The morning after my fourth birthday dawned clear and crisp. Mother had already risen to prepare breakfast, the smell of rice porridge filling our small home. Father sat cross-legged on his worn cushion, watching me with a mix of pride and something else—perhaps concern—in his green eyes.
Elder Ming arrived as the morning mist was beginning to fade. She wore her usual grey robes, but something about her bearing seemed different today. More formal, perhaps. More like a teacher than the village healer I'd known.
"Are you ready, little one?" she asked, her gray eyes meeting mine.
I nodded, trying to contain my eagerness. Mother fussed with my simple brown tunic one last time,
"Make sure you're back for lunch on time don't be late, also don't forget the snacks I packed for you, be safe Lingxuan," she said, reluctantly before letting me leave with Elder Ming.
We set out from our home at the village's eastern edge, where the last row of houses met the beginning of Father's fields. The packed earth path led us between the other farmers' homes—simple wooden structures much like ours, with small vegetable gardens and chicken coops behind them. Smoke rose from morning cooking fires, carrying the scents of breakfast through the cool air.
The dirt path wound its way toward the village center, widening as we went. We passed the carpenter's workshop, where Master Wu was already at work, the rhythmic sound of his panel saw cutting wood mixing with the morning birdsong. His apprentice swept saw dust into neat piles, pausing to wave as we passed.
The heart of our small community, the village square, opened before us. The well at its center served as both a water source and a gathering place, its stone rim worn smooth by generations of villagers. The market stalls stood empty—it would be three days until the next market day—but the wooden frames remained, awaiting the traveling merchants' arrival.
Moving beyond the village square, we turned north onto a narrower path that curved past the blacksmith's forge. Though early, Master Zhang, our village blacksmith was already at work. The ring of hammer on metal echoed past us and continued throughout the square. As I watched the sparks fly from his open workshop, I noticed how the raw mana in the air seemed to dance in response to each strike of his hammer.
The path gradually sloped upward as we approached the village's northern edge. Here, the neat rows of houses gave way to scattered dwellings set further apart. Wild herbs grew alongside the path—some I recognized from the medicines Mother bought, others unfamiliar but radiating subtle mana signatures.
Elder Ming's hut stood apart from the other buildings, where the village proper ended and the forest began. Unlike the squared corners and straight lines of village houses, her home seemed to have grown organically from the landscape. Weathered wooden walls curved gracefully, the roof thatched with local reeds that whispered in the morning breeze. Crystal chimes hung from the eaves, catching early sunlight and casting rainbow patterns on the ground.
The herb garden surrounding her home was no random collection of plants but a carefully orchestrated symphony of life and color. Raised beds spiraled outward from the hut in intricate circular patterns, each hosting different varieties of medicinal herbs. Over the past few years as I've come to Elder Ming's hut with Mother, I've been introduced to these medicinal herbs and plants and told what they were, although the multitude of ways they can be used still elude me.
Ghost Leaf plants with their translucent white foliage pulsed gently with stored mana, while crimson Star-Heart flowers tracked our movement like curious sentinels, their delicate petals swaying against the breeze. Luminous blue Spirit Moss carpeted the shaded areas, its tiny spores floating upward like miniature stars, and twisted Dragon's Breath vines with their color-shifting leaves wound through carved wooden trellises. In one bed, golden Sun-Drop flowers hovered inches above their stems, suspended by barely visible threads of energy, while in another, shimmering Silver-Mist herbs released clouds of glittering spores that danced in the morning light. The entire garden bustled with energy, each plant contributing its own note to the symphony.
"We won't start inside today," Elder Ming said, retrieving two worn gathering baskets from beside her door. She handed me the smaller one, its woven strips smooth from years of use. "The best lessons begin with the basics."
She led me past her garden to where the forest proper began. The transition was gradual—scattered trees becoming denser, the underbrush thicker, the light changing as it filtered through the canopy above. The air felt different here, heavier with natural mana.
"Watch where I step," she instructed, her feet finding secure placement despite the uneven ground. "And tell me what you notice about the forest."
I followed carefully, extending my senses as we walked. "The mana... it's different from the village. More... alive?" I struggled to find the right words.
She nodded approvingly. "Good. What else?"
"Some places feel stronger than others. Like..." I pointed to where a shaft of sunlight pierced the canopy, illuminating a cluster of white flowers. "There. The mana gathers there."
"Those are Moonlight Petals," she said, moving toward the flowers. "They grow where natural mana converges. Watch how I harvest them."
Her movements were precise as she knelt beside the Moonlight Petals. Though I couldn't see into her meridians, I could now witness how she worked with spiritual energy. She held her hands above the flowers, and fine strands of pure white energy extended from her fingertips, gently wrapping around each stem. The flowers trembled slightly, their petals brightening as if greeting an old friend. Through my spiritual senses, I watched in fascination as her energy seeped into the plants, carefully separating flower from root while somehow encouraging the stems to release their hold willingly.
"Watch carefully," she murmured, as the blooms lifted free, roots untouched and ready to produce new growth. "Proper harvesting ensures the plant lives to give again." The floating flowers drifted gracefully into her basket, their luminescence undiminished. Each movement was deliberate, displaying a level of energy control I'd never witnessed before.
This was worlds away from the crude gathering I'd seen others perform. Where they might simply pluck or cut, Elder Ming's method left the plants not just alive but thriving. Even after the flowers were harvested, I could see traces of her spiritual energy nurturing the roots, encouraging future growth.
