Chapter 13: The Problem With Patients Who Refuse to Stay Unconscious
Khun Ming spent most of the morning doing exactly what he had originally planned to do before lightning decided to interrupt his schedule by dropping injured wildlife into it, which, in his opinion, was not a standard variable he had accounted for when organizing the day.
Harvest petals.
A lot of petals.
The marigold patch near the stream looked bright and cheerful in the soft morning light, the blossoms swaying gently as if they were participating in a peaceful scene that had nothing to do with labor calculations or production requirements, which would normally be encouraging if appearance had any measurable effect on workload. Unfortunately, brightness did not reduce the amount of effort required to turn flowers into usable dye, and the plants showed no intention of assisting in their own processing.
He crouched among them with a basket in one hand and began plucking blossoms methodically, his movements steady and consistent, each flower removed with a small twist that preserved the petals while leaving the rest of the plant undisturbed.
"Tagetes erecta," he said out of habit as he worked, his tone calm and automatic. "This particular species of marigold belongs to the Asteraceae family, and it happens to be one of the most reliable plants for producing a stable yellow dye, which is fortunate, because unreliable plants tend to create unnecessary complications later in the process."
The dog lay nearby, watching him with quiet attention, or at least with the appearance of attention that Khun Ming had long since accepted as participation.
"Yes, I am aware that we already established the plant's name yesterday," Khun Ming added while glancing at the dog, not pausing in his work. "However, repeating information helps maintain consistency in the work process, and it also reduces the likelihood of me forgetting what I am harvesting halfway through, which would be an embarrassing but not entirely impossible mistake."
He separated the petals from the calyx with practiced fingers, the motion smooth and efficient as the soft layers of orange and gold accumulated steadily in the basket, their faint scent rising into the air and mixing with the damp, earthy smell of the soil near the stream.
"These petals contain two primary pigment compounds called lutein and quercetagetin," he continued while working carefully through another cluster of blooms. "Both of those contribute to the yellow coloration that appears once the dye is properly extracted, although the final tone depends on how well the process is controlled rather than simply the presence of the compounds themselves."
The dog blinked once, which he interpreted as continued engagement.
"Lutein belongs to the carotenoid family of pigments, while quercetagetin is classified as a flavonoid compound," he explained, his tone still even and conversational. "Together they produce a warm and fairly stable yellow tone when they bond correctly with plant fibers, which is the outcome I am aiming for, because inconsistency tends to cause more problems than it solves."
He reached for another bloom, turning it slightly before separating the petals and letting them fall into the basket.
"These compounds respond very well when alum is used as the mordant," he went on. "The alum helps the pigment bind to the fiber so that the color remains stable rather than fading after the first wash, which would otherwise make the entire effort somewhat pointless."
Another handful of petals dropped softly into place.
"Marigolds also have mild antiseptic and anti-inflammatory properties," he added, his tone shifting slightly with a hint of dry observation. "That characteristic turned out to be unexpectedly useful when treating burn injuries last night, which is not a typical application I had planned for, but it is always good to confirm that the material performs well under varied conditions."
The dog's tail thumped once against the ground, a quiet, satisfied motion.
"Yes," Khun Ming said, glancing at it briefly. "That particular property ended up being far more helpful than I originally expected, and I will likely remember that in the future, assuming similar situations continue to occur, which I would prefer they do not, but the pattern is not entirely reassuring so far."
Inside the cottage, Hu Xinyan listened.
Her head still rested against the woven mat where Khun Ming had placed her, her body remaining mostly unresponsive except for the slow return of sensation that came with both pain and awareness, and although she had not moved, her senses had recovered enough to track everything happening outside with uncomfortable clarity.
Every word he spoke reached her without obstruction.
This mortal… was lecturing a dog about plant chemistry as if that were a normal and necessary part of the morning routine.
She attempted to move one paw, testing the limits of her body, and pain answered immediately, sharp and undeniable, her muscles trembling faintly from the lingering effects of the tribulation backlash that had not yet fully settled.
Lightning had entered her meridians, tearing through multiple internal channels with destructive force before collapsing her cultivation and forcing her back into her beast form, a failure that should have ended her existence rather than leaving her here.
She should have died.
Yet somehow, she had awakened in a quiet wooden cottage where someone was calmly harvesting flowers and discussing pigment stability.
Her injuries were not worsening.
They were… stabilizing.
That alone made no sense.
Her gaze shifted toward the sword leaning against the wall, and the moment her awareness brushed against it, her instincts tightened sharply, because the presence within that blade was not singular, but layered, seven distinct entities contained within something that appeared outwardly ordinary, each one ancient, each one powerful enough to unsettle her even in her current state.
They were silent.
But they were aware.
Hu Xinyan swallowed slowly, her throat dry despite the calmness in her meridians, and then her gaze moved toward the doorway, where the golden dog sat in the sunlight, its posture relaxed, its tail occasionally moving with quiet contentment.
