The morning sun rose with a golden gleam, rays dancing merrily across the dewy grass. Birds chirped. Leaves rustled. Somewhere, a chicken crowed like it had just achieved enlightenment.
And Jiang Chen was doing his best impression of a corpse, lying flat on his back in the middle of his cabbage field, staring up at the sky with the expression of someone who had seen too much.
Not because of war.Not because of heartbreak.But because someone—someone—had knitted a little green scarf around the cabbage at the center of the shrine.
The worst part?
The scarf looked warmer than anything he owned.
He tilted his head just enough to glimpse the horror unfolding beyond the perimeter of his cabbages.
A line. An actual line had formed outside his courtyard gate.
One disciple—white-robed, face flushed—was clutching a letter to his chest and muttering to himself. "Just speak from the heart. Be honest. It's only a statue. It's only a cabbage statue that looks like Senior Brother. I can do this…"
Another disciple behind him gently nudged forward a small offering box wrapped in red silk. It had hearts drawn on it.
Jiang Chen let his head fall back into the dirt.
"I'm not even dead," he mumbled.
From behind him, a familiar voice sang out, "Good morning, Senior Brother Jiang~!"
He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
Umbrella Girl—also known as Lin Wuyue—had somehow developed the supernatural talent of appearing only when he was most emotionally unstable. And she never walked. She drifted. Like an elegant breeze, if breezes wore embroidered sleeves and brought cabbage soup uninvited.
"Would you like to know what the shrine has received today?" she asked sweetly, crouching down beside him. "I've been keeping a log."
"No," he muttered.
"Too bad~! We got five heartfelt confessions, six poems, one elegant ribbon-draped radish, and…" She leaned closer. "A heartfelt drawing of you serenading a turnip under the moon."
"I—what?!"
"Here." She held out the drawing. "You have abs."
"…Give me that."
"No."
With the sun climbing higher, Jiang Chen tried a new tactic: Reason.
He marched out of his courtyard, sleeves flaring with the wind, determined to talk to the sect leader himself. If anyone could put an end to this madness, surely it would be the wise, venerable Master Yi, who had seen over a hundred cultivation cycles and whose very beard inspired reverence.
What Jiang Chen didn't expect was to find Master Yi outside the great hall.
With a paintbrush.
Stroking finishing touches onto a five-meter tall mural.
Of Jiang Chen.
Clutching a cabbage like a long-lost lover, eyes blazing with the passion of a thousand poets.
"…Master Yi?"
The sect leader turned slowly, paint-stained sleeves fluttering as he gestured proudly. "Ah, Jiang Chen! Look! We've immortalized your moment of emotional epiphany."
"That wasn't epiphany! That was me tripping over a rock and falling into my garden!"
"Even better! The symbolism is sublime. Falling… into growth. Into destiny!"
Jiang Chen stared at him. Then at the mural. Then back.
"I came to ask you to stop this madness."
Master Yi nodded solemnly. "As expected. Such modesty."
"That's not—!" Jiang Chen stopped himself, took a breath, and rubbed his temple. "Can't you at least remove the cabbage statue? Just that?"
The sect leader furrowed his brow, stroking his beard with a deep sigh. "But that would offend the thousands who've begun following the Path of Verdant Reflection."
"…What."
"It's growing. Several outer sects have adopted the doctrine. There's already a movement to create cabbage-themed inner robes. Very breathable. Green accents."
Jiang Chen staggered back like he'd been physically struck.
"I didn't start a sect…"
"You started a revelation."
Back in his room—door locked, curtains drawn—Jiang Chen tried to meditate.
It was supposed to help. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Focus on nothing. Empty your mind.
Unfortunately, his mind refused to be emptied.
Because every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again.
That drawing. The turnip. The abs.
He gave up.
The door creaked open. Umbrella Girl slipped in, carrying a tray.
"I brought your favorite. Pickled cabbage noodles. Extra thoughts."
He stared at her. "That's not a thing."
"It is now," she whispered ominously.
As she sat beside him, silence settled.
And then—
She said quietly, "Senior Brother… why do you hate it so much?"
He blinked. "What?"
"This shrine. The poems. The people who look up to you. Why does it bother you so much?"
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out for a few moments.
"…Because I'm not the person they think I am," he muttered. "I'm not wise. I'm not spiritual. I just wanted to grow vegetables. Live quietly. Not become the poster child for poetic farming."
Her expression softened.
"Then… what if they're not looking for perfection? What if they just… like that you cared?"
"I didn't—!"
"You talked to the turnip, Jiang Chen."
"I—!"
"You said the cabbage deserved better sunlight."
"That was one time!"
She giggled. "Once was enough."
A soft silence settled between them, broken only by the gentle clinking of chopsticks as she handed him the bowl.
He sighed.
And slurped.
"…Needs more garlic," he muttered.
"I'll write that down as a philosophical metaphor."
"Don't you dare."
Outside, the cabbage shrine glowed softly under the setting sun.
A new group of disciples had gathered. Some left notes. Some left vegetables. Some sat quietly, trying to channel inner peace through plant-based worship.
Unseen by all, a single, tiny cabbage near the back of the shrine wiggled in the wind.
If one listened closely—very closely—they might even hear it hum.
And somewhere in the distance, a courier pigeon took flight, carrying a letter to the Empire's capital:
"URGENT: Mysterious Sage Discovered in Northern Sect. Rumored to Enlighten Plants. Sect Influence Growing Rapidly. Further Investigation Required."