Handing Over the Grain

Autumn arrived.

Zhou Minghu stood on the ridge of the field, directing the retainers as they harvested the spirit rice. If one looked closely, they could see his face was deathly pale, and his left sleeve concealed heavy bandages.

A few days prior, Zhou Minghu had still been somewhat unwilling to let the people from the Immortals' Directorate collect the grain. After all, it was a full four hundred jin of spirit rice. Thus, hiding his intentions from Zhou Ping, he had led a few men down the eastern mountain, hoping to see if they could reach Zhaoping Prefecture City or Qingshui County City.

But what he witnessed was a living hell, a thousand li of scorched earth!

He had only traveled a little over ten li eastward. Wherever he went, crops and vegetation had withered away, the great rivers had run dry, and the fields were littered with the starved dead. The refugees boiled corpses and divided the flesh among themselves, while wild dogs gnawed on roadside bones, their eyes gleaming with a ghostly green light.

Even the withered bark had been gnawed clean, leaving only bare, stark trunks standing. He also saw people with grotesquely swollen bellies who eventually collapsed to the ground, vomiting mouthfuls of yellow earth.

The appearance of Zhou Minghu and his group naturally drew the covetous stares of these refugees. After all, not a single person in the Zhou household had gone hungry thus far; they were all hale and full-fleshed. In the eyes of the starving masses, they were nothing but fatty, succulent meat.

While passing through a village, they were surrounded by a crowd of refugees. Had Zhou Minghu not wielded his small sword to carve a path out in blood, and had the refugees not been too weak from starvation to give chase, they likely would not have survived. Even so, two retainers lost their lives, bitten to death alive by the maddened crowd, and Zhou Minghu's arm was injured in the desperate escape.

He had never witnessed a year of famine before and knew nothing of its true horrors, which was why he had grudgingly clung to the hope of saving that four hundred jin of spirit rice. If he had known how terrifying the outside world was under the grip of starvation, he never would have risked scouting the path.

Upon returning, he had been severely reprimanded by Zhou Ping, who was furious at such a reckless endeavor.

Zhou Minghu gazed out toward the lands beyond the mountain, as if he could still see those desolate and tragic scenes, and could not help but sigh.

"Ah, I wonder when this great drought will end..."

If the drought continued like this, their own household's days would become difficult. After all, the rain they could summon was becoming increasingly scarce; perhaps in a few more days, they wouldn't be able to coax down a single drop. By then, even with grain reserves, they would not survive.

The several hundred souls in Baixi Village would die off. Who knew how many of their own estate workers would survive? Even their own family's fate was uncertain.

"Third Young Master, the harvest is complete."

Zhou Shi stood respectfully at Zhou Minghu's side, pointing proudly at the stacked piles of spirit rice ears as if presenting a treasure. Although spirit rice required regular irrigation by cultivators, aside from the stalks being much tougher than ordinary mortal rice and thus more laborious to cut, there was nothing else special about harvesting it. Mortals could naturally handle the task.

Zhou Minghu stepped forward, picked up a spike of spirit rice, and rubbed it in his palm. Looking at the grains resting in his hand, his brow furrowed involuntarily, finally smoothing out into a long sigh.

There were far too few grains on this spike. It seemed the great drought had become so severe that it was heavily impacting the spirit rice yield.

"Tell them to search the fields carefully again. Be thorough, do not miss a single stalk," he said, turning his head toward Zhou Shi. "Also, bag these up, transport them to the storehouse, and thresh them there. Keep a light hand when moving them-do not scatter any grains."

"This lowly one understands," Zhou Shi bowed his waist and nodded.

Even so, Zhou Minghu did not leave. He merely stood in silence, watching the workers move the harvest.

He could not help but worry. With the spirit rice yield reduced, not a single grain could be wasted. If they ended up short by just one or two jin at the end, they would shed tears with no one to pity them.

But if the harvest continued to plummet like this, how would their household manage the next three years?

On other parts of Baixi Mountain, Zhou Xuanya and Zhou Changhe were also personally leading hands to harvest the spirit rice. The entire Zhou family viewed this matter with the utmost gravity, waiting for the final tally to see if they had enough. If they fell short, they would have no choice but to mortgage other items to settle the account.

Zhou Ping himself appeared among the peaks, gathering Mountain Clear Qi. After all, not only did this substance aid his cultivation, but it could also be handed over to offset a portion of their required merit.

Through everyone's exhausting labor, they finally managed to complete the harvest by the end of the ninth month. There was even a piece of joyous news: although this year's spirit rice yield had shrunk, combining it with the previous years meant they had still managed to accumulate four thousand jin of spirit rice.

Zhou Ping then activated his jade token and took his seat within the grand array, quietly waiting for the people from the Immortals' Directorate to arrive.

On the third day, a small boat one zhang in length descended upon Baixi Mountain. Two figures flew out from within, one of whom was Zhou Ping's old acquaintance, Zhang Ting.

"Fellow Daoist Zhou, we have arrived," Zhang Ting called out, holding aloft a command medallion that caused the jade token in Zhou Ping's hand to flicker continuously.

Only then did Zhou Ping open the warding array, allowing the two men to enter. However, he kept the array disc pressed closely to his chest, ready to trigger the grand array against them at a moment's notice.

After all, one could never lack a heart of caution. Even three years ago, during the unavoidable Immortal Registration, Zhou Ping had still sent Zhou Xuanya deep into the mountains. This was both to prevent his aptitude from being discovered and to preserve a spark of lineage for their family.

Even with the Imperial Court's backing, the dark deeds of murder and robbery were hard to rule out. It was always best to keep one's guard up.

