Chrysanthemum Douluo

[A moment later, someone knocked on your door.]

["Knock, knock, knock!"]

[Three knocks, neither hurried nor slow, each equally measured and firm, as though striking taut heartstrings.]

[You opened the door. Outside stood a middle-aged man in a robe patterned with dark gold.]

[He was tall, slender, and rather lean, with fair skin and features so delicate they verged on feminine. The outer corners of his pale gold eyes tilted slightly upward, and he studied people with the concentration and exacting scrutiny of someone appraising a prized flower.]

[Most striking was the air about him-his Soul Power was concealed deep within, leaving only a faint trace of cool fragrance lingering around him, crisp and refined, like the last cluster of chrysanthemums blooming defiantly against the frost in a late-autumn wind.]

[You knew at once that the visitor must be Chrysanthemum Douluo, but feigned puzzlement. "Senior, whom are you looking for?"]

[The man did not step inside. His pale gold eyes rested on your face for a moment before he raised his fingers in a delicate, orchid-like gesture-]

[A wisp of pale gold Soul Power gathered at his fingertips, fine as a gossamer thread. It circled you soundlessly, plucked a strand of the lingering immortal essence drifting from your body, and slowly returned to his palm.]

[His gaze followed that strand of aura inch by inch, and even his breathing grew exceedingly light.]

[The two spiritual essences of ice and fire intertwined against the pad of his finger, ice blue wrapped around fiery red, like a tongue of flame on the verge of dying out.]

[His slender fingers gently twisted and slowly rubbed it, his movements as tender as a caress over fragile chrysanthemum petals, or as though he were verifying a brittle old dream.]

["This aura..." He closed his eyes, his voice so intoxicated it was almost a murmur in his sleep. "It's Octagonal Mysterious Ice Grass, and Infernal Delicate Apricot."]

[After a long while, he slowly opened his eyes. The strand of intertwined ice and fire aura on his fingertip had long since dissipated.]

[When he looked at you again, his pale gold eyes held not only scrutiny, but also a measure of undisguised appreciation and curiosity. "Little fellow, you've consumed both of these immortal herbs, haven't you?"]

[You smiled and cupped your hands. "You have a discerning eye, Senior."]

[Chrysanthemum Douluo nodded slightly, his fingertips still pinching that trace of lingering essence as pale gold Soul Power flowed leisurely between them. His voice was soft and feminine, yet retained its authority. "Where did you obtain these two immortal herbs?"]

[You smiled. "In an herb garden around a spiritual spring with twin waters born from a single source. One half was a churning, fiery spring, its waves of heat reaching the heavens, where Infernal Delicate Apricot grew. The other half was bone-piercing ice, unbearably cold, where Octagonal Mysterious Ice Grass grew."]

[At your words, Chrysanthemum Douluo's pale gold pupils abruptly contracted, and even his breathing stopped for an instant. He leaned forward instinctively, his sleeves stirring without a breeze and revealing a stretch of lustrous white wrist. Even the crisp chrysanthemum fragrance around him seemed to congeal a little.]

["The Ice and Fire Yin Yang Well! It must be the Ice and Fire Yin Yang Well!" he murmured, a barely perceptible tremor hidden in his voice. "A supreme treasure land where the spiritual energy of heaven and earth gathers, spoken of in legends-twin waters born from a single source, ice and fire mingling. Ordinary plants die upon contact; only immortal-grade spiritual roots can take root there."]

["I've searched desperately for half my life, thinking it was nothing but an elusive rumor..."]

[He abruptly fell silent and looked up at you, his pale gold eyes blazing. His usual feminine reserve and pride had all turned to urgency. "Little fellow, tell me quickly. Where is that place?"]

[You cupped your hands in apology, your tone calm but leaving no room for negotiation. "Please forgive me, Senior. I promised the owner of that treasure land that I would never reveal its location to anyone."]

[Seeing his brows gradually draw together, you added, "Besides, the immortal herbs there have long since been picked clean. Now it's nothing more than a somewhat better herb garden."]

[The atmosphere grew still for a moment.]

[Chrysanthemum Douluo's gaze roamed your face for a while. A faint sense of pressure spread like a thin mist, and even the rustling of the bamboo grove outside the window seemed to recede.]

[After a long while, the sharp gleam in his eyes gradually faded. He sighed, his voice tinged with waning interest. "In that case, forget it."]

[Seeing that he had not used his power to pressure you or force an answer, your opinion of his character rose further, and you could not help taking the initiative. "Senior, do you also wish to obtain an immortal herb?"]

