Cold, wet mud pressed against Yan Zheng's cheek, thick and smelling of copper.
Screams ripped through the night, jagged and filled with terror.
Orange firelight licked at the dark sky, painting the billowing smoke in shades of angry red.
Smoke choked his lungs, forcing a violent fit of coughing that rattled his fragile chest.
Where was he?
His mind spun, a chaotic mess of fractured memories.
Heavy footsteps shook the earth near his head, vibrating through the cold mud.
A woman's voice shrieked nearby, cut short by the sickening wet crunch of steel parting bone.
Despair, cold and sharp, gripped his chest.
Looking up, his eyes stung from the drifting ash.
Men in dark, heavy iron armor marched through the ruined camp, wielding long, blood-dripping swords.
Red crests gleamed on their helmets, catching the firelight like miniature embers.
Iron Blood Sect.
Memory fragments bubbled up, identifying the killers as the dreaded Iron Blood Sect.
Terror paralyzed his limbs.
Flames devoured the canvas tents, throwing elongated, grotesque shadows across the blood-slicked ground.
Chaos reigned in every direction.
Families who had walked for weeks to escape the border wars were being slaughtered like cattle.
Children wept, their tiny voices swallowed by the roar of the blaze.
Soldiers laughed, their heavy boots crushing crude wooden toys and family heirlooms into the dirt.
Yan tried to push himself up, but his arms felt like lead.
His muscles were weak, malnourished from days of forced marching with the other refugees.
This realm of slaughter was no place for someone like him.
Living in a world where the strong devoured the weak felt like an absolute nightmare.
Sudden heat blasted across his face, triggering a violent, choking panic.
Instantly, the muddy ground beneath him seemed to disappear.
He was back in the greenhouse.
Black smoke billowed from the vents of his family's flower nursery on Earth.
His hands, soft and calloused only from soil and trowels, beat uselessly against the locked iron doors.
Inside, his mother and sister screamed his name, trapped in the roaring inferno.
Fire devoured everything he loved while he stood outside, frozen, weak, and utterly useless.
Earth had been a quiet place for him.
He had spent his twenties working in a botanical garden, surrounded by passive, silent life.
Plants never argued, never fought, and never killed.
They grew, they bloomed, and they returned to the soil.
He had found peace in their simplicity.
But that peace had been shattered in a single night.
A rival developer, eager to acquire the garden's prime land, had paid an arsonist to burn the facility down.
Yan had been away buying supplies, returning just in time to see the flames consuming the wooden residential quarters where his mother and sister slept.
His legs had turned to water.
He had stood on the gravel path, clutching a bag of fertilizer, watching the roof collapse.
He had failed them because he was too weak, too afraid of the heat and the danger.
Memories clawed at his mind, dragging him into the depths of his oldest guilt.
He had been too afraid to act then.
He had been paralyzed by fear, and because of his cowardice, they had burned to ash.
That same paralyzing helplessness locked his muscles now.
A rough hand grabbed his collar, dragging him out of the nightmare.
An elderly man, his face smeared with soot and blood, stared down at him.
"Run, boy!" the old man wheezed, his breath rattling in his chest.
Before Yan could even blink, a curved blade protruded from the old man's sternum.
Bright blood sprayed across Yan's face, warm and terrifyingly real.
Falling sideways like a felled tree, the old man revealed the armored soldier behind him.
Yan scrambled backward on his elbows, kicking his legs in a desperate bid for distance.
Gravel dug into his palms, but he barely felt the pain.
His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Violence was everywhere, a senseless storm of blades and cruelty.
He hated it.
He despised the blood, the screams, the absolute disregard for life.
Why did strength have to mean slaughter?
Sliding down a muddy embankment, Yan tumbled into a small, secluded hollow.
A sweet, calming scent suddenly cut through the stench of burning wood and blood.
Soft purple petals brushed against his cheeks.
Looking down, he realized he had fallen into a patch of wild spiritual lavender.
Delicate, glowing stalks swayed gently, untouched by the chaos just yards away.
These plants were beautiful, pure, and completely helpless, just like him.
Heavy boots crunched on the gravel above his hollow.
Soldiers were searching for survivors.
Panic flared anew, hot and suffocating.
He curled into a ball, burying his face in the lavender.
Tears slipped down his cheeks, watering the dark soil.
