Spirit Plant Entry: Immortality Begins with Farming

In the dead of night, the Medicine Valley was so quiet that only the sound of the wind could be heard.

Chen Yuan sat cross-legged on a stone stool in front of the thatched hut, his palm facing the remnants of the Qingyuan vine in the earthen pot in the corner of the wall.

The pale golden "nourishing" starlight seeped into the soil like a thin mist, and that tiny halo of vitality, the size of a soybean, pulsed slowly at an almost imperceptible speed.

0.9%.

It's just one step away from being fully awakened.

He stopped, a light sweat beading on his forehead.

For several consecutive days, simultaneously activating the "Nourishing" and "Growth" principles, even if only maintaining the minimum output, still puts a considerable burden on a Qi Refining Level 6 cultivator.

My spiritual energy in my dantian is almost depleted; I need to rest for a while.

Chen Yuan got up and pushed open the door of the thatched hut.

There were no lights on inside, but moonlight seeped in through the cracks in the window, cutting out several cold white squares on the floor. He walked to the water vat, scooped up half a ladle of cold water and drank it down. The icy sensation slid down his throat into his stomach, slightly suppressing the restlessness of his spiritual energy.

Tomorrow is the first day for redeeming the Golden Thread Grass Ring.

Widow Li and Zhou Ming had everything ready: 247 registration slots, and the first batch of 300 straw rings had been woven and weighed down with iron filings, making each one sturdy and heavy.

They found an empty room in the backyard of the shop to use as a workshop. The four hired women were quick and efficient and kept their mouths shut. Insect-repelling wood ash was sprinkled on the field ridges, and the people on night watch were already arranged in shifts.

On the surface, everything seems to be ready.

But Chen Yuan's mind was tauter than a bowstring.

Chen Yuan walked to the window and looked through the crack toward the eastern end of the shantytown. The eight acres of golden thread grass fields shimmered with a hazy light under the moonlight, like a sleeping, pale golden lake.

A night breeze swept by, causing the grass to ripple and the faint, calming aura to drift on the wind, making the air within a radius of several dozen feet feel refreshed.

This spiritual energy is comfortable for mortals and nourishing for low-level cultivators.

As he was thinking, the five stars in his sea of ​​consciousness suddenly trembled all at once!

Instinctive, warning-like fluctuations!

In particular, the two stars, gray-black and pale gold, representing "purification" and "stability," suddenly shone brightly for a moment before being forcibly suppressed.

Something is approaching.

Chen Yuan's pupils contracted slightly, and his right hand silently went to his waist—there was a short knife made by Old Wu, the blade mixed with some inferior cold iron. It was not a weapon, but it was fast and sharp enough.

He held his breath, focused his mind to the extreme, and stared intently at the direction of the field ridge through the crack in the window.

One breath, two breaths, three breaths.

The grass suddenly parted to both sides.

It wasn't the kind of natural parting caused by the wind, but rather as if something invisible had plowed through it, causing the grass blades to fall flat and revealing a straight path leading to the center of the field.

At the end of the path, in the shadows where the moonlight couldn't reach, a silhouette slowly emerged.

Slender, unsteady, almost unable to stand.

It was a woman.

She was wearing a tattered, light-colored dress, the fabric of which should have been of good quality, but now torn to shreds by blood, mud, and some kind of charred burn marks.

The exposed skin was covered with fine, dark red scars, as if left by some corrosive liquid splash, and some places were still slowly bleeding.

What's most striking is her hair—it should have been jet black, but now most of it is a withered grayish-white, with only the ends still retaining a little bit of deep black.

A small, withered white flower was pinned in her hair, its petals charred and curled at the edges.

She walked to the middle of the field, stopped, and looked down at the patch of golden thread grass at her feet that still stubbornly emitted a faint glow in the night.

Then, she did something that stunned Chen Yuan—

She crouched down, reached out her hand, and with extreme care and almost reverence, gently touched a blade of grass with her fingers.

The movements were too gentle, as if afraid of breaking something.

Then, she slowly curled up, lay on her side on the ridge of the field, and buried most of her body in the dense grass.

Withered, grayish-white hair lay scattered on the black soil, intertwined with golden grass blades.

She closed her eyes.

The next second, the faint light in the veins of the golden thread grass within a three-zhang radius of her suddenly brightened by three points!

The light seemed to be drawn to something, gathering towards her in strands, seeping into her skin, her wounds, and her withered hair.

