Chapter 14: The Cat That Tried to Stand
Steam rose slowly from the dye pot beside the bamboo station, drifting upward in thin, steady trails before disappearing through the open roof into the mild afternoon air, and the scent of marigold spread gently across the courtyard, warm and slightly earthy in a way that always signaled the extraction had reached the proper stage, because the petals had been simmering long enough to release their color without being pushed too far.
Khun Ming stood beside the pot with a long wooden paddle in one hand, stirring the liquid in slow, consistent circles that followed a rhythm he did not need to think about anymore, because once a process became familiar, the body simply continued it without requiring constant attention.
The golden dog sat near the doorway of the cottage, watching him work with the quiet patience of something that had apparently decided supervising humans was a reasonable and even enjoyable use of time, and Khun Ming, who had long since accepted this arrangement, glanced down at it briefly with mild curiosity.
"You know," he said while continuing to stir, his tone relaxed and conversational, "I do appreciate that you keep me company during the work, but I occasionally wonder whether you actually understand anything I am saying, or whether you simply enjoy the sound of my voice and have chosen not to correct me."
The dog blinked once, slow and deliberate.
Khun Ming nodded thoughtfully, as if the response had confirmed something.
"Yes, that expression strongly suggests the second possibility," he said, sounding entirely unsurprised. "Although I suppose that is still a form of support, even if it is not particularly informative."
He dipped the paddle slightly deeper into the dye bath and lifted it again, letting the liquid coat the wood so he could observe the color more clearly as it ran back into the pot in thin, golden streams.
"The extraction is progressing exactly the way it should," he continued, speaking with quiet satisfaction. "The petals have already released a good amount of pigment, which is encouraging, because I would very much prefer not to harvest another three baskets of flowers before sunset, as that would significantly alter my expectations for the day."
He leaned slightly over the pot and inhaled gently, not dramatically, but enough to confirm what the scent was telling him.
"The smell is also correct," he added. "Marigold develops that warm, slightly herbal scent once the temperature reaches the proper range, and if it begins to smell bitter instead, that usually means the pot has been allowed to boil, which is an efficient way to ruin the dye bath and create unnecessary regret."
The dog tilted its head slightly, as if considering the statement.
Khun Ming let out a small, amused breath.
"Yes, I am aware that you personally were not responsible for overheating any dye vats," he said. "However, I believe it is important that everyone present understands the consequences of poor temperature control, even if they are not directly involved in the process."
He stirred the pot again, adjusting the motion slightly so the petals circulated more evenly beneath the surface, ensuring the extraction remained consistent throughout.
"Maintaining a stable temperature around seventy degrees is ideal," he continued, his tone slipping naturally into that steady, explanatory rhythm he used when thinking through a process aloud. "When the heat stays within that range, the carotenoid pigments inside the marigold petals release gradually and evenly, which produces a cleaner and more reliable yellow tone on the cloth."
He paused for a moment, then added with quiet amusement, "Of course, explaining dye chemistry to a dog is not traditionally considered part of the textile profession, but circumstances have been somewhat unusual lately, and I am adapting as necessary."
The dog wagged its tail once, clearly untroubled by the shift in professional standards.
Khun Ming pointed the paddle lightly in its direction.
"Do not encourage me," he said. "If you continue to look attentive, I might start explaining mordant chemistry as well, and then neither of us will finish our work before dinner, which would be inconvenient for everyone involved."
He returned his attention fully to the pot, the steady motion of stirring continuing as the color deepened fractionally with each passing moment.
Inside the cottage, Hu Xinyan slowly opened her eyes again, the movement subtle but deliberate, as awareness returned in a way that felt clearer than before, even though the lingering pain from the tribulation backlash had not entirely faded.
Her body still ached, the damage from the lightning strike embedded deep within her muscles and meridians, a reminder of how close she had come to losing everything when the heavenly trial had collapsed her cultivation and forced her back into her beast form, a failure that should have ended her life rather than placing her here.
Yet instead of a battlefield or the aftermath of destruction, she had awakened in a quiet mountain cottage where a mortal man boiled flowers and discussed pigment stability as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Hu Xinyan slowly lifted her head, the motion careful and controlled, though her muscles trembled under the effort, not yet fully restored.
Her gaze shifted toward the doorway.
The golden dog noticed immediately.
Its ears twitched, a small, precise movement that carried far more awareness than it should have.
