Chapter 1 – You’re telling me a Spiritual Root looks like this?

The most important thing in Cultivation is the Spiritual Root!

The white-haired Great-Uncle squatted on the ridge between the fields and lectured the three heads sticking out of the soil.

Without a Spiritual Root, you can’t obtain immortal arts; without immortal arts, you can’t live forever in freedom. Old Ancestor here is one hundred and eighty this year. All the other old coffin-fillers my age have long since turned into handfuls of black earth, their graves now topped by grass three feet tall.

And why is that?

Simply because they failed to grow a Spiritual Root and never earned the Apothecary’s pity.

Spring germinates, summer grows, autumn harvests, winter stores. You three are the village’s most gifted children, and you’ve reached the age to take root and sprout.

Don’t blame this Old Ancestor for being strict—it’s for your own good. The sooner a Spiritual Root appears, the better the result when you draw Qi into your body…

After more nagging, Great-Uncle picked up a gourd ladle, scooped clear water from the nearby bucket, and poured it over the three heads.

Early-spring soil is icy, and a dousing of mountain spring water makes it feel as if your very brain is about to explode.

I really don’t think people should be treated the same as corn.

Li Qiuchen shivered and silently grumbled in his heart, but he didn’t dare voice a rebuttal.

Great-Uncle was the eldest in Songlin Village; everyone revered him, and his word was beyond question.

Right now you’re getting mountain spring water; if you talk back, there’s no telling what you’ll be doused with next.

Drawing on the web-novel experience he’d accumulated before Transmigration, he felt the village’s Cultivation method was seriously flawed.

The term Spiritual Root isn’t supposed to be interpreted like this, is it? Are we cultivating a Spiritual Root or a giant… you know?

But there was nothing he could do; ever since he could remember, everyone in the village had practiced this way.

Maybe this alternate world simply had its own settings.

On his left was Hong Yang. Great-Uncle said he was born with a Yang Physique, perfect for a Spiritual Root to grow—only his Yang Qi was so heavy it had affected his brain, making him a reckless hothead since childhood.

In the middle was Cherry Grass, Great-Uncle’s own great-granddaughter. Rumor had it she’d taken secret medicines from birth to improve her Physique; she was steeped in floral scent and considered the village’s best hope for Immortal Ascension.

Li Qiuchen was buried on the far right. Villagers said his family had once been prestigious, with many Cultivators among his clan. Ten years ago, however, his elder cousin practiced a Pupil Technique and suffered Qi Deviation, slaughtering the entire household before fleeing in fear of punishment.

Only Li Qiuchen—still in open-crotch pants at the time—had stubbornly survived alone.

After finishing the watering, Great-Uncle looked up at the sun, added a few more instructions, and was about to leave when Cherry Grass let out a moan of pain. His expression changed instantly; he thudded to the ground, crawled to her, and watched her every movement.

Old Ancestor, my stomach hurts…

A stomachache is normal. Be good and bear it a little longer, and Old Ancestor will buy you candy!

It really hurts…

Li Qiuchen’s eyes widened in horror as black veins surfaced on Cherry Grass’s face, tearing her skin at visible speed, while clusters of jade-green sprouts burst from her cheeks, mouth, and ears.

A Spiritual Root! A Spiritual Root!

Great-Uncle danced in excitement, lifted the bucket, and dumped the rest of the water over Cherry Grass’s head, then spun around and sprinted away.

Li Qiuchen’s gaze crossed the now-unconscious Cherry Grass and met Hong Yang’s equally terrified eyes.

This… is a Spiritual Root?

Cherry Grass had produced a Spiritual Root—a joyous event for the whole village. By comparison, the two fellows who’d been watered but hadn’t sprouted looked like eyesores.

After being buried for three full days, Li Qiuchen and Hong Yang were finally remembered, dug up, and tossed aside by Great-Uncle.

It wasn’t abandonment—just making room for Cherry Grass.

Now that entire mu of land belonged to her; within a radius of ten zhang, not a single weed was allowed to compete for nutrients.

Li Qiuchen wasn’t envious in the least.

He went home, took a cold shower, and changed into clean clothes.

There was no food in the house; the stove hadn’t been lit in ages.

Tonight, someone else was buying dinner.

On the way back, Hong Yang said they were going for noodles.

Although Songlin Village was called a village, its population wasn’t small—about three hundred households.

Because Cultivation granted long life, every home was full of children and grandchildren, totaling several thousand people.

In any other town, feeding so many would be impossible.

But here, even people could be planted in the soil, so other crops were no problem.

The village had shops, inns—even a noodle house.

Hong Yang’s sole passion in life was eating hand-pulled noodles.

Like Li Qiuchen, he was an orphan; nobody cooked for him at home.

Another reason was that Songlin Village’s noodles really were extraordinary.

The noodle-shop owner, Guan Damu, was a man with a story.

In his youth he’d roamed the Jianghu, learning superb iron-forging skills; the neighboring smithy was also his. Besides making farm tools, he secretly crafted powerful hidden weapons.

