The rain was moderate, fresh yet cool. Shrouded in a layer of the Water-Repelling Spell, Lu Yan did not feel too cold. The scent of earth and plants filled his lungs with each breath, circulating through his chest before he exhaled, carrying away the lingering gloom left between his brows from his sudden awakening from the nightmare.
He took a deep breath.
He had always loved the scent of rainy days. This dampness, filled with vitality, brought a rare respite from the freezing weather of the Northern Border. Even though he was blind and prone to falling if he ventured out, he still liked to stand by his doorway for a moment.
Today, he did not intend to just stand there.
He had already taken down his bamboo cane and basket from the rack by the door. Holding the cane in his left hand, he slung the basket over his back. It was empty, waiting to be filled.
As a mere second-level Qi Condensation cultivator, he could only refine a storage ring with a capacity of less than half a cubic meter. Spiritual herbs possessed life force and could not be kept in storage bags. His ring was packed to the brim with pills and life-saving items, leaving absolutely no empty space. Though the basket was cumbersome, it got the job done.
Lu Yan was lightly dressed. Wearing too many layers made it easy to trip on the mountain, and besides, he liked the slight chill. The cool sensation on his skin reminded him that he was still alive.
Raindrops pattered against the nearby leaves, creating a soft rustling. Whenever the splashing droplets struck the Water-Repelling Spell in front of him, they seemed to be brushed aside by an invisible hand. Their straight paths would suddenly curve, bypassing him to land on the ground nearby.
This was one of the few perks of being a cultivator. No need for an umbrella on rainy days, and no wet clothes to worry about.
He tapped his way forward with his bamboo cane. He had walked these mountain paths for five years, and this particular route seven or eight hundred times. He had long since memorized every fork in the road, every fruit tree, and every pit. Had the rain not made the ground slippery, the cane would have been entirely optional.
As he walked, he tried to catch any unusual scents in the air.
Truth be told, he could barely smell a thing. The wind in the Northern Border was too cold, freezing every scent in its tracks. Yet, he still sniffed out of habit, calling it a gamble on his luck.
The outcome was predictable.
He crouched down and felt around, finding nothing but mud. Brushing the dirt from his hands, he stood back up and kept walking.
He decided to check the spot where he had buried the spirit stone fragments last time.
The spirit stone fragments were pieces he had chipped off abandoned formation bases. They were worthless, but scattering them in the soil allowed ordinary plants to absorb a bit of spiritual energy and slowly transition into spiritual herbs. As for what kind of herb they would become, that was entirely up to fate. He couldn't afford to be picky.
The first spot.
Crouching down, he felt around and found a few Qi-Gathering Sunflowers. They were dry and withered, having barely transcended their mortal state, not even reaching Tier One. He harvested them and placed them in his basket.
The second spot.
A few stalks of Spirit-Melting Grass. They were even more withered than the Qi-Gathering Sunflowers, their leaves drooping like frostbitten eggplants. He gathered them anyway.
He gave the basket a gentle shake. It felt feather-light, as if completely empty.
He laughed out of sheer frustration.
These pathetic weeds would be too bitter even to steep in water. He raised his hand to dump the contents of the basket, but paused for a moment before lowering it again.
“Forget it. Every little bit counts.”
He slung the basket back on and walked toward the third spot.
The rain was picking up. The wind howled fiercely, like a wild beast. A chill seeped into his skin, creeping up his bones. Frowning, he thought as he walked: I'll head home after checking the last spot. Today really isn't a good day to go into the mountains.
He didn't notice a stray raindrop wetting the hem of his outer robe.
The Water-Repelling Spell was weakening, but he didn't realize it yet.
The third spot lay in the shade of the mountainside, shielded from the wind and rain by several large boulders arranged in a semicircle. Before he could even crouch down, a faint, delicate fragrance drifted into his nose.
A surge of joy welled up in his heart.
He had hit the jackpot.
