Spirit Plant Entry: Immortality Begins with Farming

Fifty feet away, behind the water vat.

Chen Yuan struggled out of the ground, his first breath filled with blood and saliva, causing him to choke and cough violently.

With each cough, the wound on his left arm reopened a little more.

The gauze was long gone. The wound was raw and the flesh was turned inside out, the edges were white, and bone was faintly visible deep inside. The blood wasn't flowing, but gushing out with each heartbeat, soaking through the coarse cloth robe and dripping down.

He was holding something in his arms.

He held on tightly—his knuckles turned white, his arms trembled, but he refused to let go.

It is half a blood ginseng.

The upper half was severed cleanly from the main root. The stem, with leaves, eight golden-veined leaves, and a ginseng head the size of a fist. The cut was frighteningly clean, and golden-red sap was seeping out from the cut, mingling with the blood flowing from his arm, gleaming eerily in the morning light.

The lower half of the root remained in that shallow pit fifty feet away.

He leaned against the water vat. The vat's walls were icy cold, seeping into his flesh through his soaked clothes. The water in the vat had long since dried up, and a thin layer of silt had accumulated at the bottom, emitting a putrid, fishy smell.

A sharp pain exploded within his mind.

It wasn't physical pain. It felt like a dull knife slicing into the soul, then twisting it a couple more times. The sapling convulsed wildly deep within the consciousness, its once verdant branches rapidly withering and turning yellow, and a clear snapping sound came from its roots.

The illusory "sap" seeped from the broken surface and then evaporated into cold mist.

At the same time, information floods into consciousness like a waterfall:

[Forced activation of 'Destiny Grafting' successful]

[Payment for damages: Ten years less lifespan (remaining lifespan approximately: 62 years)]

The sapling in question was severely damaged, with 47% of its root system broken. Repair requires continuous warm care for at least 120 days.

[Blood Ginseng grade permanently downgraded: Grade 3, Upper Level → Grade 1, Middle Level]

[Grafting effect: The blood ginseng has split - the 'yin body' (including the soul source, most of the root system and earth vein connection) remains in place; the 'yang body' (including blood essence, symbiotic imprint and some vitality) has been transferred to the host's side]

[Warning: The ginseng body has lost its roots and the nourishment of the earth's veins, and its lifespan is reduced to 12 hours. After 12 hours, the ginseng body will wither, its essence will dissipate, and the destiny mark will backfire on the host's soul.]

Chen Yuan opened his mouth as if to inhale.

He inhaled a mouthful of bloody foam.

He coughed violently, curling up in pain, but clutching the half-eaten ginseng tightly to his chest. Dark red blood splattered on the ginseng leaves, dimming the golden veins for a moment before stubbornly brightening again—the light was weak, trembling, as if it might go out at any moment.

A whooshing sound came from the direction of the distant ruins.

Then came the fading roars, the ringing of bells, and the clanging of swords—those people had gone after the traces of the soul source.

Chen Yuan leaned against the vat and slowly slid down to sit on the ground.

He could feel the ginseng in his arms losing its life. The warmth was slowly dissipating from the broken surface, like snow held in his palm, something he knew he couldn't hold onto.

It was completely light.

The light stung his eyes. He had never felt the morning light so blinding—as if it were peeling away his skin to reveal all the wretchedness beneath.

He raised his uninjured right hand and held it in front of his eyes.

Looking at the sky through your fingers.

The sky was a washed-out blue, the clouds were like torn wisps of cotton, and the morning light, like a golden waterfall, poured down from the eastern mountain ridge, splashing across the entire shantytown.

So lovely.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then he laughed.

First, his lips twitched, then his shoulders trembled, and then his whole body shook—he laughed silently, yet insanely. Tears mixed with blood slid down, flowing into the corners of his mouth, salty and metallic in taste.

The wound opened wider and the blood gushed out more violently as he smiled.

But he was still smiling.

can not stop.

still alive.

That's enough.

---

About a hundred miles to the southeast.

Deep within the Qingyang Mountains lies a valley shrouded in mist year-round.

The valley is not large, surrounded by cliffs on three sides, with dark green vines climbing all over the cliffs, the edges of the leaves covered with fine serrations. The valley floor is filled with miasma, poisonous insects everywhere, and decaying leaves that have accumulated for who knows how many years, so deep that you can sink up to your calves when you step on them.

Ordinary people dare not enter, and low-level cultivators take a detour.

