Chapter 10: A Sunny-Day Doll Hanging Between the Cliffs

A fleshy lump mixed with pill fluid splashed into the river, and the nearby fish immediately swarmed over.

Li Qiuchen casually scooped and pulled a two-foot-long carp from the water.

The four- or five-pound carp struggled twice in his hand, then gradually went limp.

Its fresh vitality flowed through his palm into Li Qiuchen’s internal organs.

In that instant he even felt as though he had already tasted the delicious flesh.

This was the seventh day since he had escaped Songlin Village and regained consciousness beside an unknown river.

Whether he liked it or not, the Pharmacists Blessing had already fused with his Physical Body.

Blessings have grades, and the one he had received far surpassed the level Great-Uncle had obtained.

This wasn’t speculation—it was a fact visible to the naked eye.

According to the family’s Cultivation Technique, a cultivator must sit in meditation, absorb Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi, circulate it through the major and minor meridians, wash the marrow and forge the bones, and break free of the Mortal flesh.

The Pharmacists Blessing, however, directly altered his Physique; Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi gathered on its own without any need for meditation. Of course, if you insisted on cultivating yourself, the results would still be twice the gain for half the effort.

Back when Li Qiuchen had not yet started Cultivating, he could already see through the Crayfish Spirit’s vital essence with his naked eye. Now, coupled with the Pharmacists Blessing, he could, as he had just done, locate a fish’s vital essence and effortlessly absorb the life-force within it.

Cultivating this way is almost too easy.

No wonder Old Ancestor Li Jingyun devoted so many pages in his book to explaining the true nature of the Pharmacists Dao, lest future generations misunderstand.

Human nature can’t withstand temptation.

If one can advance so simply, who would bother to Cultivate seriously? Half a day of meditation can’t compare to the cultivation gained from scooping up one fish.

So it’s no surprise that in the past those Medicine Masters Believers became street rats everyone chased and beat.

Great-Uncle clearly lacked this ability; even though the book classic of scenic clouds had always been in his hands, he probably never grasped its real meaning.

Li Qiuchen suspected the Rank of the blessing he had received was comparable to that of the old peach tree itself.

Given time, once his cultivation matured, he should be able to find some remote backwater and build a pigpen… This thought is too dangerous.

I want to practice something proper!

As a Transmigrator, Li Qiuchen knew full well nothing falls from the sky; the free things in this world cost the most. A blessing that seems to demand no price—who dares say it will never need to be repaid?

He didn’t want it, but he had no choice.

Within only seven days, under the influence of the Pharmacists Blessing, Li Qiuchen had been reborn.

Now, standing by the river, he couldn’t even recognize the figure reflected in the water.

Every morning he woke to the stench coming from his own body as layers of dead skin sloughed off.

The child in the reflection no longer looked like a kid who used to pee in the dirt of a mountain village; with ruby lips, white teeth, and delicate skin, he resembled a pampered young master from town.

Was this right?

Many people in Songlin Village Cultivated, but at most they gained a bit of strength, avoided ordinary illnesses, and extended their lifespan a little; he’d never heard of anyone whose blessing also beautified their face.

Of course Li Qiuchen’s strength had increased as well; over these seven days he had grown stronger and stronger, reaching roughly the level of an average adult. His eyesight had also sharpened; glancing around, he could make out every movement in the surrounding forest.

According to Great-Uncle, the three of them had already reached the age for taking root and sprouting.

They had only lacked a Cultivation Technique—like seeds in the field that, though the season had come, received no water or fertilizer.

Now that they had begun to Cultivate, they broke through the soil at once and grew vigorously.

But why wasn’t muscle growing?

Cultivating onto the face—what’s that about? Am I supposed to make a living with my face from now on?

In theory, following the river downstream would eventually lead to human settlements, but Li Qiuchen wasn’t in a hurry to leave the mountains.

Conditions in the mountains were harsh, but what if he ran into another pigpen?

He had only just begun Cultivating and still had no means of self-protection.

Although wolves, jackals, tigers, and leopards were likewise dangerous, after receiving the Pharmacists Blessing he could emit a faint scent of grass and trees, merging with the forest and causing wild beasts to lose interest in him.

Yesterday he had encountered several wolves drinking by the river; they showed no hostility at all—perhaps in their eyes he was nothing more than a walking cabbage.

Li Qiuchen had a cautious nature.

To escape Songlin Village he had secretly plotted for two full years, arousing not the slightest suspicion from either Great-Uncle or the old peach tree.

Now he didn’t mind playing hermit in these deep mountains for another couple of years; he would venture out only after he had thoroughly mastered the family Cultivation Technique.

Another advantage of staying in the mountains was the chance to gather herbs.

