The morning after his ordeal with the Jade Dew Fountain, Long Hu's body felt like a bag of broken bones. Yet, a peculiar energy buzzed beneath his skin – the lingering echo of that vibrant green vein, a tiny spark in the vast emptiness where his cultivation once resided. He traced his raw palms, a grimace on his face. He was an amnesiac, a grunt, a scrubber of spiritual plumbing, but he had found something. A secret.
As the azure light filtered into the Northern Pavilion, the jade doors slid open, revealing not Empress Xianxia, but Master Tian. The High Elder's gaze was as sharp and discerning as ever, sweeping over the gleaming fountain before settling on Long Hu.
"The Empress is pleased with your initial diligence," Master Tian stated, his voice devoid of warmth but also without overt disdain. "However, the spiritual gardens surrounding this pavilion are extensive. Your next task: the 'Weeping Moon Orchid' section. You will prune the wilting blossoms and meticulously clear any invasive 'Night Creepers'."
He handed Long Hu a small, ornate pair of silver shears and a woven basket. "The Night Creepers, though common weeds, drain spiritual essence from the Orchids. Ensure not a single one remains. Begin at dawn and finish by dusk. Fail, and your supper will be... concise."
With a curt nod, Master Tian departed, leaving Long Hu with the strange shears and an entirely new challenge. He ventured outside, the spiritual gardens a breathtaking, overwhelming panorama of glowing flora and ethereal mists. The 'Weeping Moon Orchids' were stunning, their petals shedding shimmering tears of solidified spiritual energy. But beneath their beauty, the 'Night Creepers' were indeed insidious, their dark, tendrilled vines snaking through the delicate orchid roots like shadowy veins.
Long Hu knelt, the silver shears feeling foreign in his clumsy, uncultivated hands. He moved slowly, painstakingly, pulling the tough, resilient weeds. His fingers, accustomed to the raw fatigue of manual labor, soon grew numb. But as he worked, something shifted.
He noticed that where the Night Creepers had entwined themselves, the spiritual energy of the orchids felt sluggish, almost *sick*. And when he cleanly severed a creeper near its root, there was a faint, almost imperceptible *thrum* in the air, a tiny sigh of relief from the plant. It was the same odd resonance he'd felt from the jade vein.
Driven by a growing, nameless curiosity, he started to pay closer attention to the weeds themselves. Some of them felt… denser. When he pulled a particularly robust Night Creeper, its roots surprisingly deep, he felt a jolt. Not spiritual energy, but a distinct *pull* – as if the weed itself resisted with a stubborn, almost sentient will.
He examined the weed. It looked identical to the others, yet this one had been unusually difficult to remove. He snapped its stem. A faint, almost imperceptible spark, like static electricity, crackled between the severed pieces. His amnesiac mind had no concept of cultivation, no knowledge of spiritual plants, yet a nascent understanding began to stir. *These weren't just weeds. They were... spiritual parasites.*
He spent the rest of the day in a meditative focus he hadn't known he possessed. Every weed he pulled, every spiritual parasite he severed, created that subtle *thrum*. He began to feel a faint connection to the life energy of the garden, a reciprocal exchange, however minute. By dusk, his basket overflowed, his body was exhausted, but his mind felt oddly invigorated.
Empress Xianxia, from her private study overlooking the gardens, watched. She hadn't expected such meticulousness. He wasn't just pulling weeds; he was doing it with an odd, almost intuitive precision, as if sensing the very life force of the plants. Her lips curled into a thoughtful, rather than purely amused, smile. *An anomaly indeed. Perhaps there's more to this cosmic jest than mere humiliation.*
As the last rays of the azure sun dipped below the horizon, Long Hu leaned against a gnarled tree trunk, breathing heavily. He looked at the vast expanse of the garden, much of it still untouched. The task was endless. But as he looked at his raw, dirt-stained hands, he felt not despair, but a quiet, tenacious resolve. He was weak. He was nameless. But in this strange new world, even the lowliest weeds seemed to hum with secrets, and he, the former Harem Lord, was learning how to pull them. And perhaps, with each one, he was pulling himself back from the brink of oblivion. The Empress sought to humble him, but he sensed a path hidden within the mundane, a glimmer of power in the most unlikely of places.