Hu Xinyan froze again, her body instinctively stilling before she could decide whether to move further.
The dog's eyes met hers.
For a brief moment, neither of them moved, and the space between them felt unusually quiet, not because of silence, but because something unspoken had settled there.
Hu Xinyan felt that same unsettling pressure again, the quiet but undeniable presence beneath the dog's harmless exterior pressing against her instincts, reminding her that what she was looking at was not what it appeared to be.
That creature was not an ordinary animal.
The dog blinked once.
Then it wagged its tail gently, as if none of that tension had ever existed.
Hu Xinyan did not understand how something so terrifying could behave so casually without contradiction.
Outside, Khun Ming continued speaking as he worked, his voice carrying easily into the cottage without any sense of urgency or concern.
"If the extraction continues like this," he said thoughtfully, "then the first dye bath should be ready in about an hour, which would be excellent timing, because I still need to prepare the pomegranate tannin reinforcement before evening, and I would prefer not to handle both processes in low light, as that tends to introduce avoidable mistakes."
He glanced toward the basket of dried rind resting on the nearby table, its rough texture and muted color contrasting with the bright marigold petals.
"You see, pomegranate rind is quite useful for strengthening yellow dyes," he continued, as if the dog had specifically requested clarification. "The botanical name is Punica granatum, and the rind contains a significant amount of natural tannins, which interact quite well with the alum mordant already present in the cloth fibers."
He shifted the paddle slightly, maintaining the slow, even motion.
"Those tannins help stabilize the color," he added. "Without them, the yellow may appear acceptable at first, but it tends to lose depth and durability over time, which is not ideal if the cloth is meant to be used regularly."
The dog blinked again, maintaining its steady attention.
Khun Ming smiled faintly.
"I am aware that this explanation is not strictly necessary for you," he said, "but speaking the steps aloud helps me maintain consistency, because once a process becomes familiar, it is very easy to overlook small details, and those small details are usually what determine whether the final result is satisfactory or disappointing."
Inside the cottage, Hu Xinyan listened carefully, her gaze steady and thoughtful now, as if she were trying to understand not just the words, but the quiet logic that connected them, because nothing about this place aligned with the world she knew, and yet everything within it functioned with a kind of calm precision that was difficult to ignore.
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The mortal's voice remained calm, carrying the same steady rhythm it always did when he spoke through a process, not hurried and not strained, just consistent in a way that made it easy to follow even when the subject itself was unfamiliar.
There was no cultivation aura surrounding him, no trace of spiritual fluctuation that would suggest hidden strength or suppressed power, and yet something about the environment around him felt strangely… balanced, as if every movement he made settled into place without resistance, and every action aligned with the space rather than disrupting it.
Hu Xinyan had only felt that kind of stability in very specific places before, usually deep within the meditation chambers of high-level sect elders where formations and decades of cultivation created an atmosphere that encouraged stillness and control, and yet here, in a simple mountain cottage with no visible arrays or spiritual reinforcement, that same sense of quiet equilibrium existed naturally, without effort.
Outside, Khun Ming leaned the wooden paddle against the side of the pot and stretched his shoulders slowly, rolling them back as if easing out a familiar stiffness.
"Standing over a dye bath for extended periods is excellent for developing patience," he said with mild reflection, "but somewhat less beneficial for the lower back, which unfortunately does not share the same enthusiasm for long hours of observation."
The dog thumped its tail softly against the ground, the sound quiet but distinct.
Khun Ming let out a small laugh, the kind that came easily without needing emphasis.
"Yes, I am aware that you personally spend most of the day sitting comfortably while I perform all the labor," he said, glancing down at the dog with a hint of amusement. "However, I would like to remind you that companionship is a meaningful contribution in its own way, even if it does not involve lifting heavy baskets or stirring dye vats."
He reached over to the nearby table and picked up a piece of dried pomegranate rind, turning it slightly in his fingers as he examined its texture and color, more out of habit than necessity.
"Take a look at this," he said, holding it up as if the dog might genuinely be interested in botanical inspection, which it clearly was not. "The reason this works so well is because the rind contains a high concentration of hydrolysable tannins, and when those tannins dissolve into warm water, they create a mild binding agent that interacts very effectively with natural fibers such as cotton or linen."
He paused briefly, then added with a faint, self-aware smile, "Of course, explaining tannin chemistry to a golden retriever is probably the most unusual teaching arrangement I have encountered so far, although I suppose there is no formal rule against it."