[At this, Chrysanthemum Douluo turned to look at you, a strange light flashing through his pale gold eyes.]

[He pondered for a moment before finally giving a soft sigh, his voice carrying undisguised wistfulness. "My Martial Soul-the Singular Velvet Sky Chrysanthemum-shares its origin with the immortal herbs of this world. If I could obtain a compatible immortal-grade herb, perhaps I could advance another step..."]

[With a light brush of his orchid-poised fingers, a wisp of pale gold Soul Power spilled from his fingertips, forming half a translucent Singular Velvet Sky Chrysanthemum in midair. Its layered petals unfurled and slowly revolved, the flowing radiance carrying an air of cool, noble refinement.]

["Besides, I've always felt a certain affinity with them." He gazed at the flower's phantom image, his voice dropping a little. "Flowers have spirits, yet people have no feeling. There are too few in this world who understand them."]

["If all you seek is an immortal herb, Senior-" You paused. "I might be able to help."]

["Hmm?" Chrysanthemum Douluo's eyes suddenly lit up, and urgency had already crept into his voice. "You know where else an immortal-grade herb can be found?"]

[He instinctively leaned half a step forward, almost drawing right up to you. "Little fellow, tell me quickly-"]

[You calmly stepped half a pace back. Rather than answer at once, you simply smiled, moved aside from the doorway, and gestured for him to enter. "Please come inside so we can talk, Senior."]

[Chrysanthemum Douluo's gaze briefly stilled. His eyes lingered on your face for a moment before he lightly swept his sleeve and stepped inside.]

[The room was very simply furnished: one table, one chair, and one bed. A bronze incense burner half a person's height stood in the corner, wisps of bluish smoke slowly escaping through its openwork beast patterns and giving off a faint bamboo fragrance.]

[Apart from that, a simple, elegant celadon flowerpot sat on a low table by the window. Its soil was moist, and an ordinary sensitive plant grew in it.]

[Its tiny, featherlike leaves were quietly unfurling. As the evening breeze passed over them, they trembled slightly, then slowly folded shut again.]

[Chrysanthemum Douluo's gaze fell first on that sensitive plant, and his steps paused slightly.]

[You took a set of coarse pottery teaware from your Storage Soul Tool, warmed some clean water with Soul Power, brewed a pot of ordinary wild tea, and filled two cups. Gently pushing one toward him, you spoke with a hint of apology. "My humble lodgings are simple, and I have no fine tea to offer. Please pardon the poor hospitality, Senior."]

[Only then did Chrysanthemum Douluo withdraw his gaze and sit on the room's only low stool.]

[His back was perfectly straight, his hands resting naturally on his knees. His bearing was noble and composed, like a prized chrysanthemum transplanted into a humble room: even relegated to a corner, it retained its pure elegance.]

[He accepted the tea but did not hurry to drink. His fingertips lightly rubbed the rim of the cup, and his gaze returned to the sensitive plant by the window.]

["You've tended it well," he said, his soft, feminine voice even, a measure of seriousness in his pale gold eyes. "The leaves spread just as they should, the stems are straight and strong, the soil and water are suitable, and it receives the proper light. One can tell its owner has truly put thought into it."]

[After a pause, he lowered his head and sipped the tea. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly for an instant, then smoothed again. "A pity, though. In the end, it's only an ordinary plant."]

[You smiled, set down the teapot, and sat on the edge of the bed. "Flowers and plants are neither noble nor lowly by nature. It only depends on whether the person tending them is willing to spend time understanding them."]

[Chrysanthemum Douluo's fingers paused slightly around his cup. He turned and gave you a long look, his tone becoming more respectful. "Do you understand flowers and plants as well?"]

["I wouldn't say that." You lowered your eyes to the tea leaves rising and sinking in your cup, the faintest smile appearing at the corners of your mouth. "I simply once tended a stalk of Blue Silver Grass."]

[A trace of surprise flashed through Chrysanthemum Douluo's eyes.]

[Blue Silver Grass was the most common, most ordinary plant on the Douluo Continent, neither rare nor exceptionally beautiful. Most people could not even be bothered to glance at it.]

["Was there something special about that stalk of Blue Silver Grass?" he asked tentatively.]

["It was only special to me." Your tone was calm, and you said no more.]

[Seeing the trace of wistfulness pass through your eyes, Chrysanthemum Douluo knew there was a story behind it. Those in this world who loved flowers and cherished plants often entrusted their private feelings to them. When feeling ran deep, plants were no longer merely plants.]

[He asked no further questions, only raised his cup and took another sip, his appreciation of you deepening a little.]