The Li family’s Cultivation Technique required Medicinal Pills as support, and this vast mountain range was a natural herb garden for him to harvest at will.

An ordinary Mountain Guest who wants to dig up an old wild ginseng has to spend no small effort combing the mountains. Li Qiuchen, relying on his family’s inherited Dharma Eye of Yin and Yang and blessed by the Pharmacists Blessing, can easily spot those rare medicinal herbs and spiritual plants amid the shrubs, weeds, and rock crevices.

Some herbs he recognizes, some he doesn’t, but none of that matters.

As long as he pulls them out and holds them in his palm, he can directly absorb their medicinal power. Even if they carry a bit of toxicity, the Pharmacists Blessing makes it irrelevant; any harm to his body recovers quickly.

Far too convenient.

Li Qiuchen sighed inwardly.

This blessing feels like smartphones and the internet—once you’ve tasted it, you can never go back.

Although he has no immediate plans to leave the mountains, he still needs to understand the lay of the land.

While formulating his escape plan, Li Qiuchen had asked Boss Guan to sketch him a map.

With no satellites in the sky and Boss Guan no professional surveyor, the resulting map looked as if a dog had chewed it—impossible to tell what was where.

But it still gave a rough sense of direction.

The Mortal Dynasty of this world is called Great Chu, with several thousand years of Legacy; its territory is vast—literally every inch of land under heaven belongs to the king, every shore to his subjects.

The heartland of Great Chu lies in the Central Plains’ Nine Provinces; beyond them lie the Eastern, Southern, Western, and Northern Borderlands, and beyond those stretches an endless wilderness rarely trodden by human feet.

Li Qiuchen’s current location is within Yunzhong County, under the Black Water Garrison Command of Great Chu’s northern frontier.

Even inside the Northern Border, Yunzhong County sits far north: dry, frigid, snow flying at least six months a year, the ground frozen solid. Two thousand li north of Yunzhong County, across the Black Water River, lies the primordial northern wasteland.

Legend says the snow there never melts, ten-thousand-year glaciers blanket the earth, and the environment is so harsh ordinary folk cannot survive.

Songlin Village lies northwest of Yunzhong County amid endless mountain ranges.

These mountains stretch a thousand li with no name; paths are rugged, travelers scarce, wolves and tigers rampant, and the authorities rarely penetrate.

Hence a freak place like Songlin Village could emerge.

In a village of three hundred households, Li Qiuchen has never once seen tax collectors; perhaps the government doesn’t even know the village exists.

So right now he can’t pinpoint his exact location.

Li Qiuchen broke a straight branch for a walking stick, slung his bundle over his shoulder, and followed the river downstream.

He traveled by day and Cultivated by night; several more days passed.

One day he reached a ravine of lovely scenery, thick Spiritual Qi, dense medicinal herbs—an ideal place to settle.

Just as he looked for a spot to stay, he glanced up and saw something odd sticking out of the cliff.

His eyes lit up—could this be the kind of Divine Artifact that ancient greats drop during battle, described in novels?

How did that line go again?

Ah yes: This item is destined for me!

But a closer look brought only disappointment.

It was a crane.

The measure word is correct: a White Crane with its beak stuck in the rock… picture a kingfisher that flew too fast and nailed itself to a tree, cosplaying a sunny-day doll.

The exact same pose; who knows how long it has hung there, already dried into a bird-strip.

Li Qiuchen stared from below, unsure what to think.

Could it… actually be an ancient Divine Artifact deliberately crafted to look this way?

Otherwise how do you explain it—pig hit a tree, bird hit a rock? Beak wedged in and can’t pull out?

Perhaps hearing footsteps, the cliff-hung White Crane twitched, its two claws limply flapping, as if to say it wasn’t entirely dead.

Should he save it?

Honestly Li Qiuchen didn’t want to; he couldn’t fathom how it ended up like this.

What sensible bird poses like this?

Legend tells of a great general on night patrol who spotted a “tiger,” panicked, and shot an arrow. At dawn he found only a stone, his arrow buried so deep he couldn’t pull it out.

That was a fake tiger—yours is a real one!

And besides… it’s already starved into a strip; not much meat left.

Li Qiuchen hesitated, then began stacking stones.

When the pile was high enough he climbed, grasped the crane’s head, and pulled.

But the beak might as well have been glued with 502—utterly immovable.

After several tries he picked up a rock and smashed it against the beak.

The dying White Crane’s eyes snapped open; it thrashed and flapped wildly.

One strike, two, three—crack!

The long beak finally snapped; the crane thudded to the ground, opened its mouth, and let out a piercing shriek.

‘GAH—!’