"Please," Yan whispered, his voice trembling. "Please, I don't want to die. But I don't want to kill either. Give me a way... a way to survive without becoming like them."
A soft, chiming sound echoed directly inside his skull.
Ping.
"[Divine Harvest System initializing...]"
"[Host desire matched with core protocol: Pacifist Cultivation through Botanical Synergy.]"
"[Detecting high-grade spiritual flora in immediate contact: Wild Spiritual Lavender.]"
"[Initiating emergency harvest to forge First-Tier Body-Tempering Realm...]"
Holographic green text flickered in his vision, glowing with a serene light.
Yan stared in disbelief as the words floated in the air, crisp and clear.
Green lines of data began to scan the purple flowers beneath him.
"[Flora Identified: Lavandula Spiritus (Wild Spiritual Lavender).]"
"[Properties: Calming essence, high concentration of spiritual qi, regenerative cell structure.]"
"[Harvesting potential: 120 Experience Points.]"
"[Would the host like to convert the floral essence into Cultivation Experience?]"
"Yes," Yan thought desperately, his mind screaming the word. "Yes, do it! Save me!"
Glowing emerald light erupted from the soil beneath him.
Purple stalks of lavender began to wither, their vibrant color draining into glowing streams of pure energy.
This energy poured directly into his palms, warm and tingling.
Each tiny cell of the plant vibrated with raw spiritual life.
As the emerald light enveloped them, the cells ruptured, releasing tiny droplets of condensed qi.
These droplets floated upward like warm summer rain rising toward the sky.
They dissolved into Yan's skin, sparking a series of reactions.
Pain arrived immediately after.
It wasn't the destructive heat of the fire, but a deep, reconstructive ache that penetrated his bones.
His muscles stretched and tightened, rewriting themselves at a cellular level.
First came the skin tempering.
His outermost layer of flesh peeled away in microscopic flakes, replaced by a dense, resilient cellular matrix.
It felt as though a thousand tiny needles were sewing his skin together with invisible steel thread.
Next was the flesh tempering.
His muscle fibers tore apart, only to be woven back together by the warm lavender energy.
They became compact, efficient, and filled with explosive kinetic potential.
Finally, his bones tempered.
A deep, bone-deep ache vibrated through his skeleton.
His bones absorbed the mineral-rich spiritual essence, transforming from brittle calcium into a polished, ivory-like substance.
Impulses of pure life force shattered the impurities blocking his meridians.
He gasped, his back arching as his ribs clicked and shifted, growing denser, stronger.
Skin that had been soft and easily torn hardened into something resembling tanned leather, yet remained smooth.
Every cell in his body screamed in protest, then sang in triumph as the energy settled.
"[Harvest complete. 120 units of Spiritual Lavender essence consumed.]"
"[Host cultivation level updated: First-Tier Body-Tempering Realm achieved.]"
Power, cool and steady, flowed through his veins.
His senses sharpened instantly, allowing him to hear the scrape of a blade against leather from ten yards away.
Exhaustion that had weighed down his limbs vanished, replaced by an electric vitality.
He could feel the subtle vibrations of the earth, the rustle of leaves, the frantic beating of his own heart.
Yet, the lavender patch was gone.
Only grey, lifeless dust remained where the beautiful purple flowers had just stood.
A pang of guilt struck Yan's chest.
To save himself, he had taken the life of the only peaceful things in this hellscape.
Was this the only way to survive?
Was he destined to destroy nature to protect himself?
"No," Yan whispered to himself, clenching his fists.
"I will grow them back. I will plant a thousand more for every one I take."
Clean skin emerged from beneath the grime, the dirt and blood pushed out by the explosive force of his breakthrough.
A reservoir of energy pooled in his lower abdomen, a warm sphere of pure potential.
Conflict was something he despised.
Using this new strength to crush others was out of the question.
His dream was to build, to nurture, to create a sanctuary where no one would ever have to burn again.
A shadow fell over his small hollow.
Heavy boots slid down the muddy embankment, sending a shower of loose pebbles clattering into the pit.
Yan froze, his newfound senses instantly locking onto the threat.
A blood-spattered soldier raises a massive, notched broadsword directly over Yan's head, only for the lavender roots to suddenly writhe beneath the soil like awakened serpents, wrapping tightly around the soldier's armored ankles.