Cultivation is Creation-Chapter 201: Spiritual Musician

Su Yue stood awkwardly by a food stall while an elderly woman apparently tried to serve her something. The cultivator's expression was a fascinating mix of politeness and horror as she examined whatever food item was being offered.

"Excuse me. I need to rescue a fellow disciple."

I made my way through the growing crowd toward Su Yue. As I approached, I heard the elderly woman's enthusiastic sales pitch.

"—specialty of our village! Fermented for three full months in clay pots buried underground. Very good for the constitution! Try, try!"

Su Yue held what appeared to be a skewer of glistening, gelatinous cubes. The smell that wafted from it was... challenging, to put it mildly. A combination of sharp fermentation and something else I couldn't quite identify.

"Thank you for your generosity," Su Yue was saying, clearly searching for a polite way to decline. "But as a fire cultivator, I must be careful about—"

"Senior Sister Su," I interrupted smoothly. "I see you've encountered Auntie Zhao's famous fermented bean curd."

Relief flooded Su Yue's face. "Junior Brother Ke! Yes, I was just—"

"One of our village's treasures," I continued, addressing Su Yue but loudly enough for Auntie Zhao to hear. "Though perhaps an acquired taste for those not from our region. Many cultivators find it disrupts their qi circulation temporarily—something about the fermentation process."

"Oh!" Auntie Zhao exclaimed, immediately taking the skewer back from Su Yue. "I would never want to interfere with an immortal's cultivation! Please, please, try my sweet rice balls instead—pure ingredients, no fermentation!"

As Auntie Zhao bustled to prepare a different offering, Su Yue gave me a grateful look.

"What was that?" she whispered.

"Stinky tofu," I replied quietly. "An acquired taste even for locals. The underground fermentation gives it a... unique character."

"I've encountered many strange foods during missions, but that smell..." She shook her head. "Thank you for the rescue."

"No problem,” I paused for a moment. "How are your injuries?"

"Nearly healed,” Su Yue straightened slightly. “The Crimson Sun Breathing Method accelerates recovery, especially for spiritual wounds."

Having seen her in combat, I wasn't surprised. She'd managed to transform herself into living flame during Ke Jun's assault—a technique that seemed well beyond normal Qi Condensation capabilities. That was usually reserved for Elemental Realm seniors.

"And the others?" I asked.

"Recovering well enough. Shen Xuanyu and Zhang Wei took the worst of it, but they're mobile." She hesitated. "They've been asking about you, actually. About what happened at the end."

Before Su Yue could continue, Auntie Zhao returned with a plate of perfectly formed rice balls, their translucent skins revealing colorful fillings inside.

"Here, here! Much better for immortals!" the old woman insisted.

I took one to demonstrate, popping it into my mouth. The sweet bean paste filling was actually quite good—simple but well-prepared. Su Yue followed my example, her eyes widening slightly at the pleasant taste.

"These are delicious," she said, genuine appreciation in her voice. "Thank you, Grandmother."

Auntie Zhao beamed with pride at being addressed as "Grandmother" by an immortal. "Take more, take more! Good for cultivation!"

After ensuring Su Yue was comfortably settled with appropriate village refreshments, I excused myself to continue exploring the festival. The square was now packed with villagers and visitors from nearby settlements, all eager to participate in the celebration.

Several simple games had been set up around the perimeter—ring toss, ball throwing, even a crude archery range using straw targets. Normally, cultivators would avoid such mundane entertainments, but to my surprise, I spotted Yan Ziheng at the ring toss booth, surrounded by curious onlookers.

The Yan clan formation practitioner wore an expression of intense concentration as he held a wooden ring, studying the arrangement of bottles as if they were formation anchors requiring precise placement. The crowd watched expectantly as he finally tossed the ring with a flick of his wrist.

It sailed in a perfect arc... and bounced off the neck of the center bottle, clattering to the ground.

The crowd let out a collective disappointed sigh as Yan Ziheng stared at the fallen ring in apparent disbelief.

"Perhaps the honorable immortal would like to try again?" the stall keeper suggested, offering another ring.