We moved deeper into the forest, sunlight filtering through the canopy in shifting patterns. Morning dew still clung to spider webs that stretched between branches, each droplet refracting tiny rainbows. The forest floor wasn't flat but rolled in gentle waves, creating natural hollows where mana pooled like invisible ponds. In one such depression, partially hidden beneath a fallen log, I spotted a cluster of plants Elder Ming called our next target.
"Azure Star Root," she said, gesturing to the striking plants before us. Their stems grew in spiral patterns, supporting leaves that shimmered between deep blue and purple depending on how the light struck them. What truly caught my attention were the star-shaped flowers that crowned each plant, their centers seeming to hold tiny galaxies of swirling spiritual energy. "One of the few plants where the true power lies beneath the earth."
This time, Elder Ming's spiritual energy manifested as a soft azure mist that matched the plant's coloring. It sank into the soil around the plants, creating a luminous outline of the entire root system. I watched, fascinated, as her energy gently loosened the earth itself, allowing the extensive root network to lift free without breaking a single delicate filament. The roots glowed with their own inner light, looking like branching streams of liquid starlight.
"When the whole plant is needed, we must also ensure its continuation," she explained, her fingers deftly plucking the seed pods that hung like tiny bells among the flowers. She held them in her palm, and I watched as she infused each seed with a trace of spiritual energy, causing them to pulse briefly with inner light. "We give back what we take," she said, scattering the energized seeds in a wide arc. Where they fell, I could see tiny motes of light sink into the soil, already reaching for nutrients. "These will grow stronger than their parents, touched by spiritual energy. This is how we maintain balance—not just taking, but improving what remains."
We spent the morning moving deeper into the forest's embrace, each step revealing new wonders. Elder Ming's knowledge flowed as naturally as a stream, teaching me the names and properties of plants I'd never imagined existed—Twilight Bell flowers that chimed silently with spiritual energy, Serpent's Scale ferns whose leaves rippled with iridescent patterns, and dozens more. Yet more valuable than the names was learning to read the forest's hidden language—the way certain trees leaned toward mana-rich soil, how morning shadows pointed to rare herb clusters, and the subtle signs of energy convergence that promised magical discoveries.
As we worked, a small herd of Dawn Deer emerged from between the trees, their coats shifting from rose gold to pale silver as sunlight touched their fur. Tiny points of light danced around their delicate hooves, each step leaving momentary flowers of spiritual energy that faded like morning frost. The fawns, still unsteady on their legs, had barely-formed crystal growths on their foreheads where antlers would one day sprout. One curious youngster ventured closer, drawn perhaps by the spiritual energy of our harvested herbs, its eyes swirling with galaxies of gold and silver.
Near a sun-dappled stream where we found a patch of Luminous Moss, a magnificent stag paused to drink, his antlers crowned with twining vines and small white flowers. The mana flowing through his body created gentle ripples in the stream's surface, and small fish with scales like polished jade gathered near, drawn to his natural energy. The stag regarded us with ancient eyes before continuing on his way, leaving behind hoofprints that sparkled briefly with traces of earth-attribute mana.
The sun was high overhead when we finally turned back, our baskets half-filled with carefully harvested herbs. I had questions about everything we'd gathered, but something in Elder Ming's manner suggested patience. This was just the first lesson of many.
As we approached her hut, she paused. "Tell me, little one, what did you learn today?"
I considered carefully. "That there's a pattern to where things grow. That the forest has its own kind of order."
She smiled, that same transformation coming over her weathered features. "Good. And what else?"
"That gathering herbs isn't just about finding and picking them. It's about..." I searched for the right words, "...understanding their place in everything."
"Very good," she nodded. "Tomorrow, we'll learn what to do with what we've gathered. For now, take these home to dry." She transferred several varieties of herbs to my basket. "And practice your breathing before sleep. The forest's lessons are clearer to a cultivator with stable energy."
That night, as I practiced my breathing technique, I found that my morning in the forest had changed something subtle in my understanding. The mana I drew in seemed to carry echoes of the forest's vitality, and my spirit core responded with newfound resonance. Elder Ming wasn't just teaching me about herbs—she was showing me how to read the very patterns of nature itself.
When the sun reached its zenith, casting dappled light through the jade canopy above, we finally turned our steps homeward. Our baskets brimmed with our careful harvest—each plant glowing softly with residual energy from their careful collection. Questions bubbled in my mind about every herb and flower we'd gathered, but Elder Ming's gentle smile suggested these answers would come with time. Today was just the beginning, after all.
As we approached her hut, the crystal chimes dancing in the midday light and spirit herbs swaying in her garden, she paused. "Tell me, little one," her silver eyes bright in the sunlight, "what did you learn from the forest today?"
I thought about the morning's discoveries, how differently I now saw the flow of mana around us. "The forest has its own order," I said. "Everything connects, like a pattern that keeps revealing new details the longer you look."
Her smile warmed her weathered features. "Good. What else?"
"Gathering herbs isn't just about picking plants," I said, watching a wisp of energy drift between the garden's flowers. "It's about seeing how everything fits together."
"Very good," she nodded, her voice carrying quiet approval. "Tomorrow, we'll learn what these plants can do. For now, take these home to dry." She transferred several varieties of herbs to my basket, their energy still softly pulsing. "And don't forget your breathing practice tonight. The forest's lessons sink in deeper when our own energy is calm."
That night, as I practiced my breathing technique, I found my thoughts returning to the morning's experiences. The mana I drew in seemed to carry echoes of the forest—hints of Azure Star Root's vitality and Moonlight Petals' gentle glow. My spirit core responded to these new energies, each breath helping me understand a little more of what Elder Ming had shown me. She wasn't just teaching me about herbs; she was showing me how to read the natural world's flow of energy, one small lesson at a time.