That creature felt even more dangerous.
And yet both the sword and the dog behaved as if the mortal dyer outside was simply… part of their routine.
Her mind could not reconcile the contradiction no matter how many times she tried to arrange it into something logical.
Outside, Khun Ming stood up and examined the basket, lifting it slightly and shifting the weight in his hands as he made a rough estimate based on familiarity rather than precise measurement.
"Two kilograms of petals should be in this basket now," he said after a brief moment, his tone thoughtful. "Unfortunately, that means we still need approximately six more kilograms if we want to maintain the correct dye ratio, and reducing the ratio is not a viable option if I want consistent results."
He looked out over the patch, where the remaining flowers continued to sway peacefully, entirely unconcerned with his calculations.
"…Six more," he added, with quiet acceptance rather than complaint.
The dog lifted its head slightly, as if acknowledging the statement.
"Yes," Khun Ming sighed, though the sound carried more patience than frustration. "Natural dyeing is a surprisingly labor-intensive process, and flowers do not harvest themselves no matter how optimistic a person may be, which means we will need to continue at this pace for a while longer."
He adjusted the basket at his side, crouched back down among the plants, and reached for the next bloom, his movements returning immediately to that steady rhythm as the morning continued to unfold around him, unchanged by the presence of a recovering tribulation survivor inside his workshop, because from his perspective, the work still needed to be done, and the flowers were not going to pick themselves.
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Inside the cottage, Hu Xinyan attempted to sit up, not because she believed she was fully capable of it, but because instinct pushed her to test the limits of her own body, and the effort lasted no more than two seconds before a sharp, immediate pain shot through her spine and scattered through her limbs, forcing her back down onto the woven mat with a loss of control that she did not appreciate.
The dog's ears twitched.
Hu Xinyan froze completely, her body locking in place before the pain had even settled, because her instincts reacted faster than her thoughts, and those instincts were not subtle in their warning.
The golden retriever slowly turned its head and looked directly at her, its movement unhurried and almost lazy, but the moment its gaze settled on her, the air seemed to tighten in a way that had nothing to do with physical pressure.
Its eyes held an unsettling calm.
Hu Xinyan's instincts surged again, louder this time, more insistent, because every part of her recognized something that her mind could not yet fully process.
That dog could erase mountains.
The dog blinked once.
Then it wagged its tail.
Hu Xinyan stared, caught between two completely incompatible conclusions, because the creature that could probably devour half a cultivation sect without effort was currently behaving like a household companion that expected praise for basic supervision.
The door opened.
Khun Ming walked in carrying another basket of marigold petals, the warm colors contrasting gently against the neutral tones of the cottage, and he paused slightly when he noticed her attempting to move.
"Ah, I see that you are attempting to stand up," he said, his tone calm and mildly observational rather than alarmed. "I should probably mention that this is not a good idea at the moment, although I do understand the general desire to confirm that one is still capable of movement."
Hu Xinyan froze again, though this time it was less from instinct and more from the realization that she had been noticed.
Khun Ming set the basket aside and walked over, crouching beside her with the same steady, unhurried composure he had shown before, as if dealing with injured tigers was simply another part of his daily routine.
"Please try not to move right now," he continued, his voice even and practical. "Your body is still recovering from severe nerve trauma caused by the lightning strike, and movement at this stage tends to create more problems than it solves."
He gently placed a hand against her shoulder, not applying force, but enough to discourage further attempts.
"You are still experiencing nerve damage from the electrical shock," he explained calmly. "If you try to move too quickly, the muscles and nerves may react unpredictably, which could delay the recovery process rather than improve it, and that would be inefficient."
Hu Xinyan blinked slowly.
Nerve damage.
That was… technically accurate.
Khun Ming leaned closer and examined the burn areas again, his focus narrowing into quiet attention as he observed the condition of the treated skin.
The aloe gel had dried slightly overnight, forming a thin, protective layer that had done its job but now needed refreshing.
"I am going to apply another layer of aloe vera gel to the burns," he said while reaching for the prepared mixture. "Aloe is very effective for cooling damaged skin and reducing inflammation, which makes it particularly useful in cases involving both heat and electrical trauma."
He spread the gel carefully, his movements controlled and precise, ensuring even coverage without disturbing the healing tissue.
"This plant contains compounds that support skin recovery and reduce swelling," he continued, his tone conversational rather than instructional. "That is why it performs well in treating burn injuries, especially when applied consistently during the early stages."
Hu Xinyan remained perfectly still, not because she had decided to trust him, but because the sensation that followed was unexpectedly soothing, the coolness of the gel easing some of the residual discomfort that lingered beneath the surface.
Then he added a thin layer of crushed marigold paste around the treated areas, working just as carefully as before.