"I don't understand," Yan Ziheng muttered, accepting the second ring. "The trajectory was calculated precisely according to wind resistance and rotational momentum."

I couldn't help but smile as I approached. "Having trouble, Junior Brother Yan?"

He glanced up, a hint of embarrassment crossing his aristocratic features. "Senior Brother Ke. I was merely... observing local customs."

"Of course," I agreed, keeping my amusement contained. "Though I should mention these games are often deliberately designed to be more difficult than they appear. The bottles are slightly wider at the base, making them harder to ring."

Yan Ziheng's eyes narrowed as he examined the bottles more carefully. "A deception! No wonder my calculations failed."

"Not deception exactly," I countered. "Just a challenge. The villagers know the trick—it's part of the game."

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He considered this, then nodded slowly. "A test of adaptation rather than pure precision. Interesting."

Without further comment, he tossed the second ring. This time, he added a subtle spinning motion, and the ring sailed true, settling neatly around one of the bottle necks. The crowd erupted in cheers.

Yan Ziheng accepted their approval with a dignified nod, though I caught the slight smile of satisfaction on his lips.

"An excellent adjustment," I commented.

"The rings too are flawed," he said quietly. "Slightly heavier on one side. Once I accounted for the imbalance and the bottle shape, the solution was obvious."

I had to admire his analytical approach to a simple village game. It reminded me that even among cultivators who might seem one-dimensional, there were often layers of intelligence and adaptability.

It was then that Mother appeared at my elbow, looking entirely too innocent.

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"Jiaxin asked if you'd watch her performance," she said. "They're playing the special composition in a few minutes."

"Of course," I agreed, seeing no graceful way to refuse. "I did promise."

Mother beamed. "Wonderful! And perhaps afterward you could—"

"Mother," I cut in gently but firmly. "I know what you're doing."

She had the grace to look slightly abashed, though not particularly repentant. "Is it so wrong for a mother to want her son happily matched? Jiaxin comes from a good family, she's clever with numbers, and her temperament is sweet without being dull."

"It's not about Jiaxin," I sighed. "She seems lovely, truly. But my path as a cultivator... it's not compatible with marriage to someone without spiritual talent."

"Many cultivators have mortal spouses," she countered.

"Even so, I've been absent for years. Is that the life you want for Jiaxin? Waiting months or years between visits from a husband who ages more slowly than she does, who faces dangers she can't understand?"

The blunt assessment silenced her momentarily. I softened my tone. "I appreciate that you care about my happiness. But right now, the kindest thing for everyone is to focus on my cultivation path."

She sighed, patting my arm. "You always were too sensible for your own good. Very well, I'll stop my matchmaking... for tonight."

"Thank you," I said, relieved. "Now, let's go hear that music."

We made our way to where a small crowd had gathered around the musicians' platform. Jiaxin sat with perfect posture, her fingers poised above the strings of a guqin. When she saw me watching, she offered a small, nervous smile that made me feel a little guilty about my conversation with Mother. I smiled back encouragingly, hoping she wasn't too invested in whatever matchmaking schemes the village women had concocted.

The music began softly—a single flute playing a haunting melody that reminded me of mountain mists and distant peaks. The erhu joined next, adding depth and emotion, before finally Jiaxin's guqin entered with a complex pattern of notes that somehow tied everything together. I wasn't musically trained, but even I could recognize the skill and feeling in her playing.

As I watched her fingers dancing across the strings, I noticed something unexpected—the faintest shimmer of spiritual energy. Not cultivation energy exactly, but something adjacent to it, a nascent talent for connecting with the world's fundamental patterns. She would never be a cultivator, there wasn’t enough sensitivity for that, but even that little bit of sensitivity explained her gift for music.

In another time, another place, she might have found her own fortuitous encounter and have been trained as a spirit musician.

The piece ended to enthusiastic applause. Jiaxin bowed with the other musicians before stepping down from the platform, making her way through the crowd toward us.

"That was beautiful," I told her sincerely when she reached us. "You have a remarkable gift."

