Early morning, rain pattered against the eaves. A cool morning breeze swept through the mountains.
Lu Yan leaned against the wall. As the morning chill brushed past him, he frowned from the cold. As his consciousness slowly returned, he instinctively reached to pull up the blanket, only to realize he had fallen asleep in the chair. Well, there was only one bed in the house, and it had been given to the patient. He shook his head, stretched his sore neck, and propped himself up by the armrests to stand.
Thud—
Lu Yan fell straight to his knees on the floor.
“Damn it! My legs are numb.”
Listening to the steady breathing beside him, he let out a quiet sigh of relief. Fortunately, no one had witnessed such an embarrassing moment. He paused for a moment to recover, then used the edge of the bed to pull himself up, his mind beginning to map out what he needed to do today.
“Right, there's no rice left at home. I need to buy some.”
It didn't take long for him to plan his tasks for the day. He tucked the blanket in around Jiang Ci and reached out to feel her forehead—her fever had broken. The anxiety weighing on his chest finally lifted. Now that the fever was gone, her condition should be stable. Before she woke up, he had honestly been prepared to build her a coffin.
Lu Yan got dressed and slung his medicine basket over his back. He couldn't sell the Meridian-Connecting Orchid anymore, but he still had a batch of low-grade spiritual herbs from yesterday. Selling those should bring in enough to buy some rice.
Just as he was about to leave, his steps paused. He turned back into the room, fished out paper and a brush from his space ring, and left a note pressed under a medicine bottle. He also set down two bottles of medicine—one for oral intake and one for topical application. He had scratched characters onto the bottles with his fingernails; though crooked, they were still legible. Finally, he placed the last remaining bit of spiritual rice on the cabinet, sealed inside a small cloth bag.
Standing by the bed, he listened to her breathing for a moment. It was very steady.
He turned, shouldered his medicine basket, and pushed open the door. The rain was still falling—not heavily, but a fine, mist-like drizzle. He didn't use an umbrella, nor did he cast the Water-Repelling Spell. It wasn't worth wasting his spiritual energy over such a light rain.
The door creaked softly shut behind him. He did not look back.
Carrying the medicine basket, Lu Yan walked down the mountain path. The rain had stopped, but the ground was still wet. With every step, mud squeezed through the treads of his shoes, thick and sticky. He used a bamboo staff to guide his way, tapping it into the muddy puddles with dull, squelching thuds.
He didn't head toward Beizhou City. It was too far, taking a whole day for a round trip. Moreover, the shopkeeper there knew him—the one to whom he had pawned his storage bag for fifteen taels of silver. Going there would just mean getting ripped off again. Instead, he was heading to a small market on the outskirts of Black Mountain Fort. It wasn't a proper town, just a collection of makeshift shacks and stalls selling all sorts of things. It was a chaotic, lawless place where no one cared who you were.
After walking for nearly four hours, he finally reached the edge of the market. Even before getting close, the clamor of the crowd drifted over—vendors hawking their wares, customers haggling, and children crying. He frowned; he hated places like this the most. They were crowded, chaotic, and filled with a cacophony of smells that overwhelmed his senses.
Finding a corner, he squatted down and laid out the spiritual herbs from his basket onto the ground. Though called spiritual herbs, they were actually bottom-tier, worthless goods: Qi-Gathering Sunflowers, Spirit-Melting Grass, and a few other nameless stalks. They were in poor condition, with withered leaves and broken roots. He sorted them roughly by the shade of their color, arranging them neatly in two rows.
Squatting next to him was an old man selling raw, bloody animal pelts that hadn't even dried yet. The old man cast a sidelong glance at him, then at the spiritual herbs on the ground, and let out a soft sneer, though he said nothing.
Lu Yan pretended not to hear.
He waited for an hour, but no one asked for a price. He waited another hour, and still, no one approached. People walked past him, casting brief downward glances without pausing their steps. He overheard comments like “What kind of garbage grass is this?” and “How can he even try to sell something so withered?” He remained expressionless, his fingers lightly tapping a steady, rhythmic beat against his knee.
The sun rose directly overhead. He reached into his robe to touch the dry rations he carried but decided against taking them out. He couldn't bear to eat them now; if he managed to sell his herbs later, he could save them and skip a meal on the way back.
Finally, someone stopped.
“How much for this Qi-Gathering Sunflower?”
It was a middle-aged man's voice, gruff and reeking of alcohol. Lu Yan quoted a price. He had already set it twenty percent lower than the market rate, acknowledging the poor quality of his stock.
“Too expensive,” the man said.
“How much are you offering then?”
The man named a figure that nearly made Lu Yan lose his composure. It was less than twenty percent of the market price, not even enough to cover his costs. After a brief silence, he said he couldn't sell at that price.
The man snorted and walked away.
Lu Yan rearranged the Qi-Gathering Sunflowers and continued to squat.
In the afternoon, another person approached. It was a young woman, sounding quite youthful with light, brisk footsteps that suggested she might be a cultivator. She squatted down, picked up a stalk of Spirit-Melting Grass, and sniffed it.
“How much?”
Lu Yan quoted his price.
The young woman put the herb back down, stood up, and walked away. She didn't even bother to bargain.
Lu Yan picked the Spirit-Melting Grass back up and returned it to its spot. They looked withered and of poor quality; it was only natural that others would look down on them.
Though he couldn't tell if the sky was bright, he could feel the air growing slightly warmer, and the rain seemed to be tapering off. Having squatted all day, his back and shoulders were sore, and his legs had gone numb. His stomach rumbled hungrily, but he simply pressed a hand against it and ignored the sensation. If he didn't sell anything today, there would be no rice at home. He could survive on Inedia Pills, but that girl couldn't; her injuries were still healing, and she needed hot food.
Gritting his teeth, he slashed his prices even further.
This time, someone finally bought from him. It was an elderly woman who purchased two Qi-Gathering Sunflowers, mentioning she wanted to brew them in water for her grandson. Lu Yan didn't bother to correct her that Qi-Gathering Sunflowers weren't meant to be used that way. He accepted the payment—a few copper coins—squeezed them in his palm for a moment, and then slipped them into his space ring.
These few copper coins couldn't buy much. It wasn't enough for rice, though perhaps it could be exchanged for a few handfuls of wild vegetables.
He gathered the remaining spiritual herbs back into his basket and stood up. His legs, completely numb from squatting, gave way slightly, and he nearly stumbled. Steadying himself, he hoisted the basket onto his back.
He had to find a way to make a living. Before, he only had to worry about his own mouth, but now things were different with another person in the house.
But there was no other way. There was no rice left at home. Since he had taken her in, he had to fulfill his responsibility. This was simply what it meant to be a decent human being. He didn't care for grand principles or high moral philosophies. He only remembered what the old man had once told him—the Formation Sect guarded the Northern Border not to be remembered by its people, but because it was simply what had to be done. He had saved her not to earn her gratitude, but because it was the right thing to do.
Lu Yan adjusted his pack and secured the basket. His stomach rumbled again; he pressed down on it and ignored it once more. The rain began to fall again, fine and cool, pattering against his face and trickling down his neck. He didn't cast the Water-Repelling Spell. It wasn't worth wasting his spiritual energy over such a light rain.
Turning away from the direction of his home, he slowly walked into the rain.
Rate on N.U.
