The early morning sun spilled golden light over the quiet village of Jiǔshān Town, nestled at the foot of the towering mountain known as the Heavenly Crest. Mist curled gently through the valley, weaving among the ancient trees like silver ribbons.

Atop the mountain’s highest peak, far above the mundane world, Yùn Xiāo moved silently among his vast garden of glowing plants and ethereal creatures. His calm eyes swept over each delicate leaf and shimmering petal with practiced care.

Here, in the secluded sanctuary he called home, the world felt pure and eternal.

A soft breeze carried the scent of blooming Primordial Lotus and the faintest hint of frost from the Tiānhán Skychill Cat lounging lazily on a stone nearby. Yùn Xiāo’s hands brushed over the leaves of the Wúhuí Shū, a tree said to hold the wisdom of no regrets.

He smiled faintly, serene and unshaken, though beneath his tranquility, the air thrummed with a tension only a cultivator like him could perceive.

Deep within the mountain, hidden beneath layers of stone and spirit seals, an ancient prison weakened. A faint but unmistakable glow pulsed in the darkness—a sign the cosmic balance was shifting.

Yùn Xiāo closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The world was changing.

In his past life, Yùn Xiāo was not a loser.

He was a hyper-intelligent, calm, and independent young man in the modern world — a brilliant botanist and philosopher, living on the edge of society with no real attachments.

He lived on a remote mountain, cultivating rare flowers and writing strange poetry online that no one read.

One stormy night, he discovered a strange glowing seed buried inside a dead, petrified tree. When he touched it—

> A thunderclap shook the heavens.

Time and space shattered.

He blinked—and the sky was purple.

In the next instant, he was standing in a mist-covered realm with ten suns, silver trees, and a scroll floating before him that read:

> "The One Leaf Chooses You. Tend the Realm. Rule the Cosmos."

Instead of panic, Yùn Xiāo smiled faintly.

He patted his sleeves and said:

> “So this is it, huh?

A new world...

Let’s see what kind of garden I can grow.”

Thus began his peaceful life atop the Azureleaf Divine Mountain, tending immortal plants, raising divine beasts, and gradually becoming a figure feared and revered by all — the living embodiment of the Dao, a god hidden in plain sight.

When Yùn Xiāo touched the strange glowing seed in the petrified tree, it wasn’t just a seed — it was a fragment of the Dao itself, left behind by a forgotten creator who transcended all reality.

The moment he was transported to Wújí Tiānyuán, a voice echoed in his soul:

> [Initializing system...]

Welcome, Host.

You are now bound to the [Dao Seed Archive]. This world is your field. Grow well.

He gained no flashy skills. No immediate strength.

Instead, he received something far more mysterious, slow, and infinite—a system that allowed him to:

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📜 System Abilities

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🌱 1. Plant Anything, Grow Everything

By planting seeds or spiritual remnants, he could cultivate anything — divine herbs, weapons, beasts, or even laws.

Each successfully nurtured item grants Dao Resonance, empowering him slowly over time.

Example:

He planted a rusted sword in divine soil → it sprouted into a Sword Tree, each leaf capable of severing karma.

---

⛰️ 2. Heavenly Comprehension (Passive)

Every time Yùn Xiāo grows something successfully, he gains insight into the Dao it contains.

He didn’t learn by fighting—he learned by watching the world grow.

Example:

Cultivating the Heavenly Frost Lotus granted him mastery over Ice Laws without meditation.

---

💠 3. One Leaf, Ten Thousand Realms (Core Law)

This is the foundational law of the system.

“A single leaf reflects all of creation.”

Yùn Xiāo can imprint any realm, concept, or Dao into a leaf. The more he cultivates, the more reality he understands.

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📈 His Training Path (From Mortal to God)

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Yùn Xiāo never trained like a normal cultivator. He:

Never joined sects

Never entered battle arenas

Never fought to survive

Instead, he lived peacefully atop his peak. He spent:

🌅 Morning watering divine sprouts

📚 Afternoons observing clouds, talking to the deer

🌌 Nights writing Dao poems and sipping tea

Each plant he grew whispered secrets of the cosmos.

