NOVEL WEB Chapter 149: Lightning in the Vegetable Field
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Nima took the controls gladly. The flying boat dipped and turned, its runes humming like a lullaby. As they cruised toward the hotel. Kent kept his arm around his sister's shoulders. She leaned into him, warm and steady.
"We'll figure it out," he said.
"Together," she whispered.
They landed softly on the building's landing pad. Kent helped Nima down ladder steps, then carried a drowsy Auri inside. In the hallway Nima tugged his sleeve again. "Big brother, Promise me one more thing."
"What's that?" Kent asked.
"Next year, I want a birthday party in the clouds again. Cake, candles, and maybe some fireworks. We will invite many people. It will be on a big flying ship."
Kent ruffled her hair. "Deal. I'll save up for extra‑big fireworks. I will also build a big flying ship for you."
She beamed and skipped toward their room, humming some off‑key tones about cakes and sky boats. Kent watched her go, a warm ache in his chest. He followed after her, smiling into the quiet hallway.
The sun was bright over the snack land that Kent had planted on the small hill behind their shabby house in Metro City. Rows and rows of glossy green stems swayed in the breeze, spiritual carrots, lettuce, tomatoes, even a patch of baby ginseng that shimmered like tiny candles. The ground here was rich with spiritual energy, and every leaf held more spiritual energy than a low‑grade pill.
Old Man Xian Yu, Aunty Zhou's quiet, white bearded husband and Kent's master stood in the middle of that shining field. He wore plain cotton, a hoe slung on one shoulder. He had watered these plants since Kent and Nima left for the vacation on Azure Bay city. Today, though, he was not thinking about weeds or beetles or watering. His eyes were focused on the sky.
Dark clouds began to gather from nowhere, rolling in fast like a herd of black bulls. A cold wind whipped the leaves. Chickens in the next yard squawked and fled.
Xian Yu took a deep breath.
"So it's time," he whispered. "My Level‑A tribulation. First tribulation of a Cultivator."
He had felt the bottleneck crack at dawn. Power boiled in his dantian, begging to burst free. He could not travel to some distant mountain, there was no time. The thunder was already calling his name. He looked around at Kent's garden, guilt flickering in his eyes.
"I will repay the boy," he promised the silent rows of ginseng. "But right now I must live."
He knelt, pressed both palms to the soil, and muttered an ancient chant. Yellow lines of light crawled out from under his fingers, racing across the field. They linked into a wide circle, an earth shield array made of raw spiritual energy pulled straight from the plants.
Spiritual carrots cracked, tomatoes burst, releasing pops of blue sparks. Energy rushed into the lines until the whole circle glowed like a golden rope.
"Forgive me, seedlings," Xian Yu said. "I must borrow your strength only once. I will give you more water once I am done."
The clouds clapped. A pillar of white thunder stabbed down, straight onto the old man's head.
BOOOM!
He bent his knees, teeth gritted. The earth‑shield flared, shoving half the bolt into the ground instead of his bones. Dirt exploded. Half a row of lettuce turned to ash.
Eight more bolts followed, each louder, each hotter. Second bolt, he drew a bronze talisman and shattered it, splitting the lightning into three smaller forks. Two forks struck the nearby hill, one tore the water tank off the chicken shed of Aunty Zhou's.
Third thunderbolt, he sucked the hit into his bare hands, channeled it through his meridians, and spat a jet of white flame that burned a trench across the cabbage patch.
Fourth to seventh bolts, he released roar after roar, mixing fist‑techniques with foot stamps, every move throwing raw lightning outward. Most blasts landed on the garden fence, snapping posts like matchsticks.
By the eighth bolt the shield circle flickered; only dim embers of light crawled in the cracked lines. Xian Yu stood in a crater of steaming earth, robe scorched, hair half‑fried. Yet his eyes blazed brighter than the sky.
"Come on!" he shouted to the heavens. "One more! Give me your best!"
The ninth bolt gathered…it looked thicker than a tree trunk. All the city's stray qi rushed into that black cloud tip—streetlamps dimmed, neon signs flickered—even cell phones downtown lost signal for a breath. People gasped, pointing at the sky.
When it fell, it sounded like the world's largest drum.
