Jian worked quietly a few rows over, his movements precise and deliberate. He rarely spoke, but when he did, his words had a sharpness that belied his quiet nature.


    “If you spent as much time tending the herbs as you do talking about yourself, Wei,” Jian said without looking up, “the garden might actually improve.”


    Wei glared at him, the flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. “Oh, come on, Jian. You’re one to talk. Always lurking around, watching everyone like some kind of spirit beast. What’s your deal, anyway?”


    Jian didn’t respond immediately, his hands continuing to trim the leaves of a Gilded Vine. Finally, he glanced up, his expression unreadable. “My deal is doing the work Elder Hua assigns without killing the plants.”


    Tao couldn’t stop the snicker that escaped him, though he quickly ducked his head when Wei turned his glare in his direction.


    “And you, Tao?” Wei shot back, his voice rising. “What are you laughing at? Still stuck at the first level of Qi Condensation? I bet even those Moonlit Ferns you’re fussing over won’t grow.”


    Tao straightened, meeting Wei’s gaze. “Better to try than to brag about things I haven’t done.”


    The jab landed, and Wei opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp cough from the edge of the garden silenced him. Elder Hua stood there, arms crossed, her expression severe.


    “If you three are done wasting time,” she said, her voice slicing through the tension, “there’s work to be done. Tao, finish transplanting those saplings. Wei, fetch more Spirit Ash from the storage room. And Jian, see to the Water Lily patch—it’s overdue for pruning.”This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    “Yes, Elder,” they murmured in unison, bowing before scattering to their tasks.


    Tao worked diligently, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the seedlings in his quarters. The Veil of Stillness array should be enough to mask their spiritual energy, but the worry gnawed at him. If Wei ever got curious—or careless—it could all come crashing down.


    Jian was another matter. Tao glanced at him from across the garden. Jian’s quiet nature and sharp intellect made him harder to predict. If anyone noticed something unusual, it would be him.


    Later that evening, as Tao approached his quarters, he saw Wei lounging outside the door, tossing a small pebble into the air and catching it lazily.


    “Took you long enough,” Wei said, straightening up as Tao neared. “What are you hiding in there, anyway?”


    Tao’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression neutral. “Nothing. Just tired from the day’s work.”


    Wei’s eyes narrowed, but before he could press further, Jian rounded the corner, carrying a bundle of dried herbs.


    “Leave him alone, Wei,” Jian said, his tone calm but firm. “We all have enough to worry about without you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”


    Wei snorted but backed off, muttering something under his breath as he walked away.


    Jian lingered for a moment, his gaze flicking to the door before meeting Tao’s eyes. “Be careful,” he said softly, then turned and disappeared down the hall.


    Inside, Tao checked the seedlings, relieved to find them undisturbed. Their faint silver glow seemed brighter now, almost as if they were responding to his presence.


    He refreshed the array, his hands steady despite the unease in his chest. Both Wei and Jian posed risks in their own ways—Wei with his meddling and Jian with his perceptiveness.


    Still, Tao couldn’t let fear stop him. The seedlings were his chance to rise above mediocrity, to prove his worth in a sect where he was barely noticed. If they grew, they could change everything.


    For now, all he could do was nurture them—and stay vigilant.