Great-Uncle deemed these ingenious devices licentious tricks, denounced him for forgetting his roots, and in the end had them all sealed away.

Boss Guan’s noodles had a special trait: the broth tasted of meat, yet not a single shred of meat appeared in the bowl. You could add more noodles, you could refill the broth—but meat was absolutely forbidden.

All meat in the village had to be supplied to Cultivators; everyone else could only sniff the aroma and chew bones.

Li Qiuchen had long suspected Boss Guan secretly hunted and ate alone in the back kitchen, but he had no proof.

No wonder Great-Uncle is pleased; it’s been many years since Songlin Village last saw a Spiritual Root. The last child born with one, I recall, was the Li family’s eldest girl.

Villagers cook at home, so the noodle shop rarely has customers.

Boss Guan is usually taciturn; only with Hong Yang and Li Qiuchen, the two kids who often come for noodles, will he exchange a few idle words.

That eldest Li girl is Li Qiuchen’s elder cousin—the one who annihilated her own clan.

Her methods were so ruthless the topic is now taboo; no one dares speak of it openly.

Li Qiuchen ate his noodles in silence, unwilling to delve into the subject.

He’d been too young at the time; he couldn’t even remember what his cousin looked like.

“A Spiritual Root shouldn’t look like that!”

Hong Yang wolfed down his bowl and muttered.

Villagers loved teasing him and Cherry Grass, saying that when the two grew up they’d marry her to him, and he half-believed it.

Seeing Cherry Grass now, shock and fury churned inside him.

Boss Guan chuckled. “Then what should a Spiritual Root look like?”

“I don’t know—but surely not this, right?”

Hong Yang snorted. “Uncle, you’ve left the village; you told me you’d seen immortals. Do immortals outside look like that?”

“I never said that.”

“You did, after you got drunk that time.”

“I was bragging; you believe drunk talk?”

Boss Guan flatly denied it.

Hong Yang turned, stared at Li Qiuchen. “What do you think?”

“I’ve never left either—how would I know?”

Li Qiuchen hesitated, then nodded. “You’re right.”

“Then let’s run!”

Hong Yang lowered his voice. “I don’t want that thing growing in my belly. Let’s dig Cherry Grass up and escape together!”

Senior Brother’s right.

But where can two kids and a half-dead girl run?

Li Qiuchen had considered it before.

Songlin Village is too remote, ringed by endless forests hiding who-knows-what beasts. Snow seals the paths six months a year; white wilderness blurs every direction.

Where would you go?

Hong Yang’s brain isn’t sharp, but it’s not completely blunt.

He had thought of that too. He turned to Boss Guan. “Uncle, how did you get out of the village back then?”

Boss Guan gave a simple smile. “Heavy snow that year; I got lost in the mountains and stumbled out.”

Hong Yang sighed in frustration.

Li Qiuchen thought: this man never speaks a true word.

If you’d blundered out in a daze, how did you find your way back?

Of course, such forbidden details weren’t for two kids.

Hong Yang, though he hadn’t thought that far, wasn’t discouraged. After pondering he slapped the table. “I’ll find a Mountain Guest!”

Though isolated, the village isn’t cut off completely. Each spring, Mountain Guests enter the mountains and caravans pass through; the half-year-shut shops mainly serve them.

Not many, but they come every year.

Finding a Mountain Guest is possible, yet they may not help. Whoever dares dig for goods in these wilds lives blade-to-blood.

Li Qiuchen had considered it, but after seeing last year’s Mountain Guests—no different from Liǔzi bandits—he gave up.

Rely on heaven and earth—better rely on yourself.

After finishing his noodles Li Qiuchen went home, sat on the kang, opened a wall recess, and took out an old thread-bound book.

Everyone in the village Cultivates, but methods differ.

Some raise insects, some temper their Physique; most villagers are illiterate and simply worship the Medicine Master with Great-Uncle, seeking blessings.

The method is hardly profound, yet it works. With sincere prayer and daily chanting of the Medicine Master’s name, one dispels misfortune and prolongs life.

Today the village counts eighteen centenarians, ruddy and strong enough to work the fields—already enviable fortune for common folk.

The Li family also worships the Medicine Master, but Cultivates Pupil Technique.

Legend says a Li ancestor cultivated a pair of Yin and Yang Dharma Eyes, able to gaze upon the Nine Heavens’ jade towers and peer down at the Yellow Springs, discerning Yin and Yang and all things, limitless in wonder.

Once the village’s leading clan, even Great-Uncle treated the Li with respect.

Alas, centuries of Legacy were burned clean by elder cousin in one night.

Three hundred Li family scrolls once existed; only the Wisdom Eye Compendium Li Qiuchen dug from the ashes remains—hardly a Cultivation method, more a primer.

It details only how to prepare medicines to care for the eyes; not a single cultivation formula is given.

The Li once maintained an herb garden to grow Spiritual Plants for pills, but elder cousin scraped it bare, leaving it pitted and ruined.

Over the years Li Qiuchen, using the book’s plant lore, gathered what Spiritual Plants he could, replanting the garden and restoring a hint of its former life.