As a streak of dark golden light fell into the valley like a shooting star, the miasma automatically parted to make way—as if in fear, or perhaps in welcome.

The streak of light pierced through the thick fog and fell precisely to the center of the valley floor.

There is a well there.

The well rim was constructed of bluish-gray stone slabs, the crevices of which were covered with thick, dark green moss that obscured the inscriptions. However, if one were to scrape away the moss, three ancient seal characters, carved with sharp, chiseled strokes, could still be faintly discerned:

Well of rebirth.

The well had long since dried up. The opening was three feet wide, and the bottom was nowhere to be seen; looking inside, all one could see was dense blackness.

The moment the light trace drilled into the wellhead—

A sigh came from deep within the well.

Extremely light. Extremely far.

Like something that had slept for thousands of years, it turned over in the darkness, its eyelashes fluttering, and then...

He opened his eyes.

A person was sitting by the well.

He wore a black robe, but it wasn't Yin Jiu. It was the senior brother who had chased Yin Jiu three days ago—his face was even more withered, his eyes even more lifeless, and he sat there like a stone statue.

He stretched out his hand.

Palms facing upwards, fingers slightly spread.

The streak of light fell into his palm, bounced twice, and solidified into a dark gold bead. Within the bead flowed a soul essence, and the vague outline of a young girl could be vaguely seen—curled up, asleep.

He looked at the beads.

His gray pupils reflected a dark golden light, which trembled slightly, like tears, or like fire.

Looked for a long time.

He slowly raised his head and looked northwest—the sky over the shantytown was being tinged pale gold by the morning light.

"Junior brother."

He spoke, his voice hoarse like sandpaper grinding on a stone.

"You finally...returned it."

He paused, a faint, bitter smile curving his lips.

One hundred and thirty years.

"I've waited 130 years."

The bead slowly spun in his palm.

From the depths of the well came a second sigh.

This time, it's clearer.

---

Chen Yuan's courtyard in a shantytown.

By the time Chen Yuan heard the footsteps, it was too late to hide.

They weren't coming from the direction of the ruins—they came from the west side of the yard, through the gap in the messy fence. Their footsteps were light but steady, each step firm before the next.

two.

He leaned against the water vat, pressing his left hand tightly against the wound, while his right hand reached into his robes—he touched the half-ginseng root and the ginseng whiskers that had been broken off earlier.

The ginseng whiskers are sharp and full of juice.

He pressed it against his Adam's apple.

A figure appeared through the gap in the fence.

It was neither Liu San Niang nor Li Xiong.

It's Su Wanqing.

She wore a light blue and white dress, her face was aloof, and the sword at her waist was not drawn, but her hand rested on the hilt. Three steps behind her stood Lu Feng, his face stern, his gaze sweeping across the courtyard like a knife.

Chen Yuan's breath hitched.

Su Wanqing's gaze fell on him—his pale face, blood-stained robes, gaping wounds, and the wad of fabric in his arms that shone with a faint golden-red light.

Finally, it landed on the ginseng rootlets pressing against his Adam's apple.

She didn't say anything.

She stared at him quietly for three breaths.

Then he spoke, his voice calm:

"When the ginseng grafted by destiny dies, it withers—but the mark of destiny will not dissipate. It will follow your soul into reincarnation, waiting for the next life to find another host."

Chen Yuan's fingers trembled.

Su Wanqing continued, "So if you commit suicide now, this half of the ginseng will wither and its essence will dissipate, but the fact that 'it is yours' will become a brand, imprinted into your soul."

She paused:

Is it worth it?

Chen Yuan stared at her, his Adam's apple bobbing, the tip of his ginseng root digging into his skin.

"What does the Sultan want to say?"

"I want to say—" Su Wanqing took a step forward, the morning light illuminating half of her face, "You used forbidden techniques, shortening your lifespan and damaging your soul, all to gain a 'title.' Now you have the title, but Shen is about to die."

She took another step forward.

"Twelve hours." She stopped five steps in front of Chen Yuan, looked down at him, and said, "This half-ginseng has no roots and won't live past this time tomorrow. When its essence dissipates, the mark of destiny will backfire—your remaining sixty-two years of lifespan will be reduced by at least half."

Chen Yuan remained silent.

It just pushes the ginseng roots deeper.

Lu Feng sneered from behind: "Why waste words with him? Using forbidden techniques privately, according to the sect rules, his cultivation should be abolished and he should be expelled from the territory."

