Chapter 89 (Patreon)

Chen Haoran left the Ever Spring Pavilion with a whistle and a spring in his step. An easy one hundred thousand taels would do that to a man.

“Have a nice day, honored customer,” Chanchu called out from behind him. “I’ll have your purchases delivered to your address as soon as possible. We look forward to you purchasing with us in the future. ”

Chen Haoran would have almost believed the merchant was saying it out of the kindness in his heart if it weren’t for the beaming smile on his face that he couldn’t seem to control. Chen Haoran and Phelps waved at Chanchu simultaneously. He looked at the sloth, the sloth looked at him and squealed. Chen Haoran couldn’t help the burst of laughter that followed.

“Pardon me if I’m being presumptuous, sir,” Chanchu said, his smile replaced with a mask of professionalism. He leaned in to whisper. “It’s not uncommon for a cultivator to spend 20 thousand taels in one transaction here in Daqing. There aren’t nearly as many who would do so for their animal companions, however.”

Chen Haoran blinked. He looked at Chanchu with new eyes. The man was more perceptive than he thought. “I appreciate you telling me that. I look forward to doing business with you again.”

He meant it too.

——————

He returned home after purchasing some groceries and other essentials. Despite the detour, he still arrived far quicker than he had originally anticipated. The Ever Spring Pavilion really saved him quite a bit of time.

Phelps squealed.

Chen Haoran scratched the sloth’s chin. “Don’t worry. You’ll be eating as much as you want later.” He grabbed Phelps by the scruff of his neck and felt him loosen his grip. “Fly.”

He threw Phelps off his back and into the air. Phelps canceled the force with his floating power and rolled his way through the air to the willow tree in the corner of the yard. He grasped a branch and flipped until he was hanging underneath it.

“For a cave boy, you sure adjusted to trees quickly, huh?” Chen Haoran asked.

Phelps squealed before pulling another branch close to him to snack on its leaves.

“Don’t eat too much now.” Chen Haoran called behind him as he placed today’s purchases inside. “I’m going to feel bad if you give yourself a stomachache later.”

Phelps seemed content to ignore his warning. Oh well. He would learn.

Chen Haoran stepped to the center of the courtyard and pulled off his robes. He paused before he cast the white silk to the ground and observed it in his hand. It was clean; he could give it that much credit, at least. He ran his hand down one sleeve and felt its texture, rougher than he remembered, and pulled at a loose thread hanging from the end of the cuff. In the stitching around the armpit, there was a small hole. It had seen better days, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say it was the last one to survive the worst days. Between surviving in the Spa Caverns and journeying to Zumulu, he was lucky to have this much left.

Chen Haoran sighed and rubbed his eyes. How foolish of him. He was about to settle for less. “I came for a mansion. Not a hut.” A wardrobe. Not a change of clothes.

He neatly folded the robes and placed them to the side, then retrieved from his storage bag an inconspicuous scroll. Faded green words were painted along its length.

Scattering Petal Palm

Chen Haoran rolled open the scroll and began to learn.

—————

Water. Among the five elements, it was collected by Metal and nourished Wood. It extinguished Fire and was obstructed by Earth. As a Water Attribute Spirit Root, Chen Haoran could wield the energies of Metal and Wood through the elements’ beneficial relationship.

That did not mean it was easy to do, however.

Under the hot sun of Zumulu, Chen Haoran attempted to cycle his qi in the way demanded by the scroll while moving his body in accordance with the martial forms depicted within it. Practicing the Scattering Petal Palm required visualizing one’s hands becoming countless petals drifting along the wind. Everything he did now was an attempt to feel that visualization with his entire body. It was so much like his attempts at practicing the Canyon Carving Sword and so unlike it at the same time.

For starters, his predecessor’s body had experience with practicing the Stone Carving Sword for all that he didn’t remember it. Despite what he thought, he hadn’t been starting from zero like he was now. Sharing the same element as the technique was just icing on the cake at that point.

He ceased his useless motions and staggered over to the willow tree. Phelps squealed at him from the branches. He rested his palm against the tree’s trunk and cast his sense out, hoping to glean some secret of Wood energy through the bark.

He felt a smidgen of qi. That was it. Chen Haoran sighed and slumped against the trunk.

He was tempted to pull out his scimitar to try and feel Metal energy through the White Tyrant’s Harmonization. It was only a temptation, however. The obvious collateral damage that would occur killed the idea as soon as he had it. It most likely wouldn’t have been that helpful anyway. Metal chopped Wood, he’d be going even further away from the feeling he was trying to emulate if he did that.

Feeling.

