listening to its rhythm?

He could feel it now—why some spiritual farmers whispered behind his back. Why many revered him, yet refused to accept his methods. To them, he was not a nurturer.

He was a force of controlled destruction.

A wildfire in the shape of a man.

But Devor didn't flinch. Not anymore. He had outgrown the days when he blindly swallowed the teachings of those stronger than him. Now, he listened—but he questioned.

"Maybe I am destroying them," he said, his voice low but clear. "No... I'm not just destroying them. I'm unraveling their being—stripping it bare, disassembling it to its root, and forcing it to bloom into something new."

He raised his eyes to meet Leifu's. "But from the very beginning, my harmony has always come from chaos."

Leifu said nothing. He simply watched. Measured. Judged—but not with disdain. With curiosity.

"Without contrast," Devor continued, "without imbalance, there can be no real balance. You can't forge steel without fire. You can't create a stable system without first understanding what breaks it."

He leaned forward now, tone intensifying.

"The world isn't meant to be quiet. It's meant to be alive. Diverse. Messy. Every profession—farmer, alchemist, smith, warrior—they look incompatible on the surface. But that very difference? That seeming disorder? It's what lets the system breathe."

"Imagine putting an alchemist and a spiritual farmer on a battlefield. They'd be liabilities. But take them off that battlefield, and suddenly the warrior becomes unstoppable—because of what they provide behind the scenes."

He paused.

"So maybe… chaos isn't the enemy. Maybe it's just a sign that something hasn't found its right place yet."

Leifu's expression didn't change, but in his eyes, a glint of approval flickered—subtle, but unmistakable.

Master Nie gave a small grunt of appreciation. "You're still talking about plants, right?"

Devor smiled faintly. "Always."

But both masters could tell—his words extended far beyond flora.

Devor wasn't just reshaping the art of spiritual farming.

He was redefining cultivation itself.

Of course, Leifu wasn't about to make things easy for Devor.

"The world doesn't need us to interfere," Leifu said evenly, his voice tinged with the firmness of long-held belief. "Nature grows, adapts, and thrives on its own. The more we try to control it, the more we distance ourselves from its truth."

Devor didn't flinch. His expression remained calm, but his eyes gleamed with the sharpness of tempered steel.

"Nature alone can't awaken potential," he replied. "Without pressure, without struggle, life stagnates. Only through competition and conflict does evolution occur. Harmony born from peace is fragile. Harmony forged through chaos? That endures."

Leifu leaned forward slightly. "Conflict already exists. Storms, predators, drought—nature creates its own tests. We don't need to manufacture them. And when we leave it untouched, what emerges is purer, more enduring than anything human hands could construct."

Devor's voice dropped into a steady rhythm, his tone almost reverent. "Left alone, nature produces what's meant to be. But I'm not interested in what's meant to be. I'm interested in what's possible."

And with that—words sharpened like blades—the air around them shifted.

The air shimmered with unseen energy.

Above Devor's head, ripples of radiant color unfurled, shimmering in concentric rings. Behind his back, two luminous lotus flowers appeared: one of brilliant gold, radiating order, and the other deep violet, exuding dense, chaotic power.

Around Leifu, the illusion of a towering forest took shape—roots threading through the deck, vines coiling around the air, leaves rustling in a wind no one could feel.

This was no simple argument.

This was a Dao Debate.

A high-level clash of comprehension, where opposing worldviews did not merely collide in philosophy—but in manifestation.

Master Nie, who had been half-listening while sipping tea, stopped mid-sip. His brows lifted in surprise.

"A natural Dao Phenomenon… and not even a formal challenge. Just words," he muttered. "This boy really is something."

He wisely chose not to interrupt. In moments like this, even one stray sentence could sever the growth of insight.

Disciples and elders across the Immortal Boat turned toward the spectacle, drawn by the shift in spiritual atmosphere.

Some bowed quietly in reverence. Others simply watched, knowing they were witnessing the convergence of two vastly different truths.

Devor's aura rose like a tide.

Where Leifu stood was a vibrant, ancient forest—dense with life, balanced, elegant. And where Devor sat, golden light and purple flame danced around a spectral Tree wreathed in poisonous vines and lotus petals.

And still, their debate raged on.

"You say you're nurturing potential," Leifu countered. "But what you're doing is forceful. Manipulative. Is that really cultivation—or just playing god?"

"Then let me ask you this," Devor replied, his voice unwavering. "If a seed never leaves the shade, will it ever reach the sun? I may tear away the shade by force—but I give it that chance. Isn't that cultivation, too?"

Their clashing wills continued to shape the world around them.

From above, the Sect Master Zinqi watched with amusement, arms crossed and a rare grin tugging at his lips.

"He finally started arguing back," Zinqi said aloud. "Good. For too long, he's buried his thoughts beneath politeness."

He could feel it—Devor's perspective wasn't just instinct anymore. It was becoming doctrine. A true cultivator's Dao.

And nearby, someone else was watching.

Venom, hovering nearby in his bird-like form, stared in awe at the vision surrounding his brother's form.

Golden and violet lotuses spun like twin suns, and the shimmering image of a Spiritual Tree swayed behind Devor—its branches etched with both life and venom. Yet...

"Where am I?" Venom thought, frustration tugging at him. "How can he manifest his vision without me?"

After all, wasn't he the source of the Venom Power? Wasn't he part of this path?

With a huff of effort, Venom ascended above Devor—and summoned power of his own.

Drawing on the chaotic harmony they had forged together, Venom shaped his will into form.

A Black Phoenix emerged—born of smoke and spirit, elegant and terrifying. Its eyes burned like twin embers. It spread its wings high above Devor's vision, then spiraled downward—merging into the Tree behind him.

And in that moment, something clicked.

The spiritual vision surrounding Devor stabilized. Grew clearer. Sharper. More complete.

Master Nie blinked in astonishment. "He's syncing with a symbiotic spirit… during a Dao Debate?"

Yulin smirked from the distance. "That's just how those two operate."

From below, dozens of watching disciples held their breath.

In the sky above the Immortal Boat, golden and purple light swirled into a perfect circle, encasing the illusion of a massive tree entwined with a dark-winged Phoenix, lotus petals spinning like stars.