KRA…KA…BOOOOOOOM!
Light swallowed everything. Birds fainted mid‑flight. Car alarms wailed five blocks away. And yet, when the glare faded, Xian Yu still stood. Smoke curled from his sleeves, but he was smiling. In his chest a new core spun, bright as a tiny sun. A ball of pure spiritual energy floated out of his body, hovered before him, then popped like a soap bubble, leaving a faint bell note behind.
Level‑A. He had crossed. First in the whole world since the second rise of spiritual energy.
Power that big could not hide. In minutes streaks of light cut the sky, Level‑B cultivators on their swords or cloud boards, racing toward the hill.
Foremost among them was Nexus Logan, tall, sharp‑eyed, wearing the black‑and‑silver coat of Nexus leadership. Four Watcher tier-5 members flanked him.
They landed beside the ruined patch, boots crunching charred lettuce. Logan bowed.
"Senior Xian Yu! Congratulations on reaching Level‑A! You are the first after the great resurgence. The country is grateful."
Xian Yu chuckled. "The country is welcome. Mind your step, don't squash that ginseng root."
Logan's smile was smooth. "Elder, will you consider joining the Nexus as our Chief Protector? The fifth Nexus. The position is empty."
The old man waved a hand. "You asked months ago. I said no then, I say no now. I like my countryside time with my wife, my tea, and my quiet."
"Then perhaps an advisory seat?" Logan pressed. "Name any reward, spirit mines, blessed land, Manor, even a personal army. We need your guidance."
"I may advise if danger great enough arises," Xian Yu said, "but titles mean little to me. Let youngsters run your halls. My promise is simple: call, and I'll help."
Logan accepted that with a respectful clasp‑fist salute. "Understood. We shall not abuse your kindness." He looked around at the smoking field, the flattened fence, the broken water tank still dripping. "We will also fund repairs for this place."
Xian Yu smiled, a bit strained. "Please do. The boy who owns it will faint when he sees the damage."
Logan nodded then he left two silver plates stamped with Nexus seals and some documents—then flew off on a flying artifact with his guards. Other visiting Level‑B guests offered polite gifts, bowed, and soon the hill was quiet again.
The old man turned a slow circle. Eighty percent of the rows were black, stumps smoking. Only a few stubborn carrots glimmered under ash.
"Ahhh …" He rubbed his beard, worry wrinkling his brow. "Kent trusted me. How do I explain a lightning storm ate his future snack fortune?"
He fetched his broom, began sweeping burnt leaves into piles, and started thinking of ways to make it up—rare seeds, maybe, or a fresh set of armour. Nothing felt enough.
Back in the Azure Bay city…
Morning sunlight spilled into Room 1207 of the Jade‑Lantern Hotel. Kent tightened the straps on two tidy travel bags while Nima tossed empty snack wrappers into the bin. Auri fluttered, checking under the bed for any forgotten pastry crumbs.
An official Watcher note lay on the desk: "Tickets: StarRise Airlines, First‑Class cabin, noon departure. Cost already covered."
Nima pouted. "Why can't we fly home in Silver Muse? It's our boat!" (note: she named the flying boat silver muse. Its colour is silver and she likes meat so she gave it the name Silver Muse.)
Kent zipped his bag. "Fuel is free, but snacks on Muse will cost us. First‑class ticket means endless juice and cake, they foot the bill."
Her eyes widened. "Endless cake? Okay, plane it is!"
Auri chirped, "Chip‑chip!" which Kent interpreted aloud: "And heated nuts mix with juice."
They checked out, thanked the clerk, and rode a Watcher car to the airport. The first‑class lounge amazed Nima, massage chairs, soda fountains, entire towers of fruit tartlets. She filled three plates while Kent read a city newspaper, marking repair on destroyed docks large enough to park many sky‑ship.
The flight itself was smooth. Nima pressed her nose to the window, comparing the cloud tops to the ones outside Silver Muse's bubble. Every half‑hour a flight attendant offered macarons; she accepted every time. Kent dozed, arms folded, dreaming of blueprints of bizarre things.
Soon they landed in the metro city. They hired a taxi from Metro airport to their house that cost nothing. By late afternoon they turned into the old dirt lane and saw their home.