And the unsettling aura of "filth" emanating from her began to diminish at a visible rate.

The field of view automatically expands, sweeping over the patch of grass and her:

Golden Thread Grass (Group)

[Status: Affected by a high concentration of "Purifying Thirst", spiritual energy output temporarily increased by 300%]

[Warning: Excessive output may cause some grass plants to wither prematurely]

【? ? ? (Extremely weak, undergoing spiritual assimilation)】

[Status: Demonic energy erosion depth 71%, spiritual essence damaged, instinctively absorbing pure spiritual energy to alleviate the damage]

【Characteristics: Demon Realm Pure Lotus Spirit Body (Not Fully Awakened)】

Threat Assessment: Extremely Low (Current)

Demon Realm... Pure Lotus Spirit?

Chen Yuan stared at the line of words, his mind flashing back to the fragmented information Su Wanqing had occasionally mentioned—in the depths of the Demon Realm, there are occasionally alien spirits born with a natural affinity for "purification" and "peace," but because their characteristics are incompatible with the environment of the Demon Realm, they often do not live long, or are regarded as "supplements" or "containers" by more powerful demon cultivators.

Did this woman escape from the Demon Realm?

He hesitated for three breaths.

Reason told him he shouldn't get involved.

Those from the Demon Realm, no matter how pitiful, are still trouble.

She's weak now, but what if she recovers? Who knows what kind of person she'll be?

But what his eyes saw made his hands act before his brain could.

The way the woman curled up in the grass looked exactly like how Ping An was when he was a child, sick and curled up in pain.

And the look in her eyes when she touched the grass—even from this distance, Chen Yuan could see the longing in her eyes. It wasn't greed, but the instinct of someone dying of thirst seeing clear water.

And... the "filth" on her body that was being alleviated by the spiritual energy of the Golden Thread Grass made the Blood Ginseng Mark on Chen Yuan's right arm feel repulsed. It was a "dirty thing" that was more uncomfortable than any demonic energy or yin energy he had ever come into contact with before.

Chen Yuan gently pushed open the door and went out.

The footsteps startled the people in the fields.

She suddenly opened her eyes, rolled over and sat up, her movements so fast they left a blur—even in her weakened state, her instincts remained.

Those eyes shone brilliantly in the moonlight, with a faint, almost imperceptible, pure white light deep within their pupils.

She stared at Chen Yuan without saying a word, her whole body tense, like a frightened beast.

Chen Yuan stopped at the edge of the field, about three zhang away from her. This distance allowed him to advance or retreat as needed.

"Your injury," he said, his voice clear in the still night, "won't heal by absorbing the spiritual energy of grass alone."

The woman continued to stare at him, her lips pressed together until they were pale. After a few seconds, she managed to squeeze out two words in a hoarse voice: "...It's peaceful here."

"Here?" Chen Yuan pointed to the ground.

She nodded, her gaze sweeping over the golden waves of grass around her, her eyes revealing an almost obsessive greed—not for material possessions, but for the very essence of "cleanliness."

"Where are you from?" Chen Yuan asked.

The woman remained silent for an even longer period.

The night wind tousled her gray hair, revealing a deep, corrosive wound on the side of her neck that exposed the bone.

She reached out and pressed her hand against the wound, her fingertips trembling.

"West...it's very far." Her voice was so low it was almost inaudible. "We escaped."

"Where are the pursuers?"

"...I've shaken you off for now." She looked up at Chen Yuan, "I...I'll only stay for a little while. I'll leave as soon as it's light. I won't...I won't implicate you."

Chen Yuan didn't reply, his gaze falling on her fingers pressing on the wound.

By the moonlight, he could see fine black energy wriggling deep within the wound, like living worms, constantly devouring the newly sprouted flesh. The spiritual energy of the Golden Thread Grass could only suppress it temporarily, not eradicate it completely.

"That injury, is it the 'Marrow-Eating Demonic Mist'?" he suddenly asked.

The woman's body stiffened, and astonishment flashed in her eyes: "You... knew?"

"I've heard of it," Chen Yuan said. Actually, he found it from the scattered fragments of Yin Jiu's remaining memories—the Yellow Springs Sect occasionally used something similar when dealing with troublesome enemies.

"This thing will drill into your bone marrow, drain your life force, and eventually turn you into an empty shell, then break out of the shell and become a new miasma demon."

The woman's face paled even more, and she acquiesced.

