Spirit Plant Entry: Immortality Begins with Farming

At 9:00 AM, in the Hall of Affairs of the Flying Feather Sect.

Wang Mo sat behind the desk, holding a jade slip in his hand, immersing his divine sense into it.

The jade slip contained detailed records sent by Steward Liu this morning—the number of registered residents at the "Yuancaotang" shantytown had reached 143, and the exchange was expected to begin in ten days, with the daily flow of spirit stones potentially exceeding 100.

A hundred spirit stones are nothing to a Foundation Establishment cultivator.

But for a disciple at the sixth level of Qi Refining, in a place like a shantytown, this is a force powerful enough to shake up the order at the bottom.

More importantly, this power comes from the most inconspicuous Golden Thread Grass, from a Four Spiritual Root that should have been struggling at the bottom of the sect.

Wang Mo put down the jade slip and tapped his fingertips on the table.

Footsteps sounded outside the door, and Steward Liu bowed as he entered: "Master Wang, you wanted to see me?"

"Sit down," Wang Mo said, pointing to the chair opposite him.

Manager Liu sat down with half his buttocks on the edge of the chair, his back ramrod straight.

"Has the news spread?" Wang Mo asked.

"Disperse." Manager Liu lowered his voice. "As you suggested, I mentioned it to a few disciples who often go to the shantytown to collect medicinal herbs. They said that Chen Yuan's Golden Thread Grass has 'unique spiritual energy,' and that it might 'harm those with weak foundations if overdone.' There are already rumors circulating that not just anyone can wear that grass."

"Very good." A cold smile appeared on Wang Mo's lips. "What about the Enforcement Hall?"

"Uncle-Master Ye Feng has recently been cleaning up the outer market, paying close attention to the issue of 'illegal accumulation'," said Steward Liu. "I've copied the registration list and the estimated flow of spirit stones and anonymously sent it to the Enforcement Hall. However..."

"But what?"

"However, Su Wanqing emerged from seclusion yesterday," Manager Liu said cautiously. "As soon as she came out, she went to the Medicine Valley to check on the growth of the Yin Soul Flower and also asked about Chen Yuan. It seems she has already heard about this matter."

Wang Mo's eyes narrowed: "What did she say?"

"He didn't say much, just asked what Chen Yuan had been busy with lately," Manager Liu said. "But from what I could tell... he seemed a little interested."

The room fell silent.

Wang Mo tapped his fingers on the table a fraction faster. Su Wanqing… this woman was always aloof and didn't get involved in factional struggles, but once she made up her mind, no one could stop her. If she publicly expressed her support for Chen Yuan, then this matter would be difficult to handle.

"Ten days later..." Wang Mo pondered, "The exchange begins in ten days. Let the 'accident' happen sooner rather than later. It's best to solidify the matter before Su Wanqing can react."

"Understood!" Manager Liu stood up. "Then I'll make the arrangements immediately to keep the situation even more secretive."

"Go ahead," Wang Mo waved his hand.

After Steward Liu left, Wang Mo picked up the jade slip again and immersed his divine sense into it once more.

Chen Yuan...

In the afternoon, Chen Yuan returned from the market, carrying a worn-out bamboo basket on his back.

The basket contained several bags of different kinds of wood ash, two bundles of extremely tough dried vine bark, and a small bag of dark brown mineral powder—this was "sinking iron sand" that he found in the corner of the weapon-refining shop. It had many impurities and weak spiritual energy, but it was extremely heavy; one coin could weigh down a pound of grass.

When they reached the edge of the field, Zhou Ming was squatting down, talking to two familiar miners.

"...You really can't redeem it early! The grass isn't fully ripe yet; the weaving effect will be half as good! Ten days later! It'll definitely be available in ten days!"

The miners muttered as they walked away.

Upon seeing Chen Yuan, Zhou Ming rushed over: "Senior brother, you're finally back! We registered over sixty more people this morning! Sister Li's voice is hoarse from talking so much!"

Chen Yuan took the bag of heavy iron sand out of the basket. "This stuff is mixed into the hemp rope used for weaving rings. Each ring costs one qian. After weaving, the weight of the grass rings will increase, making them feel more substantial in your hand, and the spiritual energy will dissipate more slowly."

Zhou Ming took the bag, grabbed a small pinch of sand, and rubbed it between his fingers. It felt heavy. "Good stuff! This must be worth a lot of money, right?"

"Thirty spirit stones," Chen Yuan said. "Pay from the shop's account."

Zhou Ming's hand trembled: "Thirty...thirty? Senior brother, isn't this cost too high? One ring only costs one spirit stone, and this sand alone..."

"It's worth it." Chen Yuan interrupted him. "A grass ring is meant to be something people are willing to wear for a long time and want to come back to change it. It's not enough to just have spiritual energy; it also needs to have 'quality.' The iron sand can suppress the frivolous energy in the grass and also make the wearer feel that 'this thing is solid and not a sham.'"

Zhou Ming seemed to understand, but nodded and made a note of it.

Chen Yuan then pointed to the wood ash and dried vine bark: "Sprinkle the ash around the field ridges to repel insects. Soak the vine bark until soft, then mix 30% into it when weaving rings; it will be more durable."

"Okay!" Zhou Ming put everything into the cloth bag he had brought, then suddenly remembered something. "By the way, Senior Brother, I heard a rumor this morning... that our Golden Thread Grass has too much spiritual energy, and people with weak foundations will feel uncomfortable wearing it. Is that true?"

Chen Yuan paused for a moment.

"Who sent it?" he asked.

"I don't know, that's what everyone's saying." Zhou Ming scratched his head. "I've explained for ages that our Grass Spirits are gentle, but some people still don't believe me."

Chen Yuan looked at the golden waves of grass undulating in the wind in the field and remained silent for a moment.

"No need to explain," he said. "Let them try it themselves in ten days."

"But what if..."

"There's no 'what if'." Chen Yuan turned around and looked at the low rooftops of the shantytown. "If someone wants to make a fuss about our straw, then let them. The stage is set up, and we'll put on a show for them."

Looking at his calm profile, Zhou Ming suddenly felt the panic in his heart dissipate.

"Then I'll go back and help Sister Li!" He picked up his cloth bag and walked away with light steps.

Chen Yuan stood alone on the edge of the field.

He looked towards the gambling den at the west end, and then towards the gate of the Flying Feather Sect.

Ten days later.

What's meant to come will come.

---

Night falls.

In the third alley at the west end of the shantytown, under the crooked locust tree, in that mud house, Wu Xiaoshuan was staring blankly at an oil lamp.

On the table were twenty spirit stones and a small jade bottle. The spirit stones gleamed dimly under the yellowish lamplight, while the jade bottle exuded a sinister chill.

He reached out and picked up the jade bottle, uncorked it, and brought it to his nose to smell it.

A sweet, cloying fragrance wafted in, instantly making him dizzy, and a feeling of comfort washing over him, as if every pore on his body had opened up. But this comfort lasted only a moment, followed by a sudden jolt of his heart and a chill running down his spine.

He quickly stuffed the bottle back in and gasped for breath.

"Damn it...it really was Tiger's medicine..." he muttered to himself, his hands trembling slightly.

Thirty spirit stones in gambling debts, plus my mother's cough that hadn't gotten better in half a year, and we'd sold everything we could at home. These twenty spirit stones were our life-saving money. That bottle of medicine... was money earned by risking our lives.

He stared at the jade bottle, and the scene he had seen during the day when he was queuing in front of the "Yuancaotang" appeared before his eyes—the golden grass field, the expectation in the eyes of the people queuing, and Widow Li's trembling hands when she registered.

And Chen Yuan.

The thin young man stood on the edge of the field, his expression seemingly blank, yet his presence was so striking that it was impossible to look him directly in the eye.

Wu Xiaoshuan suddenly closed his eyes and gripped the jade bottle tightly in his hand.

"I'm sorry..." he said softly, his voice hoarse.

Outside the window, the moonlight was obscured by clouds, and the alley was pitch black.

The ten-day countdown has begun.