Each animal he tamed embodied laws older than stars.

Each moment of stillness pulled him closer to the Infinite Source.

Mist curled lazily around the cliffs of Azureleaf Peak, wrapping the ancient mountain in a gentle silence. A young man sat on a wooden porch beneath a sprawling divine tree whose leaves shimmered like stars. His robes were simple, yet embroidered with quiet elegance, and his long black hair spilled down his back like flowing ink.

He lifted a porcelain teacup, steam rising into the morning air. With every sip, the world seemed to quiet further — as though the mountain itself held its breath.

This was Yùn Xiāo, the Immortal of the Peak.

Once, long ago — or perhaps only a few years back — he was an ordinary modern man.

And now,

🌿 Behind him…

Rows of divine plants bloomed:

A Crimson Moon Orchid, glowing gently like a blood moon at dusk

A Jade Mist Willow, whose leaves whispered in forgotten tongues

Two spirit beasts lounged nearby — a snow-white fox with nine tails and golden eyes, and a lazy panda chewing on cloud bamboo that hovered midair.

Further down the stone path, a simple wooden house stood surrounded by colorful trees. The peak seemed like paradise — untamed, yet perfect.

---

🏞️ Today was different.

Yùn Xiāo opened his eyes slowly, watching the clouds drift by.

> “Mm. Someone’s coming.”

He didn’t look surprised.

For a long time, mortals, sect disciples, even rogue cultivators avoided this peak, believing it cursed, or sealed. But today, someone had broken the silence.

---

👣 Down the mountain path…

A girl was climbing with trembling steps. Mud stained her sky-blue robes. Her sword was chipped, her breathing uneven, but her eyes were full of stubborn light.

Her name: Lán Yīng — a disciple of the fallen Azure Cloud Sect.

Behind her, two children limped along — her younger siblings.

> “Just a little higher…” she whispered. “They said… a strange immortal lives here… maybe he can help…”

---

💧 Back at the peak…

Yùn Xiāo poured another cup.

> “It begins.”

He rose slowly, his voice like a calm stream flowing over stones.

> “I suppose I should clean the teacups.”

The rain had passed, but the air still smelled of sorrow.

A girl in torn sky-blue robes climbed the steep path, her hands scraped, her knees trembling. Her hair stuck to her face, soaked with sweat. Her sword, once gleaming with sect pride, now rattled at her waist — chipped and dulled.

Behind her followed two children, a boy and a girl, both no older than ten. The boy limped; the girl clung to her older sister’s sash, crying softly.

This was Lán Yīng, the last senior disciple of the Azure Cloud Sect — a sect destroyed just three months ago in a midnight raid.

She had no money. No master. No sect.

Her siblings were all she had left.

She had begged. Fought. Sold her own blood pills just to feed the two little ones. But when her younger brother fell ill with a spiritual poison after drinking cursed springwater…

She turned to a story. A rumor.

> "Up in the northern ridges," an old beggar whispered,

"there lives a man who walks with deer and pours tea for flowers. They say if he glances at your wounds, they vanish. But beware… he sees everything.”

---

Most dismissed it. A child's tale.

But Lán Yīng had no one else to turn to.

So she climbed. With nothing but a sliver of hope in her chest and her siblings' tiny hands in hers.

🏞️ The First Sign

As they neared the top, her vision blurred. Her legs buckled. The spiritual energy here was too dense—too ancient. She couldn’t breathe. Her brother coughed blood.

> “No… not now… we’re so close…”

She collapsed, gasping on the path.

That’s when she heard it.

A soft breeze. A voice carried by the wind.

> “The child is poisoned by a water wyrm. The cure blooms to the east of your hand.”

She turned her head.

There it was — a glowing Azure Vein Flower growing from the moss, unnoticed. A heavenly herb. She barely had the strength, but she reached and crushed it into her brother’s lips.