"After the aloe layer, I will add a small amount of marigold paste around the damaged tissue," he explained. "Marigold petals contain mild anti-inflammatory compounds that support the healing process, and they complement the cooling effect of the aloe rather well."
Hu Xinyan's ears twitched faintly.
The mortal was using dye plants as medical treatment.
And it was working.
Khun Ming leaned back slightly and examined the results of his work, his gaze moving across the treated areas with quiet satisfaction.
"The recovery process is progressing quite well so far," he said after a moment. "The inflammation has decreased, and the tissue does not show any signs of infection, which means the treatment is functioning as intended."
Hu Xinyan's eyes narrowed slightly.
He was correct.
Her body had stabilized faster than expected, and the violent, chaotic energy that had torn through her meridians had not only settled, but had begun to smooth out in a way that felt almost unnatural.
Her spiritual sea felt…
Calm.
That should not have been possible.
Khun Ming stood up and gave a small nod, as if confirming the situation for himself.
"You should rest," he said simply.
Hu Xinyan did not argue.
Not because she trusted him.
Because the dog was still watching.
Khun Ming picked up the basket of petals and carried it over to the dyeing area, where he began separating them with the same steady precision he had shown earlier, each motion deliberate and unhurried.
Hu Xinyan observed quietly, her attention shifting from her own condition to the way he worked.
Petals were separated cleanly.
Stems were discarded without hesitation.
Weights were estimated and adjusted.
Water pots were arranged in preparation.
Everything followed a sequence that did not feel improvised.
He spoke aloud as he worked, not loudly, but enough to accompany the rhythm of his actions.
"Fiber weight approximately six kilograms," he said while glancing at the bundles of cloth stacked neatly near the wall.
"Petal ratio should remain at least one-to-one," he continued, lifting the basket slightly as if confirming his estimate. "Although increasing the ratio slightly tends to produce a more saturated result, which is preferable when consistency matters."
He shifted the basket in his hands.
"Eight kilograms of petals for stronger extraction," he added.
Hu Xinyan blinked slowly.
Eight kilograms.
This man was preparing a dye bath large enough to handle an entire merchant shipment without hesitation.
Khun Ming turned to the large iron pot and began filling it with water, adjusting the level with practiced familiarity.
"One hundred twenty liters for the dye bath," he murmured.
Hu Xinyan stared.
This mortal was preparing enough dye to flood a small pond, and he was doing it with the same calm attention one might use to prepare a meal.
He added the petals to the pot and began heating the water, the flame settling into a steady burn as thin trails of steam rose gradually from the surface.
Hu Xinyan felt something shift.
Not in the room.
In the atmosphere itself.
Every step he took felt… balanced.
Measured.
Calm.
His spiritual presence remained nonexistent, and yet the environment around him felt unusually stable, as if the space responded to his actions in ways that had nothing to do with cultivation.
Even the air inside the cottage moved smoothly, without disturbance.
Inside the sword, a quiet voice broke the silence.
"He aligns everything," the Nine-Tailed Fox said softly.
The Azure Dragon gave a slow nod.
"Without knowing."
The Phoenix's flame flickered gently, carrying a trace of quiet amusement.
Outside the pot, Khun Ming stirred the petals slowly with a wooden paddle, guiding the extraction with steady movements.
"Temperature should remain around seventy degrees," he murmured to himself. "It is important not to let it boil, because excessive heat will damage the pigment and reduce the brightness of the final color."
Hu Xinyan's ears twitched again.
She had faced heavenly lightning.
Yet now she lay on a workshop floor watching a mortal carefully manage temperature control for a dye bath as if it were the most important task in the world.
Khun Ming lifted a spoon and examined the liquid, watching how the color had begun to deepen into a warm, golden tone.
He nodded slightly.
"Extraction is progressing well," he said quietly.
Then he glanced over at the tiger.
"You're awake," he said, as if confirming something already expected.
Hu Xinyan stared back at him, her gaze steady but unreadable.
Khun Ming nodded once.
"That means your nervous system is recovering," he added.
Hu Xinyan blinked, unsure whether to respond or remain silent.
The dog wagged its tail again, clearly satisfied with the development.
Khun Ming returned to stirring the dye bath, the motion smooth and consistent as the room gradually filled with the warm, slightly earthy scent of marigold.
Hu Xinyan watched in silence.
The sword.
The dog.
The mortal.
Nothing about this place made sense.
And yet, despite everything, the calm within the cottage felt safer than any sect she had ever known.
Khun Ming glanced over once more and spoke in the same casual tone.
"Try not to walk around," he said. "You are still under medical observation, and it would be inconvenient if you made your condition worse while I am in the middle of preparing this batch."
Then he turned back to the dye bath, giving it his full attention again, as if treating a lightning-struck tiger was simply another small responsibility placed somewhere between boiling petals and preparing cloth for a customer who expected consistent results.
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Chapter 13 complete.