Spirit Plant Entry: Immortality Begins with Farming

When Manager Liao arrived, Chen Yuan was watering the blood ginseng.

"You really don't plan to go to the herb field?" Manager Liao asked bluntly. "The odd jobs at Baicaotang pay five spirit stones a month, with room and board included, and you can learn basic alchemy principles. It's ten times better than farming here."

Chen Yuan didn't look up: "Who will farm the fields?"

"The Flying Feather Sect will recruit spirit farmers again; it's none of your business."

"Who will farm Uncle Zhao's fields? Who will farm Widow Li's fields?" Chen Yuan asked after watering the fields with the last ladle of water. "Will the recruited spirit farmers care whether their harvest is enough to pay taxes, or whether their children are hungry?"

Manager Liao choked.

"I appreciate Manager Liao's kindness," Chen Yuan straightened up, "but I'm stubborn and stick to my principles. Uncle Zhao entrusted the seeds to me, and Fellow Daoist Li gave me the land deed, so I have to get this done. I won't be able to sleep peacefully until it's finished."

"You..." Manager Liao shook his head, "With a temper like yours, you won't live long in the world of cultivation."

"Then I probably won't live long." Chen Yuan smirked. "Anyway, a farmer's life isn't worth much anyway."

Manager Liao stared at him for a long time, then sighed, "Whatever. But there's something I need to tell you—Fan Datong is looking for me."

Chen Yuan paused.

"He said that your four hundred spirit stones were used to offset the sect's rent, but he, as the supervisor, couldn't work for nothing by 'running around' all this time." Manager Liao lowered his voice. "He wants 20% of your annual harvest to be considered as a 'supervisor's fee.' I said you've already offset the rent, but he said those are two different things—the rent goes to the sect, this goes to him."

Chen Yuan laughed: "He certainly knows how to do the math. Four hundred spirit stones for three years' rent, and he still wants to take another 20%. I didn't save a single penny, did I?"

"He said he could 'make an exception'." Manager Liao's voice was even lower. "If you agree, he'll calculate your rent for this season at 40%—originally it should be 70%, but he'll reduce it by 30%. You can handle the remaining 60% of the harvest yourself; he won't interfere."

"The condition is that I give him 20% every year thereafter?"

"right."

Chen Yuan pulled a small cloth bag from his pocket, opened it, and inside was half a dark golden ginseng rootlet: "This is the rootlet of the Golden-Veined Blood Ginseng. Please take this to him for me. Just say... this is this year's supervisor's fee. As for the rest, we'll talk about it after I actually grow something."

Shopkeeper Liao took the ginseng rootlets, his fingers trembling slightly: "You're willing to part with this? This is a blood ginseng; even half a rootlet is worth tens of spirit stones."

"You can't catch a wolf without risking your cub." Chen Yuan picked up the hoe again. "Besides, ginseng is dead, but people are alive. If we can grow the first one, we can grow the second. Let's use these roots to shut him up for now and get through this season."

Manager Liao gave him a deep look, then put away the cloth bag: "Fan Datong is very greedy; half a ginseng root... might not be enough."

"Then tell him," Chen Yuan raised his head, "I'm still testing the method for cultivating blood ginseng. If you push me too far, I'll take the method to the Hundred Herbs Hall and work as a handyman, and he won't get a single penny."

Manager Liao was taken aback for a moment, then laughed: "You rascal... alright, I'll pass on the message."

Reaching the edge of the field, he turned back and said, "By the way, Liu San Niang came to Bai Cao Tang yesterday to inquire about the market price of Golden Thread Ginseng. I quoted you three hundred spirit stones, just as you suggested."

"What was her reaction?"

"Your eyes lit up." Manager Liao paused. "Young Chen, that woman is wicked. Be careful."

"Know."

Manager Liao has left.

Chen Yuan continued weeding, row after row.

In his mind's eye, the blood-red leaf floated silently. He had tried it once—last night he used it on a yellow-sprout rice plant, and the rice seedling grew two inches taller overnight, its leaves becoming frighteningly thick.

The price was that the wound on my left arm reopened, and I bled about half a bowl of blood.

"Trading blood for food..."

"Am I a spirit farmer, or a sacrificial offering?"

---

at dusk

Liu San Niang has arrived.

He wasn't alone; he brought Li Xiong with him.

The two walked into the field one after the other, with Li Xiong carrying a burlap sack on his shoulder.

"Fellow Daoist Chen," Liu Sanniang smiled brightly, "I heard that your fields suffered a disaster, so Brother Li and I pooled together some fertilizer and brought it to you."

The sack was thrown to the ground with a dull thud. The opening of the sack came undone, revealing grayish-white powder—bone meal, mixed with uncrushed bone fragments.

Chen Yuan glanced at it: "What bones?"

"The mandrills." Li Xiong grinned. "That beast killed Old Zhao. I ground their bones up to use as fertilizer, which is also a way of avenging the old man."

Chen Yuan stared at the bag of bone meal.

Mandrill bones are as hard as iron; grinding them into powder would take a lot of effort. Li Xiong's "intentions" were truly substantial.

"Thank you," he said.

