Re-birth: The Beginning after the End - Chapter 91

Chapter 91: COLLECTING A FEW THINGS

When the beeping of her timer finally sounded, Li Hua opened her eyes with deliberate slowness. She stood up and stretched her arms and legs, feeling the harmonious blend of spiritual essence and physical strength flowing through her limbs. Despite her exhaustion, she threw herself into another round of physical training—her muscles might protest, but cultivators who neglected their physical form while pursuing spiritual advancement often found themselves with unstable foundations.

Once her training was complete, Li Hua drew herself a bath, the warm water a welcome relief for her aching muscles. Steam rose around her, and she could feel her essence humming contentedly through her meridians, perfectly integrated with her own energy after the long cultivation session.

She reached for the spiritual soap—one of the many batches she and her mother had crafted together before everything changed. Each ingredient had been carefully selected: spirit roses from the highest peaks of the Great White Mountain, frost lilies that bloomed only under moonlight, and rare minerals that her mother had taught her to identify by their faint spiritual resonance.

As she worked the soap across her skin, she could feel its properties activating, the natural essences seeping into her meridians, leaving her skin not just clean but spiritually refined. Her mother’s shampoo formula followed, another lesson preserved in physical form—nine types of mountain herbs, each picked at precisely the right phase of their growth cycle, combined with dewdrops gathered at dawn.

The familiar fragrances transported her back to those quiet mornings spent with her mother as she watched her mother methodically prepare each ingredient, explaining the significance of every step. “The spirit roses must be crushed with a jade mortar,” she would say, her elegant hands working with practiced precision, “for their essence responds best to jade’s natural harmony.”

Those lessons had been more than just soap-making; they were teachings about patience, about understanding the delicate balance of natural energies, about the importance of doing things properly rather than quickly.

Steam rose around her in perfect spirals as she reclined in the warm embrace of the water, breathing in the complex layers of botanical scents. With a contented sigh, Li Hua began washing away the fragrant soap and shampoo, watching the pearlescent foam dissolve into the bath water until her skin emerged clean and glowing.

She let out another soft sigh as she stayed in the water’s embrace, allowing the warmth to seep into her bones until her fingers and toes turned pruny.

Finally, she rose with a deep exhale, wrapping a cotton towel around herself as the cool air brushed against her damp skin.

She slipped into her usual plain training clothes and walked out of her courtyard house, heading towards the river. Beside it sat a wooden bucket and a large wooden spoon, items she brought into her space earlier while she was watering the gardens. She scooped a spoonful up and drank quickly, quenching her thirst before getting another spoonful. She savored the sweet taste and felt her essence being restored.

Once satisfied, she exited her inner space, her physical form materializing beside the wooden dining table in their family’s courtyard. The familiar setting brought a fresh wave of memories but she pushed aside the ache in her chest and made her way to the kitchen.

The routine of preparing a simple meal helped ground her. She stirred the pot of leftover rice with water, watching it slowly transform into congee. Her mother had always insisted that even the simplest dishes deserved attention—a principle that extended from cultivation to cooking. When the consistency was just right, she ladled some into a small bowl and retrieved a jar of pickled vegetables they had prepared together last season. The sharp, familiar scent of the preserved vegetables provided a pleasant contrast to the mild congee.

She returned to her seat at the wooden table, the same spot she had occupied for countless family meals. Although simple, the congee was warm and comforting, with the pickled vegetables adding just enough flavor to make the meal satisfying.

She looked around the courtyard thoughtfully, her father’s formation shimmering with barely visible lines of power in the evening air, like heat waves rising from summer stone. The complex array patterns wove through the space in geometric perfection, their faint luminescence visible only to those with cultivated sight.

With her family scattered and no one left to maintain the home’s daily upkeep, the solution came to her: a modification to the existing array. By weaving time and stillness essence into the formation, she could preserve this place exactly as they’d left it—free from dust, untouched by weather, the gardens maintained in perfect health. It wouldn’t be as potent as her space’s natural properties, but it would be enough to protect their home until they returned. Just a few subtle changes to her father’s masterwork, like adding brushstrokes to a finished painting.

Drawing from her father’s teachings, she began sketching formation patterns in the air with her spiritual essence. Each stroke was precise, carefully calculated to complement rather than disrupt his existing array. She had watched him adjust these formations countless times, had memorized the complex geometries that kept their sanctuary hidden from the world. Now she would add her own contribution—a daughter’s promise to preserve what her parents had built, a necessity born from their absence.

The modified array settled into place with a subtle ripple of power. She could feel it taking hold, weaving through her father’s existing formation like silk through cotton. The air seemed to crystallize for a moment before clearing, now carrying a faint hint of her essence alongside her father’s familiar power. Everything within the courtyard’s boundaries would remain as it was.

Standing in the growing twilight, Li Hua took one last look at their family’s home. Tomorrow she would leave this place, stepping out into a world far more dangerous than the one she’d known. But for now, she had ensured that this piece of their happiness would endure, protected by both her father’s wisdom and her own determination.

She walked to the left wing and paused before entering her brothers’ room. Knowing she would see them soon, she began gathering a few of their belongings, small pieces to bring along and share with them when they reunited.

From Li Wei’s side, she carefully picked up his favorite scrolls and manuals, their pages worn thin from countless nights of study. Her fingers traced the familiar characters, recalling how he’d eagerly share passages, his eyes alight with excitement. Beside them, she noticed his ink set—delicately carved jade brushes and a small ceramic inkwell—still stained with the deep black ink he used to draft his intricate calligraphy. The scent of the ink lingered faintly, a reminder of his focus and quiet joy.

Turning to Li Hao’s belongings, she gathered his practice daggers, the blades still bearing scorch marks from his more enthusiastic training sessions. Next to them lay his cherished leather gloves, the ones their father had specially crafted, with fire-resistant arrays woven into each finger to protect against Li Hao’s tendency to channel too much flame essence at once. She spotted his training sash, the once-bright red fabric dulled from use but still vibrant with the energy he brought to every sparring match, and his old wooden flute, its surface nicked and scratched from being carried around everywhere. She picked it up with a smile, already imagining teasing him about those soft, uneven melodies he played when he thought no one was listening.

In each wardrobe, she found their New Year robes they had just received—beautiful garments their parents had spent months preparing. Their mother had hand-stitched their names into the hems, infusing the robes with her essence to ensure the robes would grow and adapt to their bodies. Their father had laid the same intricate formations he used on their outer robes—but instead of stealth, he had woven defensive arrays into the fabric powerful enough to withstand a blow from a Master Cultivator rank one.

She remembered how proud they had looked presenting the robes, how her mother’s eyes had glistened when they tried them on, how her father had cleared his throat to hide his emotion at seeing his children dressed so finely.

After a final look at each room, she returned to her own.

Opening her wardrobe, she pulled out her new robes and, along with her brothers’ things, sent them into her space. She also sent in her potted flowers and the few accessories her mother had given her.

Finally, she slipped off her shoes and crawled into bed. Wrapping the sun-dried cotton sheets tightly around herself, she inhaled deeply, taking comfort in their familiar scent—a blend of mountain air and afternoon sunshine that reminded her of peaceful days watching her mother hang laundry in the courtyard. The cotton’s warmth enveloped her like a gentle embrace, a small piece of home she could still hold onto.