The Roots of Understanding

The morning mist curled low over the fields of Mudvale. Shen stood at the edge of his crops, his bare feet pressing into the moist earth. The sky stretched above in pale hues, soft and stirring. Birds chirped lazily, as though reluctant to greet the day.

He exhaled slowly. Rows of green — turnips, carrots, and a few stubborn stalks of spring lettuce — were almost ready. They swayed under a mild breeze, healthy and full.

"Look at you," he murmured to the vegetables. "More dignified than half the disciples I used to know."

Yue, curled around his ankle, let out a soft snort. The little fox tilted her head, then pounced at a passing beetle with playful glee. Her single white tail flicked with joy.

Shen chuckled. "I get it. You're not impressed by my turnips."

He squatted to inspect a carrot top and traced his fingers over the leaf, remembering how alien all this had seemed just weeks ago. Farming was becoming familiar now. Satisfying.

His eyes drifted toward the distant trees, where the wind carried faint birdsong and the earthy scent of wild herbs. Aila had come from there once. He wondered — idly — what brought her to wander so freely.

He didn't have to wait long. By mid-morning, the familiar shape of a traveler appeared at the edge of his fields. Aila approached at an easy pace, her usual calm presence framed by her traveling cloak and the light basket at her hip.

"You're getting too predictable," Shen said, smiling.

"I was in the forest nearby and thought… why not visit the farmer-hermit again?" she replied, raising a brow. "Besides, I brought trades."

Yue poked her head out from behind Shen, narrowed her eyes at Aila, and let out a tiny growl.

"Oh no," Shen sighed, "Jealous again?"

Aila laughed softly. "She's gotten more expressive."

"She's been stealing my food," Shen said dryly.

They shared a laugh as Aila reached into her basket and pulled out a bundle of dried blue-leaf thyme and moon-petaled saffron. Rare herbs.

"In exchange," she said, "I want a glimpse at your miracle turnips."

Together, they ventured into the edge of the forest. Shen brought a small woven basket; Aila moved ahead with the grace of someone who belonged to the wilderness.

They knelt beside moss beds, gathered herbs, and shared names — mundane and spiritual — for plants.

"You know," Aila said, holding up a sprig of ironroot, "your instincts are annoyingly accurate for someone with no formal herbalist training."

Shen smirked. "Or maybe everyone else just overcomplicates it."

"Ah, the arrogance of the self-taught."

He chuckled. "Coming from you?"

"I was taught by half a dozen wandering herbalists and one extremely grumpy old woman who hit me with a spoon when I misidentified thyme."

Yue, trotting between them, paused to roll in a bed of wild clover. When Shen reached to pick her up, she jumped away and stuck her tongue out at him.

Back at Mudvale, the three shared a meal. Shen had roasted root vegetables with salt and a touch of forest mint. Aila contributed dried boar meat and a sharp, aged cheese.

Yue sulked nearby, clearly annoyed by Shen's attention to their guest.

Later, as they sat beside the fire, Aila leaned back and asked, "Do you miss it? The sect life?"

Shen stared into the flame. "…Sometimes the libraries. Not the rest."

She nodded. "It's strange how peace feels more radical than power."

He looked at her. "You understand that better than most."

"I try."

They exchanged more — not everything, but pieces of themselves. She spoke of her wandering healer's path. He spoke, vaguely, of leaving behind something he couldn't quite name.

She stayed the night, comfortably in the guest corner of Shen's small but cozy wooden home. The house had been finished weeks ago, after days of cutting timber and drying mud bricks, after nights where the stars bore silent witness to each nail driven.

Shen had never imagined he'd build something like it. But now it stood, walls sturdy, roof thatched, a hearth that glowed gently with morning embers.

At dawn, Aila was already packed.

"I want to reach the valley before midday," she said. "They've been expecting me."

She left behind a small satchel of preserved herbs and a note that simply read, 'Thanks for the peace.'

Shen stood by the doorway, watching her disappear beyond the trees, Yue curled at his feet. The silence that followed felt… thoughtful.

Thanks to the spiritual nature of his land and the system's subtle assistance, the vegetables were nearly ready — far sooner than any mundane farmer could dream. Shen walked the rows with a hand behind his back, striking the accidental pose of an inspecting elder. He marveled not just at the lush leaves and fat roots, but at the absurd speed of it all.

Back in his old world, he mused, even the hardiest fast-growers needed four, maybe five months to go from seed to harvest. Here, a few weeks and a patch of magically nourished dirt had done the job. It was ridiculous. Wonderful. A little unfair.

He snorted. "I'd have made a killing at the farmer's market."

A pair of birds swooped down, aiming for a row of beans — only to scatter with squawks as Yue, in a blur of white, launched herself across the furrows. The tiny fox landed with a triumphant yip, puffed out her chest, and gave chase again for good measure.

"Scarecrow in fox form," Shen muttered, grinning.

The scene settled into peace once more. He looked over his crops, the shed, the house — all of it real, all of it his. There was work ahead, but for the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to it.

He looked toward the shed — already built last week from leftover timber — and began calculating storage needs.

There was satisfaction in all of it. He found himself sketching new ideas for a small herb-drying hut, and maybe someday, a bathhouse.

That evening, Shen sat by the hearth with Yue curled beside him.

She lifted her head suddenly and turned toward the small alcove near the rear wall — where the divine beast egg had once rested. It was empty now, of course. Yue had hatched long ago.

But as Shen watched her — her fur shimmering faintly, one tail swaying with strange rhythm — he felt something.

A quiet bond.

She looked back at him, eyes gleaming with something old and knowing.

He whispered, "Let's see what we can grow."

Outside, the winds stirred the trees gently, and the land of Mudvale seemed to breathe beneath the stars.