The dog wagged its tail again, apparently satisfied with its role in this exchange.
Inside the cottage, Hu Xinyan slowly attempted to move again, not out of impatience, but because her instincts continued to push her toward regaining control of her body, even if logic suggested restraint.
Her front legs pressed against the woven mat, muscles tightening as she forced them to respond, and for a brief moment, she managed to lift herself slightly, her weight shifting forward as if she might actually stand.
Then pain surged through her shoulder and down her spine, sharp and immediate, breaking her balance before she could stabilize it.
Her back legs failed.
She collapsed back onto the floor.
The dog stood immediately.
Hu Xinyan froze, her body going still before the pain had even fully settled, because the shift in the dog's posture carried a quiet authority that did not require sound.
It walked two steps closer, slow and deliberate, and positioned itself between her and the doorway without any sign of aggression.
It did not growl.
It did not bare its teeth.
It simply stood there.
Hu Xinyan understood the message without needing it explained.
Outside, Khun Ming glanced toward the doorway when he heard the movement from inside, his attention shifting naturally without urgency.
"Oh," he said with mild surprise, as if observing something expected rather than alarming. "It appears that our patient has decided to test her balance again, which is understandable, although somewhat premature."
He walked over and crouched beside her, his movements steady and familiar, as if this situation required no adjustment to his usual routine.
"I appreciate the initiative," he said gently, his tone carrying a quiet patience rather than reprimand, "but attempting to stand immediately after surviving a lightning-related injury is generally not considered an effective recovery strategy, especially when the body has not yet fully reestablished coordination between nerves and muscles."
He examined the burn marks along her shoulder again, his gaze focused and attentive.
"The healing process is progressing quite well," he continued thoughtfully. "However, nerves and muscles tend to recover at different speeds, which means that even if one system begins to function normally, the other may not yet be ready to support it, and that mismatch often leads to unnecessary strain."
He reached for the aloe and applied another fresh layer with careful precision, spreading it evenly across the affected areas without pressing too deeply.
"You should remain at rest for at least another day," he said calmly. "I understand that you may have responsibilities elsewhere, and I assume that those responsibilities are important from your perspective, but rushing recovery usually results in additional complications, which would ultimately delay your return rather than accelerate it."
Hu Xinyan stared at him, her golden eyes steady and unreadable.
Khun Ming nodded slightly, as if acknowledging her unspoken disagreement.
"Yes, I am aware that this recommendation may not align with your preferences," he said, his tone still even. "Nevertheless, as the individual currently responsible for your care, I must insist that you cooperate with the treatment process, because ignoring it would make my work considerably more difficult."
He stood again and returned to the dye station without further comment, as if the matter had already been settled.
The dog sat back down, its posture relaxing immediately now that the situation had stabilized.
Hu Xinyan lowered her head slowly onto the mat, her body no longer resisting the obvious limitation, because even without understanding this place, she could recognize when force would accomplish nothing.
Outside, Khun Ming resumed stirring the marigold dye bath, the motion steady and unbroken as the golden color continued to deepen gradually within the pot.
After a moment, he glanced toward the dog again and let out a small, thoughtful sigh.
"You know," he said, "when I started this dye order yesterday, I expected that my primary challenge would be harvesting eight kilograms of flowers before the petals lost their freshness, which is already a reasonable amount of work for one day."
He adjusted the paddle slightly, maintaining the slow rotation.
"I did not anticipate that the day would also include emergency medical treatment for a lightning-struck tiger," he continued. "That particular development was not part of the original plan, and I feel it is worth noting for future scheduling considerations, assuming similar events continue to occur."
He stirred the pot once more, watching the way the color spread through the liquid.
"Still," he added after a brief pause, "as long as the cloth turns out properly, I suppose the day cannot be considered a complete failure, because the primary objective remains achievable."
The dog wagged its tail, as if agreeing with that conclusion.
Khun Ming smiled faintly.
"And if no additional tigers fall out of the sky before sunset," he said, "I will consider that a particularly successful afternoon, and possibly even an improvement over yesterday."
Steam continued to rise from the dye vat in soft, steady streams as the golden liquid deepened in color, and the quiet rhythm of work resumed once more in the courtyard of the bamboo cottage, as if nothing about the day had been unusual at all.
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Chapter 14 complete.