Art of Creation [Eco-Cultivation Prototype]

Devor spent his first full day in Heavenly Cloud City sampling nearly every street food the summit had to offer—with Venom perched proudly on his shoulder like a self-declared food critic.

Roasted beast meat brushed with spirit-glazed herbs, lotus-root dumplings soaked in warming broth, and even fluffy firefruit buns—Devor gave them all a try, dutifully splitting each meal with the gluttonous bird.

"The spiritual food scene here might actually be better than the sect's outer kitchens," Devor admitted.

Venom only nodded sagely while nibbling on a fried root crisp. "Now if only they'd sell seed-infused tofu... that would be heavenly."

But as night descended, and the silver glow of moonlight washed over the pristine rooftops of Heavenly Cloud City, a different sort of hunger stirred in Devor's heart—curiosity.

"Is Sister Yulin really that busy? This has to be her first time here too, right? What's she even doing all day?" he muttered aloud.

Venom stretched his wings and yawned dramatically. "You lasted less than a day before wondering where she is. Admit it—you've imprinted on her like a baby duck."

Devor gave a dry cough. "I'm just... used to having her around. She's always one step ahead when it comes to new places."

That was the truth. Ever since they arrived, Yulin had vanished like mist in sunlight. No message, no signal, no sense of her aura nearby. She was just gone.

And now, without her around, Devor felt weirdly... unmoored.

He returned to his quarters and tried to dismiss the thought. Sitting cross-legged on his cultivation mat, he focused his breathing, centering his spirit and activating his cycle. His internal world slowly quieted.

Venom, meanwhile, curled up on the pillow beside him, closing his eyes as he split his awareness—reaching back toward his true body, the Venom Spiritual Tree nestled in the heart of the distant garden.

All was peaceful there. The hillside pulsed in perfect harmony.

The Next Morning

Devor opened his eyes to the soft light of morning filtering through the paper windows.

His qi had never felt smoother— a sign that his cultivation method had once again refined itself under the influence of his Ultimate Comprehension.

He nudged the feathery lump on his pillow. "Venom. Wake up."

Venom grumbled something incomprehensible and flopped over.

Devor rolled his eyes, gently lifted him onto his shoulder, and stepped outside.

The Azure Sky Sect's residential courtyard was still quiet, most disciples either in seclusion or out exploring. But one thing was clear—Yulin's aura was still nowhere to be found.

Venom blinked awake mid-flight and let out a soft chirp. "Still no sign of your handler, huh?"

"She's not my—" Devor started, then sighed. "Never mind."

Venom chuckled and stretched his wings. "Why don't we check out the Disciples' Exchange Hall? If nothing else, you can stir up a good debate on spiritual plants. You've got plenty of theories to test."

Devor hesitated for half a heartbeat. "Maybe."

"'Maybe'?" Venom scoffed. "What's the holdup?"

Devor smiled faintly. "No real reason. Let's go."

As they walked through the city's eastern sector, the massive building that came into view was hard to miss.

The Disciples' Exchange Hall stood like a palace from Earth's ancient dynasties—sprawling marble steps, tall stone columns inscribed with flowing script, and archways that shimmered faintly with qi runes. It reminded Devor uncomfortably of a presidential palace from his past life—grand, commanding, and full of expectations.

And now… it was filled with cultivators from across the continent.

"This is going to be awkward," he thought grimly.

Unlike the other Inner Disciples who blended seamlessly into the crowd, Devor's robes marked him as a Divine Disciple—emblazoned with the Azure Sky Sect's golden crest, layered with weaves of jade-green thread that shimmered subtly in motion.

He wasn't trying to stand out. But he did. Just by being him.

As he stepped into the vast hall, he could feel the air shift.

Eyes.

They followed him immediately.

Some furtive. Others curious. A few openly appraising.

There were whispers too—quiet enough not to offend, but loud enough that Devor's keen spiritual perception caught the gist.

"That's him... the Divine Disciple who cultivates poison plants."

"They say his garden's sentient…"

"He doesn't look like much..."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Devor did his best to ignore the attention, but inwardly, he couldn't help wincing.

"I just wanted to see what this place had to offer—not turn it into a parade." Devor thought.

Venom, ever the opportunist, puffed up and perched higher on Devor's shoulder, as if basking in the attention. "You know, if you just flew in riding a giant Black Phoenix, this reaction would've been even better."

"Remind me again why I don't keep you in my spatial ring?" Devor whispered under his breath.

Venom squawked. "Because without me, you'd be talking to yourself right now."

"If Sister Yulin were here, I could at least lie to myself and pretend all the stares were meant for her instead of me," Devor murmured under his breath.

Venom clicked his beak in response, his voice tinged with smug wisdom. "How could that be? Mortals might confuse a glance for interest, but cultivators? With their spiritual senses? Every stare has intent. If they're looking at you, it's because they mean to."

"Quiet," Devor said, low and firm, as he adjusted his robe and stepped across the threshold of the Disciples' Exchange Hall.

The grand chamber unfolded before him—a domed interior lined with floating platforms, each segment marked by glowing sigils representing different cultivation disciplines. Laughter, debate, and the hum of spiritual energy filled the air like an ambient song.

No sooner had he entered than two female disciples from the Heavenly Cloud Sect approached him, their flowing white robes trimmed with blue cloud patterns—a sign of mid-tier rank within their sect.

One of them, a tall woman with a polite smile and a streak of silver in her hair, stopped and bowed slightly. Her eyes flicked briefly to the strange, dark-violet bird perched proudly on Devor's shoulder.

"Greetings, fellow Daoist," she said warmly. "If you're here for the Beast Master exchange, Area B is just ahead. The discussion on aerial spirit companions should be starting soon."

