Chapter 190: Flower Cultivation

**Chapter 190: Tending Flowers**

Percy's home was a two-story cottage with a small courtyard where half the plants had withered, showing unnatural signs of decay.

Pushing open the front door on the first floor, Percy pointed to one of the rooms and said coldly, "I don’t take in outsiders. You’ll stay here tonight and leave by morning."

He rummaged through a chest and pulled out a large towel, tossing it to Elu. The towel was new, smelling of sunlight—likely freshly aired.

Elu used the towel to dry his hair before wrapping himself in it completely. He tilted his head up. "But that man knows my home address."

He tried his best to look frightened, but his facial muscles refused to cooperate, leaving him to say flatly, "His uncle’s the county’s chief inspector. If he sets fire to my house and burns me to death, there’d be no laws to punish him."

Percy remained silent, his emerald-green eyes quietly studying Elu.

This mysterious young bartender was strikingly beautiful, speaking calmly and deliberately—clearly well-educated, like a noble from another land. If he wished, he could seek help from any aristocrat in town rather than Percy—a broke weirdo who wore a grotesque mask.

The young bartender rubbed his face. "Why’re you staring? Is there something on my face?"

Elu worried his stiff expression gave him away.

Hanging his bow back on the wall, Percy avoided meeting Elu’s gaze. Even at home, he kept his mask and cloak on, his heavy clothes covering every inch of him. His voice was icy. "Listen, kid. If you value your life, leave this courtyard as soon as possible. This isn’t a good place."

Before Elu could react, 66 pouted. "How strange. Percy’s acting harsher now."

Back with the elves, the Elven King had never spoken to others like this.

Elu cradled the mini system, stroking its shell. "There’s a human saying—*sharp tongue, soft heart.* He wants me to stay away so I won’t get hurt."

If Elu’s guess was right, Percy was investigating the source of the Withering and had already been infected. Beneath that black robe, his skin was likely covered in gruesome patterns, constantly seeping Withering. Plants touched by it would wither, while humans grew weak, fell ill, or even died. Percy didn’t want anyone getting too close.

Elu said, "Did you notice? There are no neighbors around this house."

Percy had deliberately chosen a desolate courtyard, with no one living nearby—eerily silent—to prevent accidental exposure to the Withering.

Elu pursed his lips slightly.

No elf’s born a loner. They adored flowers and wine, hosting moonlit banquets in river valleys, reveling all night. Yet Percy, ostracized by his kin, had always walked alone. Even among humans, he remained solitary.

Elu felt a pang in his chest.

Perhaps the young bartender’s gaze was too peculiar. Discomfort flashed in Percy’s eyes beneath the mask. He spoke stiffly, "Look, I’m not kidding. Leave tomorrow morning. I hate socializing, and outsiders aren’t welcome here."

Elu thought, *Liar.*

Twice, he’d watched from the Mother Tree—when the elves feasted, Percy’s gaze had been unmistakably lonely.

But Elu didn’t argue. Instead, he asked abruptly, "If I leave tomorrow, can I come back the day after?"

Using tricks from the Hero’s notes, he bargained, "You saved my life. By tradition, I should repay you—maybe help with chores or something?"

66: "..."

*A deity doing chores’d wreck the place. The Elven King’d have to clean up the mess.*

Besides, even if the deity actually managed it, 66 could already imagine the Elven King’s horrified expression when the truth came out.

Percy remained indifferent. "Unnecessary. I don’t need help with chores."

Before 66 could sigh in relief, Elu pointed downstairs and cut in first, "How about the flowers? They’re all withered. I’m good at tending flowers—I can take care of them well."

This is no lie. As the Mother God of Songshan, Elu governs the earth and forests—every plant is his child.

The plants are highly sensitive to Elu's presence. They recognized the deity even before Percy did. Even if Elu did nothing, fruit trees would willingly offer him their bounty, and flowers would willingly share their fragrance.

Percy glanced at him. "Don’t bother. They won’t survive."

Where the Withering spreads, no living thing can endure.

Elu: "Worth a shot, no? I’m the best gardener back home."

—In all of Songshan, no one tends to flowers better than a deity.

"Not like you can stop me anyway."

Elu pointed downstairs and added slowly, "Your fence is down. I can just climb right in."

66: "..."

Percy: "..."

A flicker of helplessness crossed the Elven King. If he could share emotions with 66, he'd know this feeling was exasperation.

When Percy bought this property, his only requirement was that it be secluded and empty. The house had long been neglected, half the fence collapsed. Percy lived in Nanhu to investigate the source of the Withering—he didn’t care about the state of the house, nor had he bothered to repair the fence.

Elu had no concept of "personal space" or "boundaries" with Percy. He’d already handled Percy’s soul—what need was there for distance?

And Percy had never met someone so difficult to deal with. He was on edge, his spine rigid. Elu kept studying him, his gaze practically burning through his clothes. Percy instinctively adjusted his collar, covering the last exposed patch of skin, and said stiffly, "Suit yourself."

The Elven King turned and left.

A pang of regret hit Elu.

He had wanted to observe the spread of the Withering along Percy’s neck, but the Elven King gave him no opportunity. He had to drop it.

Though he very much wanted to peel Percy out of his clothes, Elu’s limited social experience told him that acting rashly would likely get him labeled a pervert and scare Percy away.

If the Elven King ran, there was no way the deity’s current weak body could catch up.

...Well, according to the notes of human Heroes, you’re supposed to cozy up first—push and pull, give and take, repeated probing. Only then could getting someone undressed just happen.

