When Lu Chenyuan declared they would try to "speak to the forest itself," a deep, uncomfortable silence settled over the old hall. The kind of silence that makes one hear the heartbeat of fear. Uncle Liu sat frozen, as though Chenyuan had suggested they reason with lightning itself.
"Speak... to the... vine-squirrel?" Uncle Liu's voice cracked under the weight of disbelief. "Chenyuan, that creature—it's a spirit beast! What if this time it sees us not as guests, but intruders? What if it defends its moon-kissed tears?"
Lu Chenyuan met his gaze calmly, though he shared the unease. "It didn't attack us before. It recognized Shen Yue's affinity—it showed awareness. Maybe even... understanding. This time, we won't approach as scavengers, but as cultivators seeking harmony. The Moonpetal Leaf needs purer Wood Essence than we can provide. The Sprite may not help freely—but it might if we offer something meaningful in return."
"Offer?" Uncle Liu echoed incredulously, his eyes darting about the bare hall as though something valuable might materialize from the worn stones. "Chenyuan, we have thirty-five spirit stones we can't afford to spend, and four pills that stand between you and stagnation! What could we possibly give a forest guardian?"
Lu Chenyuan had been asking himself the same question for days. But slowly, an idea had begun to form. Not a plan of wealth or power—but of resonance, of meaning.
"A spirit beast like the Wood Sprite doesn't think like us," he said slowly. "It won't value gold or refined pills. It lives by the rhythm of nature—of growth, purity, balance. We must offer something it understands, something alive, something it can feel."
He turned to Shen Yue, who had remained silent, eyes searching his face. Her look held uncertainty, yes—but also a quiet readiness.
"Your Green Dew Grass," he began, "has flourished under your care. You've drawn out its full potential. We'll choose the most vital blades—the ones that pulse with Qi. And then... you'll infuse them. Not just with your Wood Spirit Qi, but with the resonance you share with the Moonpetal Leaf. Let it carry your bond with the celestial, as a message from one tender of life to another."
Shen Yue's eyes widened a little, then softened. "I can do that. The Grass already responds when I channel the Moonpetal's aura. It might not be much... but it will be honest."
Lu Chenyuan nodded. "And it will show we don't come to take—but to share."
He turned back to Uncle Liu. "Second, one of the Qi Nourishing Pills."
The old man flinched. "That's one-fourth of your entire reserve!"
"I know. But we won't offer it as it is. Shen Yue will refine it. Slowly, carefully, over days. She'll infuse it with the same energy she uses to nurture the Moonpetal—make its essence softer, greener, more... living."
Uncle Liu opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again when Shen Yue gently spoke: "It might work. My control is better now. I can sense the shape of the pill's Qi, and guide it... not change it entirely, but harmonize it. If I'm careful."
Her Wood affinity had grown stronger with every passing day. Her awakening had reached 69%, and her touch could now coax vitality even from struggling weeds.
"And last," Lu Chenyuan said, voice quiet but firm, "a promise. If the Sprite grants us its aid—guidance, essence, or simply tolerance—we'll offer part of the Moonpetal's future yield. A leaf, a seedling, whatever it deems worthy. Returned to the forest, as a pact between us."
Uncle Liu blinked, his outrage slowly giving way to wary wonder. It sounded less like a desperate gamble and more like... a diplomatic offering. Strange, yes, but not foolish.
Still, the old man fretted. "And what of danger? That Sprite is powerful, boy. And the forest... it doesn't like trespassers."
Then, a spark of manic inspiration lit his eyes. "Wait! Your great-grandfather once mentioned an ancient Lin Clan whistle—used to calm agitated beasts. Said if blown with the proper... uh... sincerity of spirit, it could soothe even a Hill Tiger! I think I remember the tune…"
He pursed his lips and unleashed a string of ear-mangling squeals, sharp enough to make Lu Chenyuan wince and Shen Yue hastily cover a laugh.
