Chapter Forty-Four: Reed (Liver Protector) Paste (Tablets)

Turning the soil required little effort; for most common folk, the real challenge was keeping the land even after it had been tilled. Yet for Chen Yu, this was a simple task. The mountain field was not large, and with his strength and stamina now far exceeding that of ordinary farmers, both tilling and leveling the soil were easy work.

The morning breeze drifted by; the sun on the horizon still leisurely climbed upward. A few clouds hung in the sky, drifting lazily across the blue expanse. Seizing the coolness before the sun grew hot, Chen Yu moved along the ridges at the field’s edge, swinging his hoe. The earth was still soft, clinging easily to the blade, so every few swings, he had to strike the ground forcefully to knock the dirt loose.

The half-acre field was hardly vast; it took about half an hour to turn the soil once over. Turning back at the end, he continued digging, swinging the hoe back and forth, until the topsoil was loose and friable. Ordinarily, this would be work for an ox, a donkey, or a horse, but the temple was too poor for such luxuries. Aside from a scrawny, foolish deer, there was nothing else, so Chen Yu had to manage it himself.

Next came fertilizing, known as “pot fertilizer”—spreading manure in the field, typically straw, wood ash, or dung. Fortunately, spring millet was not demanding; unlike the delicate Jin Yang rice, it did not require much, and he could keep this step simple. He filled a dirt basket with ash from the stove and scattered it generously across the field.

Soon, a thin veil of silver-grey dust lay over the yellow earth.

At that moment, a light rain began to fall. Chen Yu glanced up at the sky—no heavy clouds, the sun still shining bright. It was likely just a brief drizzle, so he paid it no heed and continued his work.

The soil needed to be turned twice, mainly because the first turning came right after the “floating rain,” leaving the earth too damp; it needed two days to dry. Still, the floating rain had its benefits: there was no need to worry about watering; the wood ash could simply be left to soak into the ground.

When the land was ready and the last of the ash had been used, all that remained was to wait for sowing. Chen Yu turned back, intending to check on the foolish deer.

…

He walked back into the temple, only to find that the spotted deer, which had been constantly underfoot, was nowhere to be seen—not even in the rear herb garden.

Had it left?

He sighed, a little disappointed; he had hoped to use the deer for a few more experiments, but it seemed that after eating well, it had run off quickly enough. Most likely, it was now somewhere in the forest, nibbling on wild grass.

The deer's departure had been expected; Chen Yu did not dwell on it. After all, he had not even bothered to tether it, so perhaps he had never truly intended to keep it. He had spoken of keeping it, but it was just talk. The animal's appetite was too great; it might be manageable in spring and summer, but come autumn and winter, would he not have to scour the mountains for hay to feed it? Too troublesome.

With that matter set aside, Chen Yu was more interested in what he had learned about catalyzing crops with spiritual energy. Yesterday, the little brown deer had eaten not only the transformed Gut-Soothing Grass but also several buds from the green vegetables. All had been swallowed down; the deer had seemed to enjoy them, not even noticing what it had eaten. Otherwise, it would not have suffered so badly at the start.

The experiences of Brother Rooster and the gluttonous deer had confirmed the effects of the Gut-Soothing Grass, but the true function of the vegetable buds remained unclear. Reflecting on the deer's behavior, Chen Yu could not discern any obvious changes. Perhaps, like the Gut-Soothing Grass, its effects would be delayed?

He pushed open the woodshed door. Brother Rooster was pacing inside, and upon seeing Chen Yu, leapt at him with fierce crowing. Chen Yu caught him in one hand. Looking at the rooster, who was still clucking away, Chen Yu set aside any thought of slaughtering him for the pot. With the gluttonous deer gone, Brother Rooster would have to shoulder the burden of further experiments, so killing him now was out of the question.

“Brother Rooster, you have a heavy task ahead—today you get an extra meal.”

He scattered a couple of handfuls of rice in the corner and ignored the proud, defiant rooster who seemed to say he would not eat food given in pity, then turned to leave.

He would wait a day, let Brother Rooster digest the Gut-Soothing Grass, and then feed him the vegetable buds. If anything went wrong, at least the rooster would have eaten a few good meals first.

As for himself, it was still early. The fields were done, and he suddenly found himself at a loss for what to do. Reading the Daoist scriptures was best done at night, when the mood was right. As for training, he had already completed twenty-five rounds of the Spirit-Invoking Vitality Art—any more would be excessive and might cause harm.

Perhaps he should start cultivating grain seeds now? And medicinal herbs—he should also test the wild herbs he gathered yesterday, some with spiritual energy, some with spiritual liquid...

Counting on his fingers, Chen Yu realized just how many things he could use spiritual energy on, especially considering all the odd items he had collected recently. It seemed Brother Rooster’s taste-testing duties would be heavy for some time to come.

Oh, and mushrooms!

The wild greens could wait; the mushrooms he picked yesterday were not as abundant as last time but still far more than he could eat in a meal or two. Perhaps he could dry some into mushroom chips? He had heard they had a unique flavor.

They would also keep longer, so he would not have to watch them rot and feed only the flies.

He set about his work, but as he reached for the sacks of grain and medicinal seeds, he remembered something else.

Liver-protecting tablets—no, the Reed Ginseng Paste—he had not yet prepared it!

“I must have been too busy dealing with that greedy deer yesterday and completely forgot!”

No matter. He donned his metaphorical hat of responsibility, put aside his other tasks, washed the medicine cauldron and stone pestle, and got to work.

The recipe for Reed Ginseng Paste was simple: reed ginseng as the main ingredient, with green winter root, tuckahoe, and triple-nine fruit as auxiliaries, all pounded and mixed, then dried. Add rice paste and sweet sprout syrup, and it was done.

Of all the ingredients, only the reed ginseng was a bit difficult to find, but even that was not expensive at the foot of the mountain; the rest were common, and he had gathered plenty by the mountain stream yesterday.

Reed ginseng could not be stored long; it lost its potency as it dried, so Chen Yu wasted no time, quickly preparing the mixture.

By the time he finished, it was already noon, the brightest part of the day. Thanks to the fine weather, the medicinal paste dried quickly. By the time Chen Yu came to check, bowl of rice in hand, it had already dried successfully—a black, sesame-like powder spread across the stone.

After a hasty lunch, he collected the powder into a clean bamboo tube, added hot, sticky rice paste and syrup made from the sweet sprouts that grew everywhere by the mountain. Sealing the tube, he shook it well, and the result was a warm, fragrant paste.

He bent down to inhale: the paste carried the aroma of rice, the herbal scent of reed ginseng, and a faint sweetness from the sprout syrup.

Once it solidified, the Reed Ginseng Paste was complete.

In truth, it was more a tasty treat than a medicinal paste. The usual recipe did not include rice paste or sprout syrup; this was a rustic method passed down from the old Daoist priest, a secret he had picked up in his wanderings. It did not lessen the medicine’s potency, but banished the bitterness and astringency.

In his memory, from the youngest novice to the oldest priest, everyone at Cloud Crane Temple praised it without end.