The world outside the Sealed Grove had not changed.

  The Sect’s outer grounds still woke each morning to the clang of practice blades, the crackle of Qi drills, the endless chants of meditation cycles.

  Outer disciples still scrubbed floors, hauled water, cleaned stables.

  Inner disciples still sneered from gilded walkways, basking in casual cruelty.

  And Lin Xian still wore the robes of the lowest rung, still toiled among the ruins, still mended broken stones and cleared dead weeds.

  On the surface, he was invisible.

  Beneath, the soil stirred.

  It started small.

  The way some of the oldest weeds shriveled instantly beneath his touch, roots surrendering to him without resistance.

  The way fallen leaves curled toward his footsteps as he passed.

  The way cracked stones along the broken garden paths seemed a little smoother, the air a little less stale, wherever he worked.

  Barely noticeable.

  Barely.

  But the Verdant Qi that flowed through his Spirit Garden was bleeding into the real world now — slow, subtle, unstoppable.

  And others began to notice.

  On the third morning after bonding with Gourdo, Lin Xian heard the whispers.

  Low at first.

  Carried on the mist like drifting seeds.

  "Did you see the old shrine steps?"

  "Cleared overnight, they were. No way the weed-boy did that alone."

  "I heard he’s been sneaking into forbidden grounds. The Sealed Grove."

  "Maybe he’s found some spirit relic. Something cursed."

  The words pricked at Lin Xian’s skin like nettles.

  He kept his head down.

  Hands steady.

  Breath slow.

  But inside, the Spirit Garden stirred — sensing the growing tension.

  Gourdo sensed it too.

  The little golem scuttled at Lin Xian’s side like a living shadow, one stubby vine-hand constantly resting on the hem of his robe.

  Protective.

  Fierce, in his own tiny way.

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  By noon, the rumors grew bolder.

  Some whispered that Lin Xian had made a dark pact — trading his soul for forbidden power.

  Others claimed he was a pawn of hidden spirit beasts, a vessel for wild energy beyond human control.

  Even those who didn’t believe the wild tales watched him differently now.

  Sideways glances.

  Whispered insults loud enough to hear.

  Wide circles around where he worked.

  Isolation.

  A wall of suspicion rising slowly, stone by stone.

  Lin Xian bore it with the same stubborn patience he had learned pulling weeds from poisoned soil.

  But he felt it.

  The way a farmer feels the weight of an oncoming storm pressing against the back of his neck.

  It was only a matter of time before it broke.

  That evening, as twilight painted the misty grounds in shades of grey and gold, Lin Xian sat beside the broken fountain at the edge of the Sealed Grove.

  Gourdo perched on the cracked rim, kicking his stubby legs idly, watching Lin Xian with luminous orange eyes.

  Lin Xian fed a thin thread of Verdant Qi into the fountain’s basin.

  Not enough to restore it.

  Just enough to awaken the dormant moss clinging to its stones.

  Tiny green shoots spiraled outward, forming delicate patterns across the shattered marble.

  Life from ruin.

  Beauty from brokenness.

  A small, stubborn miracle.

  He leaned back, closing his eyes.

  The Spirit Garden inside him pulsed steadily — healthier now.

  The sapling at its heart bore three full leaves.

  The surrounding soul-soil, once cracked and barren, now cradled scattered wild growth: creeping moss, small thorned bushes, even a tiny flowering vine climbing toward unseen stars.

  It was slow.

  Fragile.

  But real.

  He could feel it with every breath.

  Every heartbeat.

  He was growing.

  A faint rustle stirred the mist.

  Lin Xian opened his eyes.

  Three disciples stood at the edge of the clearing, half-shrouded by hanging vines.

  He recognized them — minor Inner Disciples.

  Han Zhi’s usual toadies.

  Their faces twisted with open disdain.

  One of them — a lanky boy with a crooked nose — stepped forward.

  "You think you’re clever," he sneered. "Creeping around old ruins. Playing at cultivation."

  Lin Xian said nothing.

  He had learned long ago that words only fed flames.

  Another boy, shorter and stockier, spat on the ground.

  "You reek of rot, weed-boy. Whatever you’re playing with — it’ll kill you in the end."

  The third — a girl with sharp eyes and sharper teeth — laughed coldly.

  "Maybe we should help it along. Save the Elders the trouble."

  Gourdo hissed, a tiny, fierce sound.

  The disciples laughed harder.

  Lin Xian rose slowly, brushing dirt from his hands.

  He did not reach for a blade.

  Did not summon Qi.

  He simply stood there, steady as a rooted oak, eyes calm.

  It was enough.

  The disciples shifted uneasily, their bravado cracking.

  There was something different about him now.

  Something deeper.

  Something they couldn’t name — and therefore feared.

  They muttered curses and slurs under their breath, backing away into the mist.

  Gone.

  For now.

  Lin Xian sagged back against the fountain’s rim, breathing slow.

  Gourdo clambered onto his lap, small arms wrapping around his waist in a determined hug.

  Lin Xian ruffled the golem’s cracked head gently.

  "I’m alright," he murmured.

  The Spirit Garden within him pulsed, echoing his words.

  But he wasn’t foolish.

  He knew the seeds of doubt had taken root.

  Whispers would grow into rumors.

  Rumors into accusations.

  Accusations into action.

  And when the storm broke —

  He would need more than a sapling and a single stubborn golem.

  He would need strength.

  He would need allies.

  He would need a garden fierce enough to tear down walls.

  He gazed out into the swirling mist.

  Somewhere beyond the Sect’s broken outer walls, the wild lands stretched — vast, dangerous, untamed.

  Full of ancient spirit plants.

  Lost seeds.

  Forgotten fragments of the Verdant Heart’s true legacy.

  He would find them.

  He would gather them.

  He would not just survive the storm.

  He would bloom in it.

  The wind shifted.

  Somewhere far off, bells tolled again — soft and slow this time, a warning carried on the mist.

  The Sect was stirring.

  The Elders were watching.

  The soil was shifting.

  The seeds of doubt had been sown.

  And Lin Xian, stubborn weed-boy of the broken gardens, smiled into the coming dark.

  Let them come.

  He had roots now.

  And roots run deep.

  Verdant Sovereign is a story about stubborn growth, about finding strength where others only see weakness — and I’m honored you're here at the start.

  Every bit of support helps this little garden grow. ??