Chapter Thirty-One: Rain on the Pond

March 25th. Clear skies.

The plants in the herb field have grown well; there have been no new deaths, and they are thriving.

1. The buds of the green vegetables have grown larger, taking on a jade-green hue. Beneath their sheaths, tiny bulges are forming, making them more and more resemble corn cobs.

2. Something has happened with the Lanting fruit: one of the plants bears a plump, crimson, rounded fruit, now noticeably larger; the other, however, is starting to grow elongated today. If it keeps stretching… an eggplant? A red eggplant? Or perhaps a fruiting eggplant? I’m looking forward to finding out.

…

March 26th. Overcast.

Today was uneventful; the herb garden required no attention.

I went fishing and caught nothing.

That wretched snakehead fish—I’ll have to drain the whole pond one day!

…

March 27th. Overcast.

The Jade Beetleweed in the herb field has sprouted again—its second time this season. Normally, this plant only sprouts once per season—and it tastes excellent—but this time, the new shoots are milky white, exuding a faint, fishy bitterness.

…

Snap!

Closing his notebook, Chen Yu ended today’s “Experimental Log” entry. He stepped out from the inner room to stand beneath the eaves, raising his eyes to peer outside.

The rain was pouring down in torrents, the dark clouds as thick as ink. Raindrops the size of beans pelted the muddy ground, the steady patter splattering murky water everywhere. The courtyard had already accumulated a thin layer of water.

Along the wall, four water jars—one large, three small—were already brimming, duckweed bobbing on the surface, battered by wind and rain.

“Duckweed rain…”

Muttering to himself, Chen Yu glanced at the spring millet seeds he had dug up from the soil yesterday. They were now cool to the touch, but a few sprouts could still be seen pushing through the burlap.

Spring millet seeds must be buried for several days before planting; now that this step was done, it was time to sow them.

He fetched his rain cape, tied on his bamboo hat, shouldered the hoe, and strode out of the courtyard.

…

The rain had started in the early morning, around dawn—about five o’clock. The mountain streams had not yet risen, but it was only a matter of time. He had to get ready, checking the ditches he had dug earlier for any debris like twigs or branches that might block the flow. If there were any obstructions, he needed to clear them right away to prevent the water from overflowing the dikes and washing away the already poor soil.

If all the soil washed down the mountain, his field would be as good as ruined. In that case, he might as well use his money to buy more from below the mountain. Even if he bought hundreds of catties at a time, the constant hauling up and down would be exhausting.

Chen Yu had no desire to go down the mountain every day—it was messy and dangerous. This field needed proper care.

The rain intensified as he reached the field, the drops now the size of peanuts, the wind driving them sharply against his face. What wicked weather!

He wiped the rain from his face. Only his steadily improving martial arts allowed him to withstand this; an ordinary person might be sore for hours after such a barrage.

The trees swayed in the wind and rain, and water was already beginning to pool. It wouldn’t be long before the mountain streams swelled; he had to hurry.

Step by step, Chen Yu walked the muddy dikes, clearing fallen branches and leaves from the ditches with his hoe, moving any stones or clumps of earth he came across.

The ditch led toward the mountain path; he had deliberately opened a gap there, so when the mountain water surged, it could be channeled away.

Thunder rumbled, silver streaks of lightning darted through the clouds. The looming clouds resembled giant mushrooms growing upside down in the sky, their caps shaking and emptying torrents of rain.

With a crack, thunder and lightning split the air, sending chills down the spine. Chen Yu had never done anything to provoke the heavens, but staying outside in such weather was unwise. Living on the mountain, if the heavens took offense at this outsider, a single bolt would be enough to send him to the underworld to meet his Cloud Crane ancestors of the fourth generation—fifth, if you counted his previous self.

In any case, after clearing the ditches, Chen Yu returned to the temple, not lingering in the wind and rain.

Drip, drip…

He set aside his hat and rain cape; even the undershirt beneath was soaked. He changed into a dry set of clothes—a long robe of dark blue and black—and wrung out his hair.

“I’ll go again this afternoon, and once more tonight.”

If the rain didn’t let up, he would have to check the fields every two to three hours. Still, once these two days passed, it would be time to sow the seeds. There weren’t many requirements for planting spring millet—just toss the seeds by the handful. The real work came later, with weeding and tending the crops.