As the door creaked shut, Elu leaned against the bed, closing his eyes in thought.

He hadn’t yet figured out what to do next.

First, the deity currently had no divine power—words alone wouldn’t cut it, and no one would believe he was Eluvier. Second, if Percy was already infected with the Withering, Elu couldn’t take him back to Songshan, or it would spread to other plants, animals, and elves. Better to stay and accompany him, figuring out how to cure it. Lastly, Elu himself wanted to investigate the source of the Withering—Nanhu Town was an ideal platform. Since he couldn’t go in person, he had to rely on this body.

Three problems, each more troublesome than the last.

With Percy gone, the room fell completely silent. Tonight, dark clouds blotted out the moon, not a single star in the sky—just a void, thick as spilled ink.

Outside, the wind howled, the air heavy with unshed rain. The atmosphere was stifling, heavy with the promise of a storm.

66 plonked itself on Elu’s head and yawned wearily.

It muttered under its breath, "What a mess. The Elven King gives us the cold shoulder, won’t even talk to us, and the whole continent’s gone to hell… Elu? Hey, Elu, you asleep?"

"Ah, no."

Elu’s voice drifted back slowly, "Just thinking..."

66 sat up straight: "What are you thinking about?"

Elu: "Percy's bed is so hard."

66: "..."

It had forgotten—this one was a regular Princess and the Pea, able to detect a pea beneath ten mattresses, let alone a scratchy straw mattress.

Elu yanked the blanket, complaining, "So hard, really so hard. Why is Percy's bed always this hard?"

The Elven King had always lived like a monk back in the Pine Mountains. While other elves slept on soft silk-woven beds, he insisted on a rattan one. Now in Southlake, it had gotten even worse—this was just a wooden plank topped with straw, that creaked if you so much as breathed on it.

The godling scowled. "Once we return to the Pine Mountains, I'm making him get a proper bed."

With that thought, the deity drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, by the time Elu woke up, Percy had already left.

He had taken on a job from human nobles to investigate the Withering, working the borderlands between Southlake and the Pine Mountains, out from dawn till dusk every day.

Elu headed to his tavern job as usual. According to the Hero's notes, he needed a proper job instead of mooching off Percy.

The notes said: "Before getting serious with someone, one must first learn independence."

The word "independence" didn't exist in the deity's vocabulary—he had been born as ancient as the Pine Mountains, never having to lift a finger or earn a dime. But that didn’t stop him from grasping the essence of the notes.

Basically, don't be dead weight, right?

Work proceeded as usual that day. During a break, 66 nudged the godling: "That man from yesterday is here again. He’s still watching you."

Elu wiped his hands clean after finishing the dishes: "I know."

The man was lurking at a street corner, his injured wrist bundled up like a mummy, looking like he wanted to kill someone.

But the deity couldn't be bothered with irrelevant people. He ignored the man and went about his business.

After work, Elu asked the barkeep for some leftover wine and snacks, carrying them back to Percy’s place.

Setting the food and drink neatly on the table, the deity then wandered out into the yard, facing the withered flowers filling the garden.

He had promised Percy to tend to the flowers.

66 popped up excitedly: "Are you going to start gardening now?"

Though every plant before them looked drooping and barely hanging on, 66 was confident the deity had a solution. It couldn’t help but feel a little excited.

What method would Lord Elu use?

Elu pushed his hair out of his face, gently grasped a drooping branch. His expression was serene, his pupils shifting to a silvery-white, his stare as icy as the mountain peaks.

The deity commanded: "Don’t die. Bloom."

66: "..."

What had it been expecting?

Yet the next moment, the half-dead branch trembled and straightened with great effort, managing to produce a tiny bud. The bud swayed in the chilly wind, brushing against the deity’s hand like a puppy seeking praise.

Elu gave a satisfied nod: "Good."

66: "..."

Very well.

He repeated the process, encouraging the flowers in the courtyard to become more vibrant, then stood and returned to the dining table.

Elu began to wait.

He considered the possibility of getting the Elven King drunk and removing his clothes by force, as described in the Hero’s Notes. The notes called this method “despicable” and “perverted,” but the god didn’t see anything wrong with examining his own creation’s wounds. If it could achieve the desired result, it was worth considering.

Elu wasn’t sure about the Elven King’s drinking capacity. Percy was self-controlled and abstinent, never indulging in alcohol or becoming drunk. Elu made a rough estimate—he thought at least one full bottle would be needed, preferably enough to get him completely drunk.

—Otherwise, given Percy’s fighting skills and the god’s weak body, Elu feared he might get hurt.

But getting the Elven King to polish off an entire bottle would clearly be difficult. Before Elu could work out a proper plan, he suddenly raised his hand and pressed it against his forehead.

Dizziness.

A dull ache throbbed deep in his forehead. His skin felt burning hot beneath his fingers. His body went weak, his muscles unable to support him, and he nearly collapsed backward onto the table.

This was a sensation he had never experienced before. Bracing himself on his elbows, Elu muttered, “66, I feel strange.”

“Lord Elu, Percy is back… What?”

66 had been watching from the doorway when a tall figure wrapped in a black cloak appeared at the end of the alley. It had just finished reporting the news when it heard the deity’s words. With its screen’s edge, it lightly tapped the god’s forehead.

Then, the moment the Elven King stepped inside, the system exclaimed in alarm: “Lord Elu, you’re running a fever!”