Within seconds… he stopped convulsing.

Her tears fell freely.

> “Is… someone watching us?”

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🌸 When She Finally Reached the Top…

A garden greeted her. So radiant, it made her forget her wounds. A deer with silver antlers looked at her with curiosity. Divine butterflies fluttered by. She heard laughter — not mocking, but gentle — and followed it.

There, beneath a massive tree, sat a man in white, pouring tea for an empty cup across from him.

He looked up with warm, unfathomable eyes.

> “You brought guests,” he said with a small smile.

“Good. I made enough tea.”

Lán Yīng stood frozen.

The man before her didn’t radiate power. No terrifying aura. No pressure on her chest. No storm swirling around him.

He simply poured tea.

And yet—

The world bent around his presence. The way the sunlight slanted perfectly through the leaves. How the flowers leaned toward him. The silence that grew softer, not heavier.

Her siblings knelt instinctively, not out of fear—but reverence.

Yùn Xiāo looked up, eyes as calm as ancient still water.

> “You climbed high,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “That deserves tea.”

He gestured to the flat stone before him.

A second teacup appeared.

---

☕ She hesitated.

> “I… I didn’t come for tea,” she said, voice rough with fatigue.

> “Everyone comes for something,” he replied. “But tea is always the first thing served.”

---

Her hand trembled as she reached for the cup. It was warm. Perfectly steeped. She took a sip.

For a moment—

The pain in her shoulders faded. Her cracked ribs eased. Even the ache behind her eyes, the weeks of fear and sorrow, softened.

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

---

🕊️ “Who are you…?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he lifted his own teacup and took a sip. A breeze carried the scent of peach blossoms, though none were in sight.

> “Just someone who grows things. Teas. Trees. Sometimes people.”

He placed the cup down. A small crack ran through the rim — yet it held the tea perfectly.

> “Like this cup. Flawed, but still useful. Still beautiful.”

He looked at her.

> “You came here because you are broken. But broken doesn’t mean useless.”

---

🌿 Her knees buckled.

She fell to the ground and bowed deeply.

> “Please… help us…”

Behind her, her siblings mirrored the motion.

Yùn Xiāo watched them silently, then sighed.

> “Fine. You may stay the night. There are beds inside.”

> “The panda will show you.”

The panda, sitting upright nearby and chewing on floating bamboo, gave a slow nod and waddled toward the cottage.

---

As the children followed, Yùn Xiāo turned his eyes to the sky.

> “It begins again.”

He reached behind the teapot and plucked a single leaf from the tree.

It glowed — faintly, but with endless depth.

> “One leaf… ten thousand realms.”

He smiled to himself.

> “Let’s see what you bring, disciple.”

🌌 That Night...

Lán Yīng lay awake on a bed softer than any silk she’d ever touched.

The house wasn’t large — bamboo walls, low shelves, strange wooden instruments humming with qi. But everything smelled like peach blossoms and warmth.

Her brother no longer coughed. Her sister slept soundly.

But she couldn’t.

She stepped outside into the moonlight.

And saw the garden glowing.

Flowers whispered. A fox with wings slept curled beside a plum tree. Fireflies the size of lanterns floated gently through the mist.

And in the distance, on the far side of the mountain—

Yùn Xiāo stood atop a stone platform, one hand behind his back, the other drawing in the air.

With every motion, stars followed his fingertips.

She watched in silence, not daring to breathe too loud.

> “He’s not just strong,” she whispered to herself. “He’s… beyond.”

And yet—

He poured tea for her.

✨ Flashback: Before the Fall

She remembered another garden.

Smaller. Plainer. The potted herbs behind her master’s hall. Her younger brother tugging at her sleeves, asking what each plant did. Her master laughing, long white beard trembling as he pretended to mistake parsley for poison.

> “The secret to medicine,” he had said, “is knowing which pain you can ease… and which must be endured.”

The smell of steamed dumplings. The sunset turning the mountain copper. The warm hum of qi as her master played his flute by the koi pond—

All gone in a single night.