Su Wanqing did not turn around.

"Senior Brother Lu," her voice remained calm, "if I arrest him now and take him back, according to the sect rules—whose share will this half-ginseng belong to?"

Lu Feng was taken aback.

"Count as a sect?" Su Wanqing asked herself, answering her own question. "But it has a destiny mark, branded on his soul. Count as his? But he'll be a cripple soon."

She looked at Chen Yuan:

"So you see, you've driven yourself into a dead end—if Shen doesn't survive, you will too. But even if you die, Shen's 'status' will remain; no one can take it away, and no one can use it."

Chen Yuan suddenly smiled.

He laughed so hard he coughed up blood.

"Isn't that great?" he said hoarsely. "If I can't have it, no one else can."

"Childish," Su Wanqing shook her head.

She crouched down to be at eye level with Chen Yuan.

"I'm not here to arrest you," she said softly. "I'm here to show you the way."

Chen Yuan's pupils contracted.

"What road?"

Su Wanqing reached out her hand.

Her palms faced upwards, her five fingers slender and white. Morning light fell into her palms, revealing the fine lines on them.

"Give me the ginseng," she said. "I'll revive it for you."

Chen Yuan stared at her hand for a long time, then grinned:

"And the price?"

"The price is—" Su Wanqing withdrew her hand and stood up, "From now on, this ginseng will grow in my medicinal garden. You can come to see it, you can take a part of it, but you cannot take it away."

She paused:

"Also, you must join the outer sect of the Flying Feather Sect and become my nominal disciple—specifically to help me grow medicinal herbs."

Chen Yuan was stunned.

Even Lu Feng, who was behind him, was stunned.

"Junior Sister Su!" Lu Feng exclaimed urgently, "He used forbidden techniques! He should be punished according to the rules!"

"So I punished him by sending him to the outer sect to atone for his crime through meritorious service." Su Wanqing said without turning her head. "Article 37 of the sect rules: If the forbidden technique does not harm the innocent and the person involved is willing to pay for the crime with labor, the steward may make a decision at his discretion."

She looked at Chen Yuan:

"Your choice. Die now, taking half a withered ginseng with you into the cycle of reincarnation. Or come with me, the ginseng can live, and you can live too—but for the next few decades, you'll be working under my nose as a laborer cultivating medicinal herbs."

Chen Yuan remained silent.

He simply looked at Su Wanqing, at her cool eyes, her calm face, and her motionless hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

The ginseng in her arms lost another bit of its vitality.

He could sense it.

The seedling of the word convulsed in agony within the sea of ​​consciousness, with more illusory sap seeping from its severed roots.

The twelve two-hour periods of the day.

No, now there are only eleven and a half left.

He looked down at the faint light in his arms. The golden-red light flickered through the gaps in the fabric, like breathing, or like pleading.

for a long time.

He loosened the ginseng whiskers that were pressing against his Adam's apple.

A ginseng root fell onto the muddy ground, splashing up a few drops of wet mud.

"it is good."

He looked up at Su Wanqing, his voice hoarse:

"I'll go with you."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile flashed in Su Wanqing's eyes.

She turned around and looked at Lu Feng:

"Please trouble you, Senior Brother Lu, to take him back to the mountain—he is seriously injured and cannot walk."

Lu Feng's face turned ashen, but he ultimately said nothing more. He stepped forward and yanked Chen Yuan up from the ground, his movements rough but avoiding the wound.

Chen Yuan was still holding the half-eaten ginseng in his arms.

They held each other tightly.

Su Wanqing glanced at it, said nothing, and turned to walk out of the courtyard.

In the morning light, the three of them, one in front and two behind, stepped across the courtyard, through the half-collapsed gate, and into the narrow dirt road of the shantytown.

In the distance, at the window of Liu San Niang's wine shop.

A pair of eyes watched this scene silently.

Watching the three disappear at the end of the alley.

Then the window is closed.

A very soft sigh came from inside the tavern.

---

Beside the Well of Rebirth.

The man in black robes sat quietly, holding the dark gold bead.

From the depths of the well, a third sigh echoed.

This time, it came with a clear, chewing-like echo.

He looked down at the well opening.

In the darkness, something seemed to be slowly climbing upwards.

"Soon."

He spoke softly, as if talking to something at the bottom of a well, or perhaps to himself.

"Wait a little longer."

"It'll be soon...the time will come."

The bead was slightly warm in his palm.

---