"A... most formidable whistle," Lu Chenyuan said diplomatically. "Let's save it for a true emergency."
He made a mental note to ensure Uncle Liu never attempted that again. It might summon half the forest in confused outrage.
Preparations consumed three days.
Shen Yue harvested the most vibrant Green Dew Grass, each blade heavy with Qi. She spent hours each day coaxing the Moonpetal's aura through her spiritual energy into the leaves, until they glowed faintly with a verdant shimmer and gave off a fragrance so clean it seemed to cut through the air itself.
The pill, meanwhile, sat nestled between her hands as she meditated with it, guiding her Wood Spirit Qi into its core—subtly altering its essence, smoothing its sharpness, enhancing its resonance with life. By the third day, Lu Chenyuan could sense the change: it no longer felt like a pill meant to fortify, but like something that could nourish roots.
While she worked, Lu Chenyuan refined their alibi. They would tell Uncle Liu they were heading to a remote valley in search of repair clay—a plausible, mundane errand for a poor clan. If Shadow Hand Xue was watching, it would give them a cover for their absence.
On the morning of their departure, the sky was pale blue, the breeze carrying a hint of pine and cold dew. Uncle Liu handed them a pouch of dried spiritual millet, fussing over the ties of their travel pack with trembling fingers.
"Take care, Young Master, Mistress Shen Yue," he murmured. "Come back swiftly. This old heart... doesn't beat as boldly as it once did."
Lu Chenyuan clasped the old man's shoulder. "We'll be careful. Hold the courtyard while we're gone. And please... no whistling."
Shen Yue gave Uncle Liu a kind smile. "We'll return, Uncle. And perhaps, with the forest's blessing."
They left just as sunlight touched the peaks of the Serpent's Coil Hills, slipping into the wild with the quiet grace of seasoned hunters.
Lu Chenyuan led them with practiced vigilance, alert for signs of Li Clan patrols or the silent predator he had once sensed near the moss grove. The forest, dense with Wood Qi, felt hushed, as though waiting.
The deeper they went, the more Shen Yue's demeanor changed. Her steps slowed. Her eyes half-closed. She reached out with senses attuned to life, to breath, to roots.
"This place..." she whispered as they approached the grove. "It remembers us."
The air here was different—cool and still, yet alive. The Wood Qi didn't simply saturate it—it shaped it. The trees leaned subtly inward, branches still, as if holding their breath.
"I don't sense the Sprite," Shen Yue murmured, slipping her fingers into Lu Chenyuan's. "But the grove... it feels expectant."
He nodded. His own spiritual sense confirmed the stillness was not emptiness—but anticipation.
"Then let us begin with respect," he said. "Let it know we've come not to take... but to ask."
Shen Yue stepped forward into the grove, unwrapping the cloth of Green Dew Grass with reverent care. The blades gleamed in the light like polished jade, pulsing faintly.
She knelt beside the ancient roots where they had once found the Silverthread Moss, laying the offering gently upon the ground. Then, with both hands, she opened the carved wooden box holding the refined pill. A subtle warmth drifted from it, mingling with the grove's breath.
Closing her eyes, Shen Yue reached inward—into the still-tender bond she shared with the Moonpetal Leaf. She called upon the essence of nurturing, of gentle growth, and let that feeling bloom outward through her Qi.
Lu Chenyuan stood just behind her, watching the grove.
Still no sign of the Sprite.
But something had shifted. The air thickened slightly, like dew condensing before rain. The trees no longer merely stood—they listened.
He felt it then: not sight, not sound—but attention. A presence, as old as bark and as curious as dawn, turning slowly toward them.
They had entered a place where words held no power—only sincerity.
And so, with hearts laid bare and their humble offerings resting at the roots of a forgotten sanctuary, the young patriarch and his wife waited.
Not as beggars.
But as those who sought to honor the forest—and perhaps, in turn, be accepted by it.