It was interesting to think about now that he had experience trying to achieve Harmonization. Every technique and method he’d used so far required him to visualize something as part of the learning process. When he tried to Harmonize with the Canyon Carving Sword, it essentially was the same, just… harder? With more feeling? Something in that vein. It had some interesting implications that cultivation involved training to emulate things, as Xie Jin had put it, greater than themselves. Scattering petals was Profound-rank. A river dragon and a canyon river were Earth-rank. From where he stood, it looked like the greater the visualization, the greater the rank. The difficulty of comprehension obviously rose with the increase in rank.

So why was it that he, a man with a dragon racing through his veins and a god’s image in his sword, couldn’t mimic flower petals?

Chen Haoran shot up with renewed energy and assumed the form of the Scattering Petal Palm. He would master at least the barest trace of it today, or he would collapse. He would accept nothing less. The image of scattering petals in his mind was a vague one. What kind of petals? A strong wind blowing off a daisy’s petals? A rain of rose petals in the wake of a marriage? How did they fall? In what way? What pattern? Who would even remember something like that even if they did observe it? Not him. Perhaps that was why he was struggling. The visual was the foundation, and his was as weak as it came. He needed a stronger one, something he could feel with his whole body.

A more personal image, then.

Imaginary petals became palms glowing green. Instead of wind, they flew with the relentless force of qi. Behind the storm, he saw the flower they fell from. Lan Yao stared at him with death in her eyes. A long bloody line was carved across her chest.

A figment of his imagination that she was, her palms still left his body echoing with phantom pain where they struck. It was the single most vicious beating he had received in his life and one he would not soon forget. His own palms rose in turn as he tried to mirror her strikes, hitting one palm for every five blows she landed on him.

Chen Haoran wasn’t sure if he was faithfully remembering Lan Yao or selling himself short.

“Merely a reflection of reality,” the phantom Lan Yao said. “Even conjured as I am by your thoughts, I am superior. Accept it.”

“This is the most fucked up game of patty cake I’ve ever played.” He was even making up dialogue now.

Lan Yao sent a flurry of palms into his chest, and despite himself, he stepped back. “No less ridiculous than trying to steal my family’s legacy by trying to mimic me.”

“It’s working.” He could feel it in his qi. The water was churning.

Lan Yao scoffed. “You are not my equal.” As if to prove her point, she deftly twisted her palms and left him hitting air. The feeling weakened.

“You’re right,” he replied. He turned his palm into a hook to Lan Yao’s temple. “I won, after all.”

She guided the strike away in a motion he wasn’t able to track. “I stood. You knelt. No amount of lucky epiphanies will ever change that fact.”

“I’m alive. You’re dead.”

“That can always change.”

Lan Yao’s voice suddenly became deeper. Her delicate palm reached out to grasp his neck and as it did, it grew larger and rougher. The qi behind it ballooned to a Liquid Meridan’s overwhelming force. A man’s hand clutched Chen Haoran’s throat and he watched in horror as Lan Yao’s proud beauty wilted into Elder Lan Qianbei’s pitiless gold eyes.

Before Lan Qianbei could speak, a single leaf fell. The sudden intrusion of reality broke the spell over Chen Haoran. What he did next was part instinctual and all cathartic.

He swung out his hand toward the leaf, catching it in his palm, and slapped Lan Qianbei in the face.

The elder looked at him in shock. As if the very idea that Chen Haoran would do such a thing was unbelievable. More leaves fell down, and Chen Haoran didn’t stop. His palms followed each falling leaf and inevitably struck Lan Qianbei. The specter raised glowing green hands to protect himself. When Chen Haoran slapped those palms away, it was Lan Yao standing before him once more.

“No,” she growled. “No!”

Her palms became a whirlwind, and Chen Haoran matched her blow for blow. There was a pressure building in his hands. His qi twisted and churned with every palm strike, the force of the blows crushing it further and further until, finally, the pressure gave way. In each hand, a seed of green qi was formed. His water qi immediately rushed into the green qi, and the seed sprouted. The green qi grew and spread throughout his hands like branching roots, stretching across his palms and up through his fingers.

His palms glowed blue-green.

“Damn you!” Lan Yao roared.

Chen Haoran smiled. “Go whine in hell.”

He lashed out like a rain of falling leaves, and Lan Yao’s phantom body broke apart in a scattering of orchid petals. The light in his palms went out as soon as she disappeared, and Chen Haoran snapped back to reality. His body was soaked in sweat, and his lungs burned with every breath he took.

He looked up.

Phelps was still hanging in the willow tree, gorging himself on leaves. He pulled the branch closer, knocking loose more leaves that fell and landed in Chen Haoran’s hair.

Chen Haoran wanted to laugh, but his lungs wouldn’t let him. He fell to the ground instead.

“Never lose that appetite, Phelps,” he said in a raspy voice.

Because he was going to make sure the sloth could eat anything he ever wanted and then some.