The stench of scorched wolfberry and ground bone-meal hung thick in the inner sect chambers, an oily reek that Elder Mei Lihua found increasingly stifling. Weeks had passed since the incident with the 'Wood-Core Dao-Relic,' and the pavilion's favored pupils were in total disarray. What began as whispers had escalated into outright bizarre behavior. Elder Mei watched Gao Renxue stumble across the Sunken-Lotus Courtyard, his usually immaculate robes stained with fresh mud. A raspy cough tore through him, splattering crimson onto the pristine white stone. He clutched his side, a pained grimace twisting his face, before collapsing against a weeping willow, wheezing. This was the sect’s most promising heir, now a shadow of his former self, constantly battling an unseen malady that mocked the very foundation of his cultivation. Even more perplexing was Jian Yu, the renowned scholar whose intellect was once as sharp as a newly forged blade. Elder Mei found him hunched over a scroll in the Whispering Scriptorium, his brow furrowed in utter bewilderment. He traced his finger over the familiar script of a basic ‘Qi-Gathering Sigil,’ his lips moving soundlessly, yet no understanding dawned in his eyes. He would pore over the same passage for hours, muttering about ‘shifting ideograms’ and ‘elusive meaning,’ his previous brilliance dimmed to an ember. The parchment he held, a simple mnemonic for nascent cultivators, might as well have been written in a forgotten tongue. Lin Xue, the frost-touched beauty, no longer moved with her customary grace. Her movements were jerky, her dagger-play erratic, often striking the air where no opponent stood. Ba Tu, the hulking brute, now possessed the memory of a gnat, forgetting instructions moments after they were given, his once formidable martial forms dissolving into clumsy, uncontrolled flails. Their dueling scars from the bamboo grove were fading, but the deeper wounds of the soul remained, silently festering. Elder Mei’s gaze drifted to the tranquil Jade-Brook Pond, where she often found solace. The contrast was stark. While the inner sect withered, the outer courtyards, once a bastion of suffering, seemed to be thriving. The air there felt cleaner, the spiritual energy more vibrant. And then there was Cui Yuchen, the quiet attendant who swept the outer grounds. His presence had become an anomaly she couldn’t ignore. She dispatched a novice to summon him. When Yuchen arrived at her modest dwelling, the Serene-Orchid Abode, Elder Mei straightened in her carved cedar chair. His skin, once scarred and dull, possessed the smooth, unblemished sheen of freshly carved jade. His eyes, though still holding a flicker of apprehension, carried a still calm, like winter melt trapped in deep stone. A faint scent of crushed mountain mint and cold pine bark trailed after him, distinct from the vinegar-sharp rot plaguing the inner ranks. “Cui Yuchen,” Elder Mei began, her voice a calm ripple in the quiet room. “There are... disturbances within our halls. I have observed a peculiar vitality in the outer courts, and a strange decline among certain senior ranks. You, however, appear... revitalized. Tell me, what have you seen? What do you know of these strange occurrences?” Zhiyin, perched delicately on Yuchen’s collarbone, let out a soft, questioning trill. Yuchen’s brow furrowed, his guilt a heavy cloak around his shoulders. He wrung his hands, avoiding the Elder’s penetrating gaze. “Elder Mei,” he stammered, his voice laced with genuine distress, “I... I have created misfortune. I fear I am a source of cursed objects.” Elder Mei’s expression remained unreadable. “Cursed objects?” she prompted, a glint of intrigue in her eyes. “Explain.” Yuchen’s words tumbled out, a frantic torrent of confession. “My... my flaws, Elder. When I overcome a trial, they... they shed from me. They leave behind these... radiant husks. I tried to hide them, to throw them away, but the inner disciples... they always find them. They steal them, convinced they are divine treasures. I tried to warn them, truly! But they only laughed and... and consumed them. I fear my imperfections are poisoning them, Elder. Please, you must stop them from taking my discarded trash. It’s not treasure; it’s merely my unwanted brokenness, and it brings only harm!” He pleaded with open palms, picturing Gao Renxue's bloody coughs, Jian Yu's vacant stare, and Lin Xue's jerky steps, sickened that his own shed rot had done this to them. Elder Mei listened, her gaze unblinking. The concept of 'discarded trash' becoming 'divine treasure' struck a chord deep within her. She recognized the phrasing, or rather, the rare hidden truths she chose to draw from it. Yuchen’s frantic denial, his insistence on calling his radiant byproducts 'trash,' only solidified her nascent belief. This was not a confession of cursed scraps, but a sharp exposition on the Dao of humility, a path where strength emerged from the rejection of worldly greed. *Reject the 'treasure' to truly possess it.* *Embrace the flaw to transcend it.* It was a riddle, a paradox for the ages. She saw not guilt, but enlightenment. His vibrant health, contrasted with the elite’s decay, was proof. He was shedding impurities while they eagerly consumed them. This youth was a true inheritor of the Ever-Green Perfection, far beyond the petty greed of the inner sect. “Discarded trash,” Elder Mei murmured, a slow, knowing smile touching her mouth. “Indeed. A rare insight, Yuchen. A truly deep comprehension of the cultivation path. Thank you for sharing your wisdom.” She stood, her gaze now distant, contemplating the deeper meaning. Yuchen stared, utterly bewildered, as she seemed to entirely miss his point. He had begged her to stop them, and she had... thanked him? Just then, a chill wind swept through the Shrouded-Pine Pavilion. The sky, once a pale azure, rapidly darkened to the bruised purple of spoiled plums. A tremor ran through the very stones of the sect as a colossal, suffocating aura descended from the distant peaks. The air grew thick, demanding reverence, demanding fear. The Sect Patriarch had returned, his presence a tangible force. A single, booming command echoed across the mountainside, resonating in the marrow of every living soul: “Corral all outer courtyard attendants! The Harvesting Ceremony begins!”

Evergreen Rot