---

The raid had come in silence.

Poisoned elders. Searing flames. Her master’s blood staining her robes. She’d fought, killed, carried her brother and sister on her back—

But not fast enough.

Her brother’s meridians were damaged. Her sister’s heart shattered. And her own dantian cracked at the edge from overexertion.

They wandered for three months.

Every sect turned them away.

Too much baggage. Too weak. Too dangerous.

Until someone whispered of a mountain above the clouds. A hermit who spoke to beasts. A god in human form.

And now—

She stood among glowing trees, watching a man who summoned stars with his fingers.

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🌠 Present Moment

She gripped her arms tightly.

> “I’m not enough,” she whispered.

The wind answered with silence.

> “I’m cracked, like his teacup.”

But then—

She remembered the tea.

Its warmth. Its gentleness. The way it made her grief rise, not bury it deeper.

And how he said nothing when she cried.

No pity. No lecture.

Just presence.

---

In the distance, Yùn Xiāo lowered his hand. The stars faded.

He didn’t turn around. But somehow, she knew—

He knew she was watching.

The scent of bamboo broth and dew-laced leaves greeted her before her eyes opened.

Lán Yīng blinked against the soft sunlight filtering through bamboo blinds. The sounds of her sister’s giggles and her brother’s excited chatter danced with the birdsong beyond the window.

She rose slowly, heart uncertain but lighter than yesterday.

Outside, the world looked like a painting.

The garden glowed with soft mist. Silver-leafed trees bowed toward the sky. Sunlight filtered through crystalline blossoms that seemed to breathe with qi. A pair of jade-furred deer grazed beneath a tree with purple glass fruit. And in the middle of it all — her siblings, barefoot in the grass.

Her sister chased after a glowing feather twirling through the air like a drifting star.

Her brother marveled at a caterpillar made of light, crawling across a blossom.

At the edge of the garden stood Yùn Xiāo, white robes fluttering, hair loose in the wind, pouring tea into wooden cups carved with ancient runes. A spirit bird, blue and gold, sat on his shoulder, chirping softly as he fed it glowing seed pods from his palm.

---

“You’re awake,” he said without turning.

Lán Yīng bowed instinctively. “Forgive me for oversleeping—”

But he raised a hand gently.

“There is no rush on this mountain. Time listens here.”

She blinked at his words.

Then he handed her a small jade gourd. It shimmered with qi, vines carved around its edges, and a soft hum resonated within it.

> “The Lanxiang Dream Vines have not bloomed in decades,” he said. “They need more than water. Sing to them. Only truth wakes them.”

She stared at the gourd, then at the glowing trellises of sleeping vines near the west fence.

“…Sing?” she asked hesitantly.

He simply nodded.

---

Her little sister ran up, cupping something in her hands.

> “Big sis! Look what I caught!”

In her palms lay a feather — silver at the base, golden at the tip, and pulsing faintly with warmth.

Yùn Xiāo’s eyes flickered toward it.

> “Sky Phoenix,” he said softly. “Its feathers fall only when it chooses to bless. That is no toy.”

The little girl held it tighter, suddenly solemn.

Yùn Xiāo knelt before her, meeting her wide eyes.

> “Treat it kindly. With sincerity. And it will guard your family in silence.”

The girl nodded like a warrior receiving an imperial edict.

---

As the morning stretched, Lán Yīng wandered toward the Lanxiang Dream Vines.

The garden was peaceful, the mist rising like incense. The plants listened. The mountain listened.

So she sang.

Her voice, cracked by years and grief, stumbled at first. But the vines shivered. One by one, buds opened — blossoms like tiny windchimes catching sunlight.

Behind her, Yùn Xiāo watched in silence.

Not smiling. Not praising.

But something in his eyes softened — like moonlight falling on still water.

---

That morning, for the first time in years, Lán Yīng felt like she belonged somewhere.

Not as a warrior. Not as a healer.

Just… a person.