CHAPTER 224: MANIFOLD

It began with stillness.

Then the stillness bloomed.

Not with sound, but with sensation. Like dew rolling off petals at dawn, or the hush that settles just before a seed breaks open. I didn’t fall or get pulled into a different space; I simply was, in a place both vast and intimately familiar.

The Memory Palace.

My mental garden. A forest of thought.

I stood among trees whose bark bore my handwriting, every trunk grown from a core idea I’d once studied, every branch splitting into finer and finer knowledge. Categories sprouted like canopies. Subsections branched into finer leaves; refined processes, forgotten texts, intuitive leaps that had taken root beneath the surface of conscious thought.

Each step forward was a step into a thicket of memory. And yet... I didn’t feel lost.

No matter how far the branches stretched, I could reach any leaf in a breath. Every trail was within reach. Every answer, hanging like ripe fruit just waiting to be plucked.

The soil beneath my feet pulsed faintly with qi. My qi. Enriched by every hour I’d spent training, reading, refining. The deeper I walked, the more I saw new seedlings forming. Concepts I hadn’t fully grasped before, now rising like saplings in spring.

In one corner, I saw a pond where thoughts lay still; reflections waiting to be stirred.

In another, a tree so vast its roots touched every other grove in the garden: my understanding of life, body, spirit. The central pillar of alchemy. Its leaves whispered to one another in harmonized threads.

Parallel thought.

Simultaneous cognition.

It was happening naturally now. I could follow multiple lines of logic, each rooted in a different tree, and never lose the rhythm of a single one.

Was this clarity?

No. It was communion.

Not with the world; but with myself. With every version of me that had studied, trained, survived.

The realization didn’t shatter me.

It simply fit.

Like sunlight breaking through leaves I hadn’t noticed were shading my path.

And just like when I first used a Technique Token to evolve my Crimson Lotus Refinement, something spoke.

An impression, clear as running water.

The mind does not grow in lines. It grows in layers.

The words sank into me like heat through muscle. No argument. No doubt. Just truth.

Memory Palace Technique has evolved to Manifold Memory Palace - Level 1.

Remaining Tokens: 1

And just like that, I was back.

The rain was still falling.

Windy still stirred faintly in my lap. Tianyi still sat beside me, antennae half-folded, her posture curled in a kind of alert rest. Everything was exactly where I’d left it. ṝ𝔞𐌽Օ𝐛ƐS̩

Not even a second had passed.

But I breathed differently now. Like I’d shed fog from my lungs. Like I could feel the breath itself moving through every part of me, across every stored memory, every unfinished idea. No longer a cluttered drawer of facts and fragments, but a map.

I sat up straighter. My eyes sharpened. My pulse slowed.

It was time to think clearly.

To solve the puzzle this rain had given me. To prepare the cure, piece by piece, without wasting a single second.

I let myself slip gently into the mindscape again, this time by choice, each layer of my mind folding open like petals. I pulled together ingredients, reactions, histories, notes, sketches of anatomy, half-read case studies—

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Everything I’d ever learned, even things I hadn’t realized I knew, now gathered like fireflies on command.

SCENE BREAK

“Kai.”

The voice hit like cold water. A hand shook my shoulder. I blinked.

Jian Feng stood in front of me, rain streaking down his face and cloak. We were still beneath the rocky outcrop;but the sun was breaking through faintly behind him, casting long, gray shadows across the soaked clearing.

“Are you alright?” he asked, squinting.

I looked around.

“I—yeah,” I said. My voice cracked slightly. “Just... thinking.”

“I thought you were cultivating, but didn't want to disrupt you,” Jian Feng said bluntly. “It's been five hours. We're close now.”

I stared at him, dumbly nodding once.

Five hours?

It felt like an entire day had passed. Not just in terms of thought, but in depth. I’d wandered so far into the Manifold that I could still feel its branches at my back, its roots pulsing beneath my ribs.

Everything had been so... vivid.

I blinked hard and tried to shake it off.

The rain had passed. Mostly. The sky was still pale, stained in faint hues of violet, but the worst had thinned. The ground squelched under every step, puddles reflecting a warped image of the morning sun. In the distance, through the thinning mist, the hilltops rolled downward—

And there it was.

Gentle Wind Village.

Small. Familiar. Beautiful.

A piece of home rising like a memory at the edge of a nightmare.

But it didn’t feel like a few hours had passed.

It felt like I’d lived another day in my head.

Inside the mindscape, time flowed differently. Slower. I’d estimated about half-speed; every second outside gave me nearly two in thought. But that was just from skimming the surface. I hadn't even begun testing its limits yet.

I flexed my fingers, feeling the slight tremble in them. The fog in my thoughts? That was new.

I felt a phantom tug, my mind still trying to reach back into the branches. To follow threads that weren’t there. To continue conversations I’d never had with people who didn’t exist. I shook my head hard, clearing it.

There was a cost.

“I need to start warning the disciples,” Jian Feng said. “We need to sort what we brought back and figure out what we should do about that violet rain. See if your hypothesis is true and whether it's actually the Amethyst Plague.”

He turned, halfway down the slope already, before adding over his shoulder.

“Can you speak with the victims? See if any of them have kin in the village or know where they want to be housed?”

I nodded, more firmly this time. “I’ll handle it.”

He gave a short wave and vanished back toward the carts, our paths diverging as we neared the village. I directed Han Chen to go with the disciples; and he dutifully moved the carriage carrying his junior brother alongside the trio.