Her cheeks colored at the praise. "Thank you. The composition is traditional, but we added our own interpretations. The middle section is meant to represent the battle against the beast wave—did you recognize it?"

I hadn't, but nodded anyway. "Very evocative."

"Jiaxin has always had a way with music," Mother interjected. "Even as a child, she could pick up any instrument and coax melodies from it."

"It's just practice," Jiaxin demurred, though her pleased expression belied the modesty of her words.

"Oh!” Mother said, noticing Father across the square. “I should help your father with the wine distribution. You two catch up."

With that she hurried away, leaving an awkward silence between us. Jiaxin fidgeted with the sleeve of her festival robe—pale blue silk with embroidered clouds.

"So, how long have you been playing?" I asked.

"Since I was six," she replied, relaxing slightly at the safe topic. "My grandmother taught me. She played for the magistrate's household before returning to the village." She hesitated, then added, "If you don't mind me asking... is it true that music is different in the cultivation world?"

The question surprised me. "Different how?"

"Elder Wu's cousin visited a night market in Myriad Paths City. He said he heard music that made flowers bloom and raindrops hang suspended in the air. Was he exaggerating?"

"Not entirely,” I smiled. “There are cultivation techniques that use musical instruments as focuses. Spirit musicians can indeed affect the natural world through their playing."

"That sounds wonderful," she sighed, a wistful expression crossing her face.

"You have some aptitude for it, actually," I said before I could think better of it.

Her eyes widened. "I do?"

"There's a... resonance when you play. A hint of natural spiritual sensitivity. Not enough for conventional cultivation, but if you'd been born near a major sect, you might have been trained as a spirit musician."

"Really?" The hope in her voice made me regret mentioning it. What good did it do to tell her about paths she could never walk?

"It's just an observation," I said gently. "Your talent is remarkable regardless."

She studied me for a moment. "You've changed, Ke Yin. Not just your appearance—though Heaven knows you look different—but the way you see things."

"Cultivation changes a person," I acknowledged.

"Is it wonderful?" she asked suddenly. "Living in a sect, learning to fly and summon fire and all those miraculous things?"

The earnest question deserved an honest answer. "It's... complicated. Beautiful and terrible at once. For every wonder you witness, there's a new danger to face. For every power you gain, there's a price to be paid."

"But worth it?"

I thought about everything that had happened since I awakened in this body—the confusion, the constant danger, the pressure of hiding my true nature while navigating a world of immortal politics and ancient powers, the numerous times that I died. But also the exhilaration of cultivation breakthroughs, the beauty of spiritual realms, the profound connection to energies beyond mortal comprehension, the ability to do things that I could only dream of back on Earth.

"Yes," I said finally. "For me, it's worth it."

She nodded, as if confirming something to herself. "I thought so. You always were different, even as a child. Always looking at the mountains like they held secrets just for you." She smiled, a little sad but genuine. "I'm glad you found your path, even if it took you away from here."

The simple sincerity of her words touched me. This wasn't a village girl pining after a cultivator out of romantic fantasy, but someone who genuinely cared about my happiness.

"I hope you find joy in your own path, Jiaxin," I said. "Your music is a gift that deserves to be shared."

"Actually," she lowered her voice, "Merchant Liao offered to sponsor me for training in White Sky City. His wife's sister runs a music house there, teaching young women to become professional musicians. I leave after the spring planting."

"That's wonderful news," I said, genuinely pleased for her. "White Sky City has a rich cultural tradition. Your talent will be appreciated there."

"I'll miss the village, of course," she continued. "But after hearing your adventures... well, it made me wonder what else might be waiting beyond these mountains."

"The world is vast," I agreed. "And you have a gift worth cultivating, even if it's not the immortal path."

She smiled, fingering the sleeve of her robe. "My grandmother always said music is its own kind of immortality. Songs outlive their composers, after all."

"A wise woman."

"She would have liked you," Jiaxin said. "The new you, I mean. She never had patience for the village boys who couldn't see beyond the next harvest."

I laughed. "I'm not sure the old me could have appreciated her wisdom either."