Chapter Thirty-Five: Transplanting the Treasure Heart Herb

He walked to the edge of the courtyard and picked up the only earthenware pot with tender shoots growing from it.

Before descending the mountain, he had cultivated a variety of medicinal plants, applying both spiritual liquid and spiritual essence, yet few truly thrived. Spring millet fared well; the spiritual liquid brought forth vibrant life, which he transplanted to the medicinal field. The seeds nurtured by spiritual essence grew plump, and after a second infusion, they too stirred, pale sprouts breaking through the soil.

The others, however, were less fortunate.

For instance, the one before him now.

Chen Yu held the pot, sitting at the stone steps. The nascent sprout’s tip was tinged yellow, its stem curved, leaves drooping and weak.

Of all the seeds planted in pots, only Treasured Heart Grass survived, and that was thanks to the spiritual liquid—a reluctant resurrection, its growth unimpressive. Now, as he cradled it, he considered further cultivation.

Compared to spiritual liquid, spiritual essence was undeniably more potent in coaxing out a plant’s extraordinary traits. Spiritual liquid was versatile, yet lacked the dramatic transformative power of spiritual essence.

He recalled how, after producing spiritual energy and merging it with spiritual liquid, he had catalyzed many spirit plants. None matched the efficacy of those grown with spiritual essence.

It could enhance the mind, dispel fatigue, awaken latent breath, strengthen the body, restore minor injuries, and, as he recently discovered, hasten crop maturity.

Though not unmatched in any single aspect, its utility was broad. Most importantly, its source was clear, with almost no side effects. Whenever he wished, a small investment of spiritual essence yielded plentiful rewards from the Primordial Spirit Roots.

Indeed, from the last batch he planted, some roots remained unused, their spiritual source left intact—enough for nine beads of energy, equivalent to four and a half bags of spiritual liquid.

Within the Cloud Crane Temple, Chen Yu examined the Treasured Heart Grass sprout, which resembled roadside weeds, though it was actually a vine. According to memory, once it grew a foot tall and the leaves unfolded with pale yellow veins, the stems would twist into vines, leaves staggered along both sides.

Its current state was only temporary.

He sifted through the stones piled in the pot; Treasured Heart Grass typically clung to crevices, so he had placed some stones inside. Yet the pot was ultimately too small—when fully grown, it would spill out.

The soil and stones were sparse, possibly hindering growth.

After a while, he set the pot back by the wall, resolving to search behind the courtyard for a more suitable place to plant it.

Medicinal herbs demanded more of their environment than grains, fruits, or vegetables.

As he searched, Chen Yu pondered.

Treasured Heart Grass could be cultivated with spiritual essence; it would be interesting to observe what changes occurred in this inherently medicinal herb. Perhaps its healing power would increase, or perhaps new qualities would emerge.

The process of catalyzing with spiritual essence was akin to compressing a millennia-long evolution into a brief moment.

Thus, even he could not predict what might result.

Not only Treasured Heart Grass—this time Chen Yu also brought out several other medicinal seeds, deciding after a quick glance to transplant them all together.

Rooting in the earth was preferable to pots; perhaps last time’s failure was due to this. More likely, the spiritual liquid’s effect had simply been too weak.

This time, he would rely entirely on spiritual essence.

He searched for quite a while, circling the courtyard four or five times, before settling on a spot near the vegetable garden, close to the wall.

A shallow ditch separated the two. Chen Yu hefted a hoe, dug a pit, then brought stones to line its edge.

He also erected a small fence, like the one around the peach tree, to ward off wild animals from the mountain.

Plants catalyzed by spiritual essence held little attraction for animals, even successful spirit plants. Nonetheless, with so many beasts on the mountain, precautions were necessary.

“In this regard, spiritual liquid surpasses spiritual essence,” he mused.

He recalled his first experience with spiritual liquid—his blood boiled, flesh and bone clamoring for it.

Later, Chen Yu discovered this bizarre craving extended only a few yards, and attracted only larger animals.

It wasn’t merely a matter of size; other factors were at play.

Eels as thick as two fingers would be affected, but palm-sized crabs wouldn’t. Worms and beetles were immune, but birds and deer succumbed.

The old rooster’s eyes nearly bulged at the sight of spiritual liquid, dashing toward him in a frenzy.

Chen Yu speculated that the quantity of flesh and blood in a creature determined its susceptibility.

He had no definitive proof, but as long as he remained uncertain, he would never expose spiritual liquid, for the consequences were unforeseeable. Others lacked his boundless sea of consciousness to resist that strange urge.

“All right, I’ll plant it here.”

Chen Yu gently broke the pot, careful not to damage the roots.

He tipped the plant out, cradling the soil, and nestled it among the stones.

This earth was no ordinary dirt; it was suffused with spiritual essence, a delicate network woven throughout.

He marked the spot with a wooden stick.

Aside from the sprouted Treasured Heart Grass, the other four medicinal seeds needed proper environments—one especially required proximity to water, thriving in moist conditions.

He would have to dig a pond when time allowed.

He looked up at the sky, watching the drifting clouds, calculating. The duckweed rains were long past; it was late spring, nearly summer, when storms were frequent. He needn’t worry about the pond lying idle for too long.

Yet careful consideration was necessary.

This wasn’t the foot of the mountain; reckless digging would only invite greater trouble.

“Should I find a larger open space?”

At this thought, Chen Yu shook his head. Rather than seeking open ground, it would be better to find a few hollows higher up the mountain, patch them up, and make do; a single new channel would suffice to divert water here.

The terrain had to be right, with grass and trees anchored all around to prevent landslides and floods.

He could even extend a channel to the mountain fields, freeing himself from hauling water and leaving more time for other tasks.

The idea of building a pond grew ever stronger in his mind. Chen Yu resolved to give it proper thought. Although Green Terrace Mountain was not steep and had many flat areas, constructing a pond on the mountain would still be challenging.

Having chosen the place, he returned to the courtyard and brought out all the books he had carried down from the mountain, along with those from the temple, setting them on the stone table.

He hauled out the wooden shelf from the storeroom.

Previously, he had simply piled things atop it, but now, with leisure, he decided to tidy it.

He foresaw many more trips down the mountain, and would surely bring back more books, especially Taoist scrolls and medical texts