Crouching down, he felt around with extreme caution. When his fingers brushed against the leaves, the razor-sharp edges sliced a small cut into his skin.
“Ah—”
He put his finger to his lips, sucking on the cut. A faint metallic taste spread in his mouth, mixed with the scent of rain and earth. Ignoring the sting, he reached out again, even more carefully this time. He plucked a tiny piece of the leaf and tasted it.
Astringent, with a hint of sourness.
Meridian-Connecting Orchid.
It was one of the primary ingredients for the Tier Three Meridian-Connecting Pill.
Although he could not refine Tier Three pills himself, if he processed it properly, selling it would yield enough to purchase several sets of ingredients for the Focus-Stabilizing Pill. While those ingredients weren't rare, they were still beyond his current budget. With this Meridian-Connecting Orchid, he could secure at least a few months' worth of funds for his medicine.
He crouched there, the corners of his mouth twitching into a rare smile.
He reached out to gently brush away the loose soil beneath the Meridian-Connecting Orchid. The roots had to remain intact; breaking them would cut the herb's efficacy in half. Using his fingers, he dug slowly, scooping up the root system along with the surrounding soil before carefully placing it into his basket.
He had just secured the herb when—
A cold drop of water struck him right between the brows.
He froze.
Then, the heavens opened.
It wasn't a gradual build-up. It was as if someone had dumped a massive basin of water from the heavens, instantly blanketing the world in a blinding sheet of white. Rain pelted his back, his head, and his basket, lashing down like a furious whip.
He immediately hunched over, shielding the basket with his body.
Once harvested, a Tier Three spiritual herb would rot upon contact with water and turn to ash if exposed to fire. The only way to preserve it was to refine it into a liquid state using spiritual energy and store it in a specialized jade vial. He had no such vial, nor did he have the time to refine it. If the herb got wet, it would be completely ruined.
He scrambled to his feet, desperate to leave.
He planted his bamboo cane, but the ground was already thoroughly waterlogged. Instead of providing leverage, the cane sank deep into the mud. His foot slipped, his balance gave way, and the world spun violently around him.
He tumbled all the way to the bottom of the slope.
Throughout the fall, he kept a death grip on the basket. Sharp rocks gouged his back, making him gasp in pain, but he didn't let go. Jagged branches tore at his arms, drawing blood that mixed with the rain, but he held on.
Lying at the bottom of the slope, he panted heavily to catch his breath.
He reached his hand back into the basket.
Fortunately, it wasn't too wet. The roots were damp, but the medicinal properties remained intact. It could still be saved.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he struggled to his feet. His knees throbbed, his waist ached, and his back burned with pain. Ignoring the discomfort, he raised his hand to cast the Water-Repelling Spell.
A spark of spiritual energy flickered at his fingertips, then fizzled out.
He tried again.
It fizzled out once more.
His hand froze in midair. With his spiritual energy in such disarray, he couldn't form the hand seal for the Water-Repelling Spell. And without it, the herb in his basket would be ruined long before he could make it back home.
He had to find shelter.
Panic began to set in as he weighed his options. Head down the mountain? It was too far; the herb would rot before he was halfway there. Head up? There was nothing up there, except—
He paused.
The ruined temple.
Near the edge of the mountainside stood a ruined temple. He had been there before; it was where memorial tablets were kept.
Clutching the basket close, he stumbled blindly through the mud, heading toward the mountainside.
The rain poured, and the wind continued to howl. His soaked robes clung to his skin, making him shiver violently from the cold.
But he did not stop.
He couldn't stop. The Meridian-Connecting Orchid was in his basket. It was his ticket to purchasing the ingredients for the Focus-Stabilizing Pill. And the Focus-Stabilizing Pill was what kept him alive.
As long as he lived, there would still be someone to guard the memorial tablets of the Formation Sect.
As long as he lived, the legacy of the Formation Sect would endure.
As long as he lived, those people would still be remembered, and there would still be someone to light incense for them...
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