Chapter 33: The Demon Planter
Recap: Fang Yuan planted the first seed at Oakhaven, creating a Tree that drove away General Wei's soldiers. He stayed for a day, watched it bloom, and collected three new seeds before heading south.
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The road south was lined with ash.
Fang Yuan walked through it, his grey robes dark with soot, his sandals leaving prints in the gray dust. The soldiers had been thorough—villages burned, fields salted, wells poisoned. But they had not been everywhere. Here and there, pockets of green survived: a patch of wild grass, a single oak, a garden hidden behind a collapsed wall.
He reached into his pocket and touched the seeds.
Three seeds. Three villages. Three chances. The Tree at Oakhaven had bloomed within a day, its flowers silver and gold, and when the flowers fell, they left behind these smaller seeds—alive, waiting. Fang Yuan had taken them before leaving at dawn.
Three seeds. Three beginnings.
He did not know if it would be enough. The New Imperial Army was vast, its soldiers countless, its generals ruthless. General Wei would return with reinforcements. The Council would send more troops. They would not stop until every Tree was burned, every seed destroyed.
But they don't understand what they're fighting. They think the Trees are weapons. They're not. They're beginnings.
He quickened his pace.
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The first village was called Duskfall.
It was small, no more than twenty houses huddled around a square. The soldiers had not burned it—they had used it as a supply depot, its granaries emptied, its people starved. Fang Yuan walked through its streets, and the villagers watched him from their doorways, their eyes hollow, their hands empty.
He stopped at the center of the square. The ground was hard, packed earth, cracked from lack of rain. He knelt and pressed the first seed into the soil.
The ground trembled. Roots burst forth, silver and gold, spreading, growing. A sapling rose, then a tree, then a canopy that shaded the square. Its leaves shimmered, and its branches reached toward the sky.
The villagers gasped. Some wept. Others knelt, pressing their foreheads to the ground.
Fang Yuan stood. "This Tree will protect you. It will heal your land, purify your water, and feed your hungry. But you must protect it in return. Guard it. Nurture it. Let it grow."
An old woman stepped forward, her hands shaking. "Who are you?"
"A wanderer," he said. "A planter. A demon who's trying to be something else."
He turned and walked toward the next village.
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The second village was called Grey Rock.
It was larger than Duskfall, built into the side of a hill, its houses made of stone. The soldiers had tried to burn it, but the stone would not catch. Instead, they had poisoned the well and killed the livestock. The villagers were dying, slowly, of thirst and hunger.
Fang Yuan walked to the center of the village, where the well stood. The water was black, reeking of rot. He pressed the second seed into the earth beside the well.
The ground trembled. Roots burst forth, silver and gold, spreading, growing. The Tree rose, its branches shading the well, its leaves shimmering. The black water began to clear, slowly, the poison draining away, replaced by fresh, clean flow.
The villagers gathered, their faces filled with wonder. A young man stepped forward, his hands clenched.
"The soldiers will come back," he said. "They'll burn this Tree like they burned everything else."
Fang Yuan looked at him. "Then you'll have to stop them."
"How? We're farmers. Herders. We have no Gu. No weapons. No training."
Fang Yuan reached into his pocket and pulled out a Pokeball—one of his old ones, empty, unused. He held it out.
"Take this. When the soldiers come, throw it at the Tree. It will release something I left inside."
The young man took the Pokeball, his hands trembling. "What's inside?"
Fang Yuan smiled. "A surprise."
He turned and walked toward the last village.
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The third village was called Ember's End.
It was not a village anymore. It was a graveyard.
The soldiers had burned it to the ground, and the ashes had been scattered by the wind. Nothing remained but blackened earth and the memory of what had been. Fang Yuan stood at the edge of the ruin, looking at the emptiness.
They didn't just destroy the village. They erased it.
He knelt and pressed the third seed into the ash.
The ground trembled. Roots burst forth, silver and gold, spreading, growing. The Tree rose, its branches reaching toward the sky, its leaves shimmering. And as it grew, the ash began to move—swirling, gathering, forming shapes.
Houses rose from the ash. Walls, roofs, doors. The village rebuilt itself, stone by stone, beam by beam. And when it was done, the Tree stood at its center, its roots intertwined with every building, its branches shading every street.
Fang Yuan stood and looked at the empty village. No people. No voices. Just the Tree and the silence.
Maybe they'll come back. Maybe they won't. But the village is here. Waiting.
He turned and walked away.
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He walked until the sun set, until the stars came out, until he could walk no more. He sat on a fallen log, his Subjects' spheres in his lap, his pockets empty.
The Moonlight Dragon materialized beside him, its silver light warm. It curled at his feet, its head on his knee. The Spring Autumn Cicada hovered above him, its wings buzzing softly.
"What now?" he asked aloud.
The Cicada did not answer. The Dragon chirped.
He reached into his pocket—empty, except for the Spring Autumn Cicada's sphere and the cracked stone that no longer held a fragment. The seeds were gone. Planted. Growing.
Three villages saved. Three Trees planted. But the army is still out there. General Wei is still hunting me. The Council still wants control.
He looked up at the stars. They were bright, countless, scattered across the darkness like seeds waiting to be planted.
Maybe that's the answer. Not fighting. Planting. Not destroying. Creating.
He stood and recalled his Subjects. The road stretched before him, dark and uncertain. Somewhere to the north, General Wei was regrouping. Somewhere to the east, the original Tree was still growing. Somewhere to the south, more villages waited.
He walked into the darkness, his pockets empty, his heart full.
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End of Chapter 33