"Fellow Daoist Zhang," Zhou Ping said, cupping his hands.

Zhang Ting smiled. "It has been three years since we last met, and your cultivation has advanced quite a bit, Fellow Daoist. Congratulations."

From the moment he descended, he could sense that Zhou Ping's aura had reached the first level of Qi Condensation. Furthermore, it felt entirely full and flawless, meaning he must have cultivated bitterly without rest day and night to achieve this current state.

He did not feel a single shred of envy. For those with poor aptitude like them, refining Qi essence was not the difficult part; the true trial lay in nourishing and expanding the spiritual apertures.

He, Zhang Ting, had achieved Qi Condensation at the age of thirty-six. Forty years had passed since then, yet he was only at the fourth level of Qi Condensation. More than thirty of those years had been spent solely on nourishing his spiritual apertures; the time genuinely spent refining Qi amounted to only a few meager years.

Do not be fooled by the fact that he still had over forty years of lifespan remaining, seemingly with hope of reaching the peak of Qi Condensation in his twilight years. In truth, the further along the path one went, the harder it became to warm and nourish the spiritual apertures. Even if he were fortunate enough to cultivate to the peak of Qi Condensation, his essence, Qi, and spirit would have long withered by then, making any breakthrough to the Foundation Establishment realm a sheer pipe dream.

Seeing Zhou Ping so diligent now felt like looking at a reflection of his own past self. He only hoped that after a few decades, Zhou Ping would still be able to maintain this drive.

Zhang Ting could not help but sigh inwardly. Then, pointing to the burly middle-aged man behind him, he said, "Let me introduce you. This is my fellow Daoist from the Immortals' Directorate, Li Qing."

"When our Directorate collects merit resources, we always travel in pairs. This time, Fellow Daoist Li Qing has accompanied me."

These words were also spoken to assure Zhou Ping not to harbor fear or worry.

"Greetings, Fellow Daoist Li."

Though Li Qing was also a Qi Condensation cultivator, he had the bearing of a wooden, slow-witted man. He responded somewhat awkwardly, "Greetings, Fellow Daoist Zhou."

After exchanging a few more pleasantries with Zhang Ting, Zhou Ping led them deep into the storehouse, where a small mountain of spirit rice appeared before the men.

"Fellow Daoist, please take a look. This is the spirit rice my clan is handing over, totaling three thousand nine hundred jin."

Zhang Ting stepped forward, rubbing a handful of the spirit rice between his fingers. Seeing its excellent quality, he nodded repeatedly.

"Haha, Fellow Daoist Zhou is quite straightforward. Accumulating this much just three years after establishing your clan is truly remarkable. Take the Pingyun Huang Clan in your county, for instance. A few years ago, when their spirit rice fell short, they had to mortgage some treasures to cover the rest."

Beside them, Li Qing looked at the spirit rice with bright eyes, bearing the simple joy and satisfaction of a farmer gazing upon a mountain of grain. He immediately retrieved a Storage Bag from his waist.

Zhang Ting did not dawdle either. He formed a hand seal, his lips moving as he silently recited an incantation.

The mountain-like pile of spirit rice before them slowly drifted into the air, then surged like an unending tide into the Storage Bag.

Zhou Ping watched with profound envy. The technique Zhang Ting had just demonstrated was a specialized Qi Condensation technique. Yet to this day, Zhou Ping had only mastered two or three Qi Condensation techniques, all of which were solely related to cultivating spirit rice-a rather dismal reality.

But there was nothing he could do. Zhang Ting enjoyed the backing of the Immortals' Directorate, making it naturally easier for him to obtain techniques.

However, this came at a steep price. Zhang Ting had no time to look after his own family, leaving the Zhang clan wallowing in mediocrity to this day.

"Fellow Daoist, three thousand nine hundred jin, not a hair more and not a hair less. This portion is the surplus."

Zhang Ting smiled as he let the excess spirit rice spill back onto the ground. Mortal measuring tools always suffered from slight discrepancies. While Zhang Ting's technique might still harbor a marginal error, it was vastly more precise than the Zhou family's measurements.

In an instant, the jade token in Zhou Ping's hand shifted slightly, reflecting the transaction, though it showed he still owed four hundred and seventy-five merit points.

"Fellow Daoist, since the collection is complete, we shall take our leave," Zhang Ting said with cupped hands after observing the change in the token.

Zhou Ping quickly offered to host them. "My home has already prepared wine and dishes. The journey here must have been arduous-why not leave after you have eaten your fill and rested?"

But Zhang Ting waved his hand. "In a year of such great calamity, chaos and danger brew everywhere. It is best that we return to deliver our report as soon as possible."

"Fellow Daoist, this great disaster is so unnatural, raging for years without pause... It scarcely seems like the wrath of heaven. Might I ask what brought this upon us?"

Zhou Ping finally voiced the question weighing on his mind, causing both Zhang Ting and Li Qing's expressions to shift slightly.

Zhang Ting cupped his hands. "It is best you do not know, Fellow Daoist. This old man can only tell you that this great disaster will last until the end of the year at most. After that, everything will return to normal."

Seeing their reactions, Zhou Ping grew even more convinced of his own terrifying theory-this was likely the doing of some mighty cultivator practicing a grand art.

Yet, their absolute certainty that it would cease before the new year was somewhat peculiar. But since the two men refused to speak of it, Zhou Ping had no way to press the issue.

Before long, the two bade their farewells. But just as they were departing, Zhang Ting secretly sent a sound transmission to Zhou Ping.

"The great disaster is tied to the Azure Cloud Sect."

Zhou Ping stared at the departing flying boat, falling into deep thought.

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