I exhaled slowly, then turned to Tianyi.

“They’re still nervous,” I said. “Can you come with me?”

She tilted her head. “They flinch when you get close. They fear you. But not you.”

“I know,” I murmured. “It will take time.”

She blinked once, then stepped beside me without a word.

I beckoned the women toward me gently, and one by one, they followed; slow, hesitant. They still kept distance from me, but with Tianyi there, some of the fear softened. I didn’t speak. Just led. Past the carts, down the trail, into the view of the first fences curling around the village's edge.

I should’ve felt relief.

But my mind kept wandering.

The Manifold Memory Palace is too real.

That was the thought that kept coming back. Not just vivid. Real. I could touch bark. Taste air. Feel qi pulse in threads and fibers I’d imagined into the soil. If I stayed there too long…

'Would I forget what was real? Would I want to?'

The scariest part wasn’t getting lost.

It was how easy it would be to choose to stay.

The old Memory Palace had no cost. No weight. I could drift through it freely, remember and organize without strain.

Now?

The Manifold required a price. Every seed of clarity asked for something in return.

I exhaled again, slower this time, grounding myself in the mud beneath my boots, in the scent of wet earth and smoke. Gentle Wind was just ahead. Tianyi walked beside me. Windy stirred on my shoulders, still asleep.

'I am here. I am still here.'

By the time we reached the village outskirts, the gates had already been swung open.

Word must’ve traveled ahead from patrols.

The first few faces I saw were familiar: disciples, villagers, elders peering out from under tiled awnings.

A few stepped forward, hands half-raised, hesitant.

But then they saw the people behind me.

The procession of rescued women followed in silence, heads lowered, bodies stiff and bruised. They didn’t look up. Didn’t wave. Some of them flinched when the wind rustled too loud.

And so no one cheered.

The welcome died in the throat of the village.

Xin Du broke from the front of the gathering.

“Kai,” he said, falling in step beside me. “You’re alright! After that rain, we...”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

“I'm alright,” I said quietly. “But we brought back more than we expected.”

He followed my gaze toward the women. His brow furrowed. His eyes dimmed in understanding.

“I’ll alert the others,” he said. “Quietly.”

I nodded my thanks.

The path curved gently toward the Soaring Swallow. The inn stood just as I remembered it, warm light glowing faintly from within, the sound of muffled conversation rising beneath the rafters.

The door creaked open.

Lan-Yin poked her head out first, hair still tied back in its usual loose braid. Her expression was tense, searching. But when her eyes landed on me, she exhaled audibly and stepped out fully.

“Kai,” she said, relief flooding her voice. “You’re—”

“We made it,” I interrupted softly. “But they need help. Shelter. Comfort. And preferably not from any men.”

Her smile faltered. Her gaze shifted behind me, then back. Her eyes grew still. Gentle.

She nodded. “Bring them inside. I’ll handle it.”

I didn’t have to say anything more.

As she ushered the women past me, I turned slightly; just enough to glance into the Soaring Swallow’s common room. It was quiet. Mostly empty. The hearth still glowed in the far corner.

Ren Zhi sat there.

His face was still. Blank. Sightless.

But the moment I looked, he lifted his teacup. A silent greeting. Acknowledgment.

I returned it with the faintest tilt of my chin.

Tianyi lingered beside me, wings folded tight against her back. She didn’t speak. Just watched the last of the women pass through the door.

“You did more than enough,” I said quietly. “Go home. Take Windy. Rest.”

She hesitated, antennae twitching once. Then gave a small nod. She reached up and gently uncoiled Windy from my neck. He barely stirred, just shifted sleepily in her arms.

I watched her disappear down the path toward our home. Her silhouette dissolved into the mist, and the weight returned.

Because I still didn’t know if she was safe.

None of us were.

No one had collapsed. No one was sick. Not yet.

But the clothes were still stained.

The violet water soaked into boots, into skin. Into soil.

And if my theory was right—if this really was the Amethyst Plague—then every step they took home might be spreading it.

I clenched my teeth and turned sharply away.

The greenhouse stood at the center of the village. A gleaming structure of treated wood and reinforced glass. It was meant to be where I'd complete my quest, supporting the village and it's continued prosperity.

Now it was a lifeboat.

The only zone I could be sure was untouched by the rain. The ground was lifted, the irrigation sealed. If there was a place to begin creating a cure... it was here.

My garden might already be poisoned.

The thought made my gut twist.

I passed three villagers offering greetings and waved them off with a half-murmured apology. My steps didn’t slow.

“I’ll talk later,” I said. “Can’t. Not now.”

A few of them looked concerned. Others just nodded and stepped aside.

By the time I reached my home, I could feel the tension fully settle across my shoulders.

Three weeks.

If that was the window before symptoms took hold then I couldn’t waste a single moment.

I stepped inside.

The door closed behind me with a soft click.

It was time to begin the selection.

Quest: A Garden of Living Seeds

Cultivate five hybrid spiritual plants to aid Gentle Wind Village:

- A stamina-restoring root for those who toil beyond their limits. (0/1)

- A calming lotus to soothe the emotionally shaken. (0/1)

- A qi-dense herb to build the foundations of low-stage cultivators. (0/1)

- A plague-resistant moss for purification and medicinal use. (0/1)

- A memory-enhancing flower to sharpen minds. (0/1)

And I began.