"Don't mention it." Liu Sanniang took two steps closer, her gaze sweeping across the thatched hut. "Your golden ginseng... I heard it's become blood ginseng? It's worth a fortune."

"We're lucky." Chen Yuan stood in front of the thatched shed.

"Just luck?" Liu Sanniang tilted her head. "Fellow Daoist Chen, let's be frank. You must have a unique method to cultivate ordinary golden ginseng into blood ginseng. This method... are you selling it?"

Chen Yuan laughed: "Fellow Daoist Liu is joking. I'm just a farmer, what can I do? It's purely because that beast's blood splattered there, and it was just a blind cat catching a dead mouse."

"Really?" Liu San Niang stared at him. "But I've heard that for a blood ginseng to take shape, it needs to continuously absorb blood energy. The soil in your ginseng pot is a much darker color than elsewhere."

Chen Yuan's heart tightened.

This woman is very observant.

"The soil is soaked in blood, so it's naturally deeper," he said without changing his expression.

"That's true." Liu San Niang smiled and didn't ask any further questions. "Then you can use this bag of bone powder first. If you need more, there will be more. Brother Li knows people in the demon-hunting team; he can get as many demon beast bones as he wants."

The two left.

Chen Yuan stared at the bag of bone meal for a long time before using a hoe to break it open.

Mixed in the powder were a few fingernail-sized pieces of bone, their edges sharp. He picked one up and looked at it against the setting sun—the inside of the bone fragment had very faint black lines.

Residual demonic energy.

He recalled Su Wanqing's words: "The Yin Sha Rift allows demonic energy to leak out."

I also recalled the black aura around the edges of the mandrill's scarlet eyes.

"Using bones tainted by demonic energy as fertilizer..." Chen Yuan tossed the bone fragments back into the bag and kicked the sack off the edge of the field. "Are you really not afraid of death, or do you think I'm stupid?"

Just as Chen Yuan kicked the suspicious bag of bone meal off the edge of the field, Old Wu arrived.

He stood like an iron tower at the entrance of the thatched shed, slamming a greasy booklet onto the wooden frame, causing dust to fall from the thatched roof.

"The Copper Skin Technique." Old Wu's thick fingers tapped the cover, his fingernails embedded with indelible black slag. "An introductory book for body tempering, it sells for five spirit stones at the market."

Chen Yuan was staring at the piece of bone with black markings in his hand, without even looking up: "Can't afford it."

"I didn't ask you to buy it." Old Wu pulled over the small stool that Manager Liao had just sat on, making the wood groan under his weight. "Old Zhao entrusted it to me before he died. He said that just practicing Qi cultivation wouldn't be enough; you needed some real skills to protect yourself—and now it seems he was right."

Chen Yuan tossed the bone fragments back into the bag and dusted off his hands. "What else did Uncle Zhao say?"

"He said you're stubborn and inflexible, and you'll suffer sooner or later." Old Wu stared at the blood-soaked bandage on his left arm. "But stubborn people live longer—provided they survive first."

"Body training is tough, slow to show results, and consumes a lot of resources." Old Wu pulled a hard, dry cornbread from his pocket, broke it in half, and tossed it to Chen Yuan. "But there's one good thing: your fists will be hard enough. Next time a mountain demon pounces, you'll at least be able to hold out for one more breath. One more breath is enough for you to swing your sword one more time, or—"

He paused, took a bite of his cornbread, and said, "Run even further."

Chen Yuan took the half-eaten cornbread; it was so hard it could kill a dog.

"What did Uncle Zhao use to exchange it?"

"Three jugs of 'Shaodaozi,' on credit." Old Wu stood up, brushing the mineral dust off his trousers. "The booklet's here. The money for the drinks is Old Zhao's debt to me. Remember to pay it back when you're successful in the future."

Old Wu walked away with his broad back swaying.

Chen Yuan picked up the book "Copper Skin Kung Fu".

The booklet's corners were curled up, and the cover was stained with dark red marks—like blood, like rust, mixed with particles of slag. He opened to the first page; the handwriting was crooked, accompanied by a rudimentary human figure illustration, and dense annotations beside it:

"The first step is to prepare the skin. Method: medicinal bath and pounding, supplemented with blood circulation. Avoid on an empty stomach and before the wound has healed."

Below that are smaller lines of text, written in different ink, which were added later:

"If there's no medicine, use salt water; if there's no meat, sleep more. Life is more important than cultivation techniques. — Old Zhao's pen"

Chen Yuan stared at the line of words for a long time before stuffing the booklet into his pocket.

It was hard and pressed against the still-unhealed wound on my chest.

In the distance, smoke billowed from Widow Li's chimney, carrying the aroma of wild vegetable porridge.

Night fell completely.

In the sea of ​​consciousness, the roots of the sapling of the word tree glowed faintly in the darkness, penetrating the blood-red soil and reaching towards the bag of bone meal that had been kicked away.

Trace amounts of residual demonic energy detected.

[You can try to extract fragments of the 'Demonic Resistance' attribute.]

[Risk: Potential contamination of the seedlings mentioned in the entry]

Chen Yuan closed his eyes.