Adventure of Zhāng Wújì 1

Zhāng Wújì returns to the herb garden with the iron sword at his side. The moment he steps past the arch, the air turns heavy, and the glowing leaves bend low as if bowing to a throne.

The Stone Monument begins to hum. Its black surface vibrates with deep, patient power, and the sound travels through the roots, the stones, and into Wújì's bones.

The pressure eases just enough for Wújì to breathe. A narrow path opens through the herb beds, leading toward a cluster of pale-green stalks lit from below by the garden's own glow.

The monument falls silent again, but not empty. It watches. The garden stills around him, waiting for his next choice, while the iron sword rests warm against his palm.

Zhāng Wújì steps into the narrow lane and lowers himself beside the pale-green stalks. The herbs glow softly against his hands as he parts the leaves with care.

He pinches each stalk near the root and draws it free cleanly, leaving the bed intact. The cut ends shine once before the garden light settles over them.

A few more plants bend toward him on their own, as if offering themselves after the first harvest is done right. Their fragrance thickens, cool and sweet.

From the center of the hall, the Stone Monument’s hum changes. It is not praise now, but a dry, measured weight, like a hand placing a ledger on stone.

The iron sword rests at his side, the dark wooden key glimmers in his memory, and the herb bed remains open before him. The monument’s silence presses with expectation, as though waiting for him to accept the debt or turn away.