But that was for when the plants had grown. For now, he had plenty of free time.

He soon thought of the herb field behind the house, but since it wasn’t in a low-lying spot and was bordered by wooden fencing, there shouldn’t be any flooding.

Still, he went to check. Standing under the eaves a few paces away, he could see the rain’s impact on the plants nourished by spiritual energy was minimal, and he was finally at ease.

The Jade Beetleweed and green vegetables were already mature, and the two Lanting fruits would soon be ready for harvest, though he hadn’t picked them yet.

Especially the Jade Beetleweed—since its second sprouting, that lingering bitterness had yet to dissipate. The web of spiritual energy beneath the soil remained unabsorbed, hinting at further transformation. He decided to wait a bit longer.

The first shoots had been snow-white and fragrant, the second milky and a touch bitter. Perhaps the third would be fragrant again.

That was his guess, but he’d have to wait a few more days to be sure.

When he’d first transplanted them, he’d thought these two would mature in two or three days, after which he could test their effects. But it seemed the metamorphosis took just as long as the neighboring Lanting fruits.

Of course, those white stalks now buried deep underground would take the longest of all.

Waiting was fine; after all, he had yet to fully understand the spiritual essence, its sources, and the spiritual energy itself—there was still work to be done.

…

That experimental log was no mere diary—it recorded not just the recent changes in the herb field, but also his progress in exploring spiritual energy.

In detail, his understanding of the special gas produced by this spiritual mechanism had deepened considerably. If one were to use an analogy, he’d gone from having both feet outside the door to having one foot on the threshold. The significance was immense, at least in his own eyes.

Spiritual energy, as it currently appeared, was something that could induce changes in a target—very similar to the spiritual mechanism, but not quite the same.

Spiritual energy could not be infused into dead things; it could not even be touched—except by water. It seemed only living things could absorb it. The spiritual mechanism bore no such restriction.

Furthermore, through experiments, Chen Yu discovered that when creatures like earthworms absorbed spiritual energy, it did not dissolve directly into their bodily fluids, but merged in another way. This made direct inhalation of spiritual energy far less gentle and effective than absorbing spiritual essence mixed into well water.

As for the spiritual essence, it not only enhanced the body but also stimulated the muscles, accelerating his mastery of physical strength, replenishing his state, and even nurturing old wounds to some extent.

Its applications were considerable, and the effects were pronounced.

Yet, the strange and potent force he had awakened not long ago still lingered, its origin a mystery.

At first glance, it seemed his progress these days was modest, but in truth, Chen Yu had developed a more efficient method of absorbing spiritual essence.

This inspiration had come from the Cloud Crane Temple’s breathing techniques and the Qi-gathering method of the Harmonious Fiends sect.

It was quite a coincidence. Two days ago, during his exercises, after drinking the spiritual essence as usual—intending to practice his physical strength and search for that mysterious power—he found, unexpectedly, that although he did not find the power, he noticed a peculiar change in one of his internal organs as he breathed.

He had always been searching for which part of his body absorbed and broke down the spiritual essence, and how it acted upon his body to produce its miraculous effects.

That day, at last, he found an answer.

The liver!

Yes, the essence was processed by the stomach, but it was the liver that actually distributed and nourished the whole body.

After several days of careful investigation, even using his strength to gently probe—though such a move, without mastery, could easily injure the organs—he was fortunate enough to avoid harm, and in several attempts, he finally managed to lift a corner of the veil around spiritual essence.

In this process, Chen Yu found that every time he regulated his breathing and performed ‘blood-moving’ exercises, the reaction of the essence in the liver became noticeably more intense.

With this clue, he now had the foundation for a method to speed up absorption.

Everything fell into place, and just last night, he completed the first draft of this technique.

Many uncertainties remained, especially regarding his internal organs, so he cut out most of the conjectures, leaving only the reliable or experimentally proven parts.

Though this meant the efficiency gains weren’t dramatic, it was at least a direction—a reason for excitement.

Since the inspiration came from breathing techniques and the essence’s effect lay in strengthening the body, Chen Yu gave this method an unassuming name:

“Breath of Spirit, Strengthening Body Technique.”