Chapter Fifty-Four: Longing for Peaches

Within the sea of consciousness, all remained as ever—waves surged restlessly, one crashing upon another without a moment's peace. Chen Yu dropped a single bead of spiritual essence, sending it beneath the sturdiest peach tree, letting it form a hazy net around the roots for the tree to absorb.

He counted as he worked: twenty-one beads remained. The net still took about three days to condense one bead. During the recent third round of transplantation and cultivation, along with the scattered use for grains and medicinal plants, he had used up six beads.

He had always been searching for a way to increase yield, but remained at a loss. Though he had gained some insight into using the spiritual essence, the vast ocean of consciousness was still beyond his grasp.

Knock, knock.

He tapped the peach tree's trunk twice, pried open a blossom not yet in full bloom, examined and felt it for a long while, and even dug into the soil to closely observe the roots’ state.

Based on prior experience, after infusing the bead, changes would appear gradually alongside the tree's growth, not as violently as the first time he had experimented with wild grass.

He scrutinized the peach tree's current appearance, memorizing its features to compare with future observations.

It was now the peach blossom season; he reckoned that early changes might not be apparent, and the real transformation would come when the fruit formed.

He recalled that, aside from those planted by his predecessor, several of the peach trees at the mountain gate were transplanted by the old Taoist. These had borne fruit before—hairy mountain peaches, dry and astringent in taste, the flesh tough and apt to stick in one’s teeth.

He hoped the spiritual essence would work some magic, making the peaches thin-skinned and soft within, sweet and delicious.

Perhaps it might even grant some special properties—clarifying the mind, extending longevity, warding off evil spirits, and so on.

Yet, judging by past transplantings in the medicinal field, the essence’s effects never strayed into the realm of myth. After all, legends never claimed cabbages could sprout buds or orchards could refine the mind.

So growing legendary “Peaches of Immortality” was out of the question; even if it were possible, it was unlikely to produce fruit that granted eight centuries of life as in the tales. All he could do now was wait for June, when the peaches ripened, to see what effects they might have.

With all this waiting, he figured he might as well treat the yard’s dwarf pine and pear tree the same way.

The pear tree, too, would ripen its fruit around June or July. Now, as the peach blossoms flourished, it donned its own thin, white veil of flowers.

When he finished, the spiritual essence had dropped below twenty beads.

It was used up so quickly.

He sighed—this was after he had started cultivating with spiritual liquid recently; otherwise, the depletion would have been even greater.

But the liquid’s effects were still uncertain; he would have to wait until the spring millet on the wooden boards matured to judge, so he had not yet used it on other crops.

Moreover, unlike the beads, which could be infused once and left to work, the spiritual liquid evaporated naturally and required constant replenishment.

Thus, though the reserves were many, consumption kept pace—hardly an optimistic situation. It called for frequent attention.

Sometimes, Chen Yu even considered covering the plots, but that obviously wouldn’t work. Physical covers of wood or bamboo would interfere with the millet’s growth, unless he had something transparent and breathable, which only filtered out the evaporating liquid, captured it, and re-infused it into the soil.

The idea was oddly familiar—he realized it was nothing but an array formation.

Regrettably, it was easier thought than done; he was in no position to realize such a thing for a long time yet.

“If only I could freely manipulate spiritual energy,” he mused.

Barring that, even controlling the spiritual liquid would suffice to achieve what he envisioned.

But how to exert such control was another major problem.

It was like when he made medicinal powders: the liquid was too stable, impossible to separate or blend, let alone bring about those wondrous effects.

The main issue was that it was “invisible,” beyond his senses, and thus beyond his control.

He patted his head. If he truly possessed the legendary divine sense or Yang spirit, perhaps he could manage it.

...

In the afternoon, sunlight was gentle and warm.

Carrying a shoulder pole, Chen Yu ambled toward the stone spring halfway up the mountain.

As Elder Liu had instructed, the spring millet needed to be watered once a month, especially in the early stages of seedling growth, requiring constant care.

He weeded, fetched water, and occasionally broke up clumps of stony soil. Apart from adding some wood ash at sowing to enrich the soil, he needn’t worry about fertilizer at other times.

With a grunt, he hoisted the water buckets onto the pole, balanced them on his shoulders, and briskly returned up the mountain.

He could have used well water, since the field was small, but it was too cold at this time of year—he feared the seedlings would not survive, so he had abandoned the idea.

“When the weather warms up, it’ll be fine,” he consoled himself.

Would cold water affect the crops? He wasn’t sure, but decided to act as if it did.

Carrying the water back to the temple, he watered the green seedlings with most of it, sharing the rest among the medicinal and vegetable gardens. When all was done, he wiped the sweat from his body with a damp hemp cloth.

Afterward, Chen Yu amused the sole surviving mudfish with an earthworm for a while, then sat in the courtyard, using his leisure to bring out all the temple’s books to sun-dry.

These included the “King of Medicine Sutra,” “Clouds Rising to the Tower,” as well as the “Record of Divine Spirits,” “Crane in the Clouds Technique,” and five other classics—each was spread out on the stone table, basking in sunlight to dispel dampness and bookworms.

Nearby, he held a copy of “Broad Cloud Treatise,” poured himself a cup of spiritual liquid, and turned the pages in the breeze.

“There are still too few books. When I go down the mountain for the next gathering, I must bring back more.”

Neither the old Taoist nor his predecessor had valued such texts much, so over the past decade, many had been lost or rotted away.

The few that remained were nearly worn through from his reading. With so many Taoists gathering this time, he planned to collect a dozen or so to enrich his collection.

In front of the courtyard, Chen Yu sat upright upon a bluestone, facing the scattered peaks in the distance, where verdant trees formed tranquil groves.

Inhale, exhale...

As he breathed, he did not practice his self-created method, but naturally followed the way of harmonizing and gathering energy, soothing his mind and body.

He silently recited the incantation, letting his mind settle until he felt as if he were drifting upon the sea, surrounded by viscous waves, or as though raindrops gently patted his face. Relaxed, he knew these sensations were the norm after calming the mind and focusing the spirit.

In essence, it was a process of amplifying the senses, or perhaps, by actively quieting his mind and filtering out distractions, what remained became all the more distinct.

The caress of the breeze, the brush of clothing against the skin—these, too, grew sharper.

Yet for all its familiarity, the experience was distinctly pleasurable, especially since, unlike most, his body was strengthened by spiritual liquid and martial cultivation, and his mind was on the verge of transformation. So, as he let his senses roam, the immersion brought a subtle and wondrous novelty.

Plop—

It was as if a droplet fell into a spring, raising invisible ripples.

The next instant, a handful of radiance unfurled, twining above the misty chaos, glowing gently like the moon.

Chen Yu froze, nearly losing his composure. Never before, in all his meditations and energy gathering, had he witnessed such a scene.