Devor blinked, then glanced sideways at Venom. He let out a small cough. "Ah... no. I'm not a Beast Master."

"Really?" the second woman asked, eyes narrowing in light surprise as she looked more closely at Venom. "That's not a companion beast?"

Devor gave a polite shake of his head. "No. He's not a spirit beast. He's... something else entirely. His true body's rooted back at home."

That should've been the end of it—but of course, Venom had other plans.

"I am Black Venomix!" the bird declared dramatically, wings spreading as he struck a proud, ridiculous pose. "One day, I shall ascend as the Black Phoenix!"

The two women blinked, speechless. One looked between Devor and the bird like she was trying to solve a complex array formation with her bare hands.

Devor sighed. He raised one hand and tapped the bird's feathery head with two fingers.

"Shut it," he muttered. "You're not a bird. And you're definitely not a phoenix."

Venom squawked but wisely kept his beak closed this time—though his smug aura remained entirely intact.

Even though the two disciples were both at the Core Formation Realm, their spiritual perception wasn't deep enough to identify Venom's true nature. They couldn't possibly tell he was a sentient Spiritual Tree, fused with Devor through an intricate soul contract.

Still clearly confused, one of the women tilted her head and asked, "Then... what brings you here today, fellow cultivator?"

"I'm looking for a discussion involving Spiritual Plants," Devor said, brushing off the awkwardness. "Spiritual farming, cultivation theory, hybridization techniques. Alchemy's fine too—so long as it ties into plant-based refinement."

The second woman blinked, her gaze sharpening as her spiritual senses swept over him. What she found made her expression shift into something bordering on reverence.

His aura—usually veiled—was now faintly visible. Unremarkable to the eye. Quiet. Controlled.

There was no flare, no pressure. It didn't demand attention. Yet beneath the surface, it pulsed with something refined—something deliberate.

To most, it would seem like nothing at all.

Most wouldn't understand it. But to those even slightly in tune with the rhythms of the natural world, Devor's presence felt like a sentient ecosystem. A realm unto itself.

The woman's eyes drifted toward the robe Devor wore—light blue silk, its edges finely embroidered with golden vines that shimmered subtly with every movement.

Then, something in her expression shifted.

"You're Devor Li… from the Azure Sky Sect?" she asked, a note of realization slipping into her voice.

Devor gave a polite nod. "That's me."

What followed surprised him. Her posture stiffened slightly—more formal now—and awe lit her face, as if she were looking at a figure from legend rather than a fellow cultivator.

Was he really that well-known? Or was his name more impressive than he realized?

The woman leaned in slightly and lowered her voice. "Green Lotus Fariel specifically instructed us to notify her if you ever arrived at the Exchange Hall."

Devor blinked. "Green Lotus… Fariel?" He frowned.

"She's an Elf," the woman explained, her voice touched with reverence. "A legendary figure among their kind. They say she once stood alone against hundreds of cultivators—right at the borders of Elven territory—until reinforcements arrived. And even then, she was the one who held the line."

"An Elf?" Devor repeated, straightening. That certainly explained the reverence. And now it made more sense—if this Fariel was from the Elf Race, then perhaps it really was nature itself that had drawn her attention to him.

"Alright," Devor said after a pause. "Go ahead and inform her. I'll wait here."

Inwardly, he was still reeling a bit. He'd heard rumors that the Elves had attended this gathering—but the idea that one of their most powerful warriors had requested to meet him was something else entirely.

As if reading his thoughts, Venom muttered from his shoulder, "Told you your nature aura was leaking all over the place."

Devor ignored him.

The woman bowed lightly and led him to a spacious chamber labeled Area D: Spiritual Cultivation & Natural Theory. It was peaceful—sunlight filtered through an open skylight overhead, illuminating the moss-like carpet and a central table made of living wood, surrounded by chairs carved from tree stumps.

The room was mostly empty. A few disciples from distant sects sat in small groups, quietly discussing elemental convergence and medicinal soil properties. Still, the room felt vibrant. Alive.

The woman activated her communication token and sent a message to Fariel, who was currently located in a secured section of Heavenly Cloud City—part of the specially designated territory reserved for the Elf Race.

In the Elven Sanctuary.

Fariel sat in meditative silence within the inner sanctum of the Elven compound, her long golden hair cascading in graceful waves down her back. She wore a pale green Taoist robe threaded with living gold—ornamental vines grown directly into the fabric through natural magic.

She and her kin sat at a long banquet table crafted from a single preserved tree trunk. Delicate dishes made from fruit, nectar, and spirit-veined leaves lay untouched before her.

The peaceful atmosphere was interrupted by a gentle flicker of light at her side. Her communication token pulsed with subtle urgency.

With a composed breath, Fariel activated it, her spiritual sense attuning to the message within.

Her pale green eyes fluttered open—and for a moment, they lost their usual calm.

"Is something wrong?" asked the Elf seated beside her, a handsome figure with jade earrings and a longsword strapped to his back. His brow furrowed slightly—Fariel rarely reacted to anything. Not like this.

Fariel's voice was quiet, but resolute. "Devor Li has arrived. He's at the Exchange Hall."

Across the table, an older Elf raised his head. His long white hair hung in regal waves, and his presence alone commanded the air around him.

Farion—one of the Elf Elders and Fariel's grandfather. He was a cultivator whose spirit had intertwined with the roots of the ancient Forest Temple itself.

He met Fariel's eyes calmly. "Then you must go to him. The Sage believes his path holds something… rare. Unorthodox, but promising."

Fariel stood. There was no hesitation in her posture—only purpose.

"I will go," she said. "If his choices truly reflect what the Sage sensed, then he may be exactly what Sage been searching for."