"How much longer can you hold on?" Chen Yuan asked.

"...Three days." She lowered her eyes. "Three days at most."

Three days.

Chen Yuan quickly calculated in his mind

Three days later, on the third day of the Golden Thread Grass Ring exchange, it was also the busiest time, and the most prone to trouble.

"What's your name?" he asked.

The woman hesitated for a moment.

"Angelica dahurica," she said softly, "the white of the angelica plant, the 'zhi' of the herb."

"Chen Yuan".

Bai Zhi looked at him, and the wariness in her eyes was gradually replaced by a complex emotion—doubt, inquiry, and a glimmer of hope, like grasping at a piece of driftwood in a desperate situation.

"The aura emanating from you..." she said slowly, "is very stable. More stable than these blades of grass. Did you plant it?"

"Um."

"Why...plant this?" she asked. "This kind of grass is almost useless to cultivators."

"It's useful for ordinary people," Chen Yuan said. "It's also useful for those who need it."

Bai Zhi understood the unspoken meaning. She curled up her knees, rested her chin on her knees, and shrank even smaller.

"I... can help you with things," she suddenly said, her voice still hoarse, but with a hint of urgent seriousness. "I'm very capable. Cleaning, tidying, looking after things... I also know a little simple cleansing magic, although I can't use it now... but I can use it once I recover a bit! I eat very little, and I don't need a cave dwelling, so... just let me stay by the field..."

She spoke incoherently.

Chen Yuan understood: she wanted to stay. Not just temporarily, but to find a place to stay.

"Aren't you afraid I'll turn around and sell you to the pursuers, or extract your spirit to make medicine?" he asked directly.

Bai Zhi trembled, but did not back down.

"I'm scared," she admitted honestly, "but you... are different."

"How are they different?"

"You plant these grasses," she said, pointing to the golden thread grass around them. "They have a spiritual aura... People who like to plant things with spiritual auras are not too dirty-hearted."

But Chen Yuan sensed the despair in her voice—she had no other choice but to take this gamble.

The night wind rose again, rustling the grass.

Chen Yuan remained silent for a long time. So long that the light in Bai Zhi's eyes gradually dimmed, and she thought he was about to refuse.

"There's an old thatched shed at the east end of the field, used to be used to store farm tools. It leaks when it rains, but it keeps out the wind," he finally spoke, his tone calm. "Go and stay there. Don't come out during the day, but at night if no one's around, you can come out and breathe in some grassy air. I'll think of a way to get rid of the miasma on the wound."

Bai Zhi suddenly raised her head, her eyes widened, and the tiny white light flickered intensely.

"You...you'd take me in?"

"For now," Chen Yuan emphasized. "You'll have to leave once your injuries have healed, or when the pursuers come knocking."

"Okay! Okay, okay!" Bai Zhi nodded repeatedly, almost jumping out of the field, but then gasped in pain as the movement aggravated her wound. "I...I promise I won't cause you any trouble! I...I'll go to the thatched hut right now!"

She struggled to her feet and moved unsteadily toward the east.

After taking a few steps, he turned back and added earnestly, "Chen... Chen Yuan. Thank you. Really."

Chen Yuan waved his hand, signaling her to hurry up and leave.

Only after the staggering figure disappeared into the shadow of the thatched hut did he slowly exhale.

trouble.

This is a huge problem.

The Pure Lotus Spirit, which escaped from the Demon Realm, was corrupted by the Corrosive Demonic Mist, and was also pursued by enemies.

Once discovered, the Flying Feather Sect will be the first to punish him—colluding with the Demon Realm and harboring demonic cultivators are enough to make him suffer.

Can……

He looked toward the thatched hut.

The way the woman was curled up in the grass reminded him of himself when he first transmigrated—lying in a leaky shack in the shantytown, staring at the mold on the roof, wondering if this was how his life would ever be.

No one helped him back then.

Now, he might be able to lend a helping hand to someone else.

Consider it... repaying the chance that golden thread grass gave back then.

Chen Yuan turned and went back into the house. Before closing the door, he took one last look at the golden thread grass field under the moonlight.

The grass still undulates gently, radiating a calming glow.

In the dilapidated thatched hut at the east end, there was now an orphaned girl from the Demon Realm, huddled in the darkness, trying to absorb the faint light.

Outside the window, the night was deep.

Meanwhile, on the distant western horizon, several streaks of dark light skimmed the ground, quietly approaching the southern shantytown.

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