Kuang Zongyi squinted. The last tendrils of Teng Jian’s fading Qi, now absorbed into Jinxi’s callous, bark-hardened skin, left behind a peculiar, almost metallic scent in the air. He leaned closer to the imprisoned elder, circling him like a botanist examining a particularly stubborn weed. “Fibrous, you say?” Zongyi murmured, his voice a low grumble. “Indeed. Look at the root spread on this one. All superficial, no taproot depth. And the posture… entirely imbalanced. Leans too far forward, creates unnecessary tension in the upper stalk. Poor energy flow. He’d snap in a strong wind.” Jinxi held Teng Jian with a placid expression, patiently waiting for her instruction. The elder, stripped of his Qi, sagged in her grip, his jaw gone slack and slack-eyed veins purple across his temples. The hundreds of righteous elders and demonic assassins, still bound by Jinxi’s thorny vines, watched in horrified silence. They were arranged in neat, geometric patterns across the arena floor, some with limbs bent into strict, mirror-straight alignments, others with jaws pinned shut beneath stiff tendrils. “No, not compost,” Zongyi decided, waving a dismissive hand. “Compost implies a full breakdown, a return to core nutrients. This one… he lacks the fundamental biological complexity. He’s all ego and superficial growth, not enough substance to enrich the soil.” He tapped Teng Jian’s temple with a dirt-stained finger. “No. Too much acidity. Bad for the orchids.” He sighed, straightening up, his gaze sweeping over the arena. The battlefield, once a cacophony of clashing steel and desperate shouts, was now a morbidly still, artistic arrangement of defeated warriors. Mo Luan, pinned beneath a thorny vine cinched taut against her windpipe, drew ragged wheezes through gritted teeth. “What about the others, Master?” Jinxi inquired, her voice cutting through the unnatural silence. “The various weeds and invasive species. Should they be… culled for the season?” Zongyi grunted. “Culling is too aggressive. We’re not clearing a forest, Jinxi. We’re simply tidying up the flower beds.” He pointed his dirt-encrusted fingernail at a cluster of righteous sect elders, their elaborate robes now ripped and stained, bound in a tight knot near the arena’s eastern wall. “See those ones? Too much sprawling, uncontained growth. They’re stealing light from the rarer varieties.” He then gestured to the demonic Synod assassins, who were similarly immobilized near the west. “And these… entirely too much competitive behavior. Very bad for the overall ecosystem. We need them to understand their place in the landscape.” He considered for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Right. Mulch. Just mulch them all. Break them down, spread them out, ensure they no longer compete with the established plants. But do it evenly, mind you. Structural symmetry is key. We don’t want any unsightly clumps.” Jinxi nodded, a serene understanding blossoming in her eyes. “As the Master commands.” The subsequent 'mulching' was an exercise in terrifying efficiency. Jinxi moved like a phantom through the arena, her actions precise and dispassionate. Arms and legs were not snapped, but *rearranged*, their joints slotted into tidy, rigid angles that defied standard leverage. Meridians were not shattered, but *redirected*, their Qi forced into stagnant, internal pools that would take months, if not years, to clear. With each terrifying adjustment, a low groan, or a muffled shriek, escaped the unfortunate victim, only to be swallowed by the silence Zongyi enforced with a mere glance. Mo Luan stared, pupils contracted, as Jinxi systematically pruned her elite assassins. This wasn’t battle; it was a gardener meticulously shaping a topiary. Every joint-lock, every bone-twist, every muscle-spasm induced, served a singular, horrifying purpose: to render each body a balanced, motionless ornament. When she finally returned to Mo Luan and Teng Jian, her face was unblemished, her movements unhurried. The entire arena was now a grotesque, living sculpture garden, thousands of powerful cultivators rendered into helpless, artfully arranged piles of human kindling. “Master,” Jinxi said, indicating the two leaders, “These two are the biggest, most resilient weeds. What’s the final stage?” Zongyi strode forward, carrying a small, leather-bound scroll and a quill, which he had apparently retrieved from his smock pocket. He unfurled the scroll, revealing ancient, faded script. “For these particularly stubborn specimens, we require a formal declaration of cessation. A non-aggression pact, if you will, ensuring they don’t sprout up again where they’re not wanted.” He dipped the quill in a vial of dark, inky liquid. “A simple agreement: this outer garden of the Azure-Terrace, including all its associated lands, is to be recognized as a sovereign entity, beyond the jurisdiction of any sect or synod. And, crucially,” he paused, looking pointedly at Teng Jian, “a perpetual, fully funded, unquestioned budget for all landscaping needs, including exotic seeds, premium soil, and an unlimited supply of my specific brand of organic fertilizer.” Mo Luan, her eyes pleading, rasped, “Sovereign… please… we swear fealty…” Teng Jian, his face pale, tried to speak, but only a gurgle escaped his throat. Jinxi’s grip tightened infinitesimally, and he winced. Zongyi shoved the quill into Mo Luan’s trembling hand. “Sign it. Then Teng Jian. And then, perhaps, we can discuss a less… permanent… structural adjustment.” Weeks later, a tranquil peace settled over the Azure-Terrace Pavilion. The Thousand-Summit Selections were long over, a forgotten footnote in the wake of the ‘Great Pruning.’ The whispers across the Jade-Fracture Ascendancy spoke of the Demonic Groundskeeper’s Apprentice, Luo Jinxi, a terrifying botanical overlord who had single-handedly rearranged the entire martial world. Her name, once synonymous with a failed sword-aspirant, now inspired hushed reverence and paralyzing fear. None of this mattered to Kuang Zongyi. He was back in his outer garden, meticulously shaping a row of freshly planted hedges. The air was crisp, the soil rich, and his orchids were thriving. The new, unquestioned landscaping budget had allowed him to acquire several rare specimens from the distant Shadow-Bloom Peaks, and they required constant attention. Jinxi stood nearby, silently raking the gray crushed gravel into straight, evenly measured furrows. Her robes, though still utilitarian, were now embroidered with subtle, thorny vine patterns, gifts from a terrified Mo Luan. Her every movement radiated an ancient, rooted power that could shatter mountains, yet she remained fixed entirely upon her chore. Zongyi leaned back, admiring his work. The hedges were coming along splendidly. He noticed a faint shadow falling across his newly acquired collection of Azure Sunstone Hydrangeas, their vibrant blue petals just beginning to unfurl. He scowled. He looked up, his gaze piercing through the leaves, past the grand, ornate gates of the inner sect, to where a huddle of the Azure-Terrace’s Grand Elders stood, frozen in terror since the Pruning, watching him from a distance. “You!” Zongyi bellowed, his voice echoing across the now-silent courtyard. “Move, you overgrown statues! You’re blocking the sun! My hydrangeas need light to truly bloom, and your looming forms are casting entirely too much shade!”

A Peaceful Landscape