Cultivation is Creation-Chapter 200: Festival
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the village square as I adjusted the midnight-blue festival robe Mother had insisted I wear.
It was one of Father’s finest creations—a simple yet elegant garment with subtle silver embroidery along the collar and sleeves.
"Stop fidgeting," Mother scolded, reaching up to straighten my collar for the third time in as many minutes. "You look handsome. A proper cultivator."
I resisted the urge to point out that "proper cultivator" attire typically involved standardized sect robes designed for combat rather than aesthetics. But seeing the pride in her eyes as she fussed over me, I simply nodded.
"It's perfect, Mother. Father's craftsmanship is unmatched."
She beamed, patting my cheek like I was still a child rather than a Stage 7 Qi Condensation cultivator who had recently helped defeat an ancient demonic entity. "Such a good boy. Now remember, there will be many young women at the festival tonight. It wouldn't hurt to be friendly."
I suppressed a sigh. "Mother, I've already told you—"
"I know, I know. Cultivation is your priority." She waved dismissively. "But even immortals need companionship. Your father and I won't be around forever, you know."
That statement hit harder than she probably realized. Unless I secured cultivation resources that could increase the lifespan of mortals, I would watch them age and die while I remained relatively unchanged.
"Master," Azure's voice whispered in my mind, "are you okay?"
"Just... contemplating mortality," I thought back. "Nothing urgent."
"A fascinating subject for immortality-seeking cultivators," he replied. "Though perhaps not ideal festival contemplation."
He had a point. I pushed the morbid thoughts aside and focused on the present moment.
"Ready to join the festivities?" Father appeared beside me, adjusting his best robe—still humble but clearly his finest attire. "The lantern lighting will begin at dusk, but people are already gathering."
"Of course," I nodded, straightening up. "Lead the way."
The walk to the village square took longer than it might have, as Father stopped frequently to greet neighbors and introduce me—though everyone knew who I was. The "village immortal" had become my inescapable title, no matter how many times I insisted I was just an outer disciple of modest accomplishment.
"Immortal Ke!" Old Wang called out, waving enthusiastically from where he supervised a group setting up tables. "Will you be sharing cultivation stories with the young ones tonight? My grandson has talked of nothing else all day!"
"I'm no storyteller," I demurred, "but I'll do my best."
Father beamed with pride beside me. It was strange seeing how my cultivation status reflected on him. In my previous life, parents bragged about their children becoming doctors or lawyers or getting into prestigious universities. Here, having a son who could manipulate qi and fight spirit beasts was the ultimate achievement.
As we neared the square, I caught sight of Liu Chang surrounded by a circle of wide-eyed children. The massive cultivator had crouched down to their level, his imposing frame somehow made gentle as he showed them something in his palm.
"What's he doing?" I asked one of the uncles.
"Showing the children 'mountain breathing,' he called it. Been at it for nearly an hour now." There was a note of amusement in the uncle’s voice. "Strange to see someone so powerful have such patience with little ones."
I approached the group curiously, careful not to interrupt. Liu Chang held a small pebble in his open palm, and as I watched, the stone began to rise and fall as if carried on invisible waves.
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"The mountains are alive," he was explaining, his deep voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "They breathe, just very slowly. One breath might take a hundred years for a small hill, or a thousand for a great mountain." The pebble rose higher. "But if you learn to feel the rhythm, to sync your breath with theirs..."
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The stone suddenly shattered, reforming into a tiny replica of a mountain range that spun slowly in his palm. The children gasped in delight.
"Can I try?" A small boy asked, reaching out hesitantly.
"Of course," Liu Chang smiled, producing more pebbles from his pouch. "Everyone take one. Now, close your eyes and feel the stone's essence..."
I watched as the fearsome warrior who had stood against Ke Jun's blood techniques now patiently guided children through a basic sensing exercise. Most wouldn't have the spiritual sensitivity to succeed, of course, but that wasn't really the point.
"I'm impressed," I said quietly when I caught his eye. "I didn't know the Immutable Titan Scripture included teaching techniques."
Liu Chang's mouth quirked up at one corner. "My father had three sons before me. I was the youngest, always trailing behind. He would have me teach the children in the clan basic exercises while my older brothers got the 'real' training." A fond look crossed his face. "Only years after his passing did I realize he was teaching me something just as valuable—how to break down complex concepts into simple ones, how to spot natural talent, how to inspire rather than intimidate."
"The best teachers always have hidden lessons," I agreed, thinking about my own masters.
A tugging at my sleeve interrupted us. I looked down to find a girl of perhaps six years staring up at me with determination.
"Immortal brother, can you make the tree again?" she asked, pointing at my hand. "The one with the flowers?"
Word had spread quickly about my earlier demonstration, it seemed.
"Of course," I said, kneeling down beside Liu Chang. I channeled a small amount of qi into my palm, careful to keep the technique gentle and controlled. The tiny seed sprouted, grew, branched, and finally bloomed with delicate white flowers no larger than a fingernail.
"Can I have one too?" another child asked immediately, followed by a chorus of similar requests.
I glanced at Liu Chang, who merely shrugged with an amused expression that clearly said "your problem now."
For the next quarter-hour, I created miniature flowering trees for what felt like every child in the village. Each wanted theirs slightly different—this one taller, that one with more flowers, another with branches that grew in spiral patterns. Simple requests that required just enough qi manipulation to be interesting without being draining.
"They'll wilt by morning," I warned them, "but if you put them in water, they might last until tomorrow evening."
This prompted a mad dash to find cups and bowls for their precious gifts, finally freeing me from my impromptu performance.
"Not bad," Liu Chang commented as we watched them scatter. "You have a natural way with cultivation demonstrations. The control required to limit growth to such small scales is actually more impressive than creating something large and flashy."
Coming from him, that was high praise indeed. The man who could turn his skin to stone and punch through mountains appreciated subtlety.
"I've had practice," I smiled.
"Ah, there you are!" Mother's voice called. I turned to see her approaching with Father, a young woman walking beside her. My stomach dropped as I recognized exactly what was happening.
The young woman—more of a girl really, perhaps nineteen—was undeniably pretty, with bright eyes and a shy smile. She wore her best festival clothes, and the nervous glance she shot me confirmed my suspicions.
"Yin, you remember Zhang Mei's daughter, Jiaxin, don't you?" Mother said, her innocent tone fooling absolutely no one. "She's been helping organize the music for tonight's celebration."
"Of course," I bowed politely, though in truth, the original Ke Yin's memories of her were vague at best. A childhood playmate perhaps, but not someone he'd been close to before leaving for the sect. "It's good to see you again."
"And you, Immortal Ke," she replied, her voice soft but not timid. When she looked up, there was intelligence in her eyes along with the expected admiration. Not just a pretty face then, but someone with a mind of her own. In another life, another situation, I might have been genuinely interested.
"Please, just Yin is fine," I said, uncomfortable with the title. "We played together as children, after all."
Mother beamed at this reminder of our history, clearly taking it as encouragement. "Jiaxin has become quite accomplished while you've been away. She helps her father with the accounts, and her embroidery won recognition at the provincial festival last month."
"Mother..." I began, a warning note in my voice.
"What?" she asked innocently. "I'm merely catching you up on village news."
Liu Chang, the traitor, was clearly struggling not to laugh. "I should check on the others," he said, nodding respectfully to my parents and Jiaxin.
I shot him a look that promised retribution for abandoning me.
Left without allies, I resigned myself to making conversation. "Tell me about the music planned for tonight," I suggested to Jiaxin, figuring this was safe, neutral territory.
Her face lit up immediately. "We've prepared three traditional pieces—'Autumn Mountain,' 'River's Journey,' and 'Spring Planting Song'—but also a special composition for the lantern lighting. My cousin plays the dizi, and with Old Zhao on the erhu... oh, and I will play the guqin," she added, a touch of pride entering her voice.
"I'd like to hear that," I said honestly.
Music had always been something I enjoyed but never had time to pursue properly, either in this life or my previous one. Which probably explained why I liked to relate formations and runes to music theory.
As Jiaxin described the instruments and players, I found myself genuinely engaged. There was something refreshing about talking to someone who had no idea about cultivation politics, someone whose greatest concerns were whether the weather would hold for the festival and if her fingers would remember all the notes.
"Perhaps you could show Yin around the festival later," Mother suggested, not even trying for subtlety now. "I'm sure he'd appreciate a guide after being away for so long."
"While I would apprec—" I stopped mid-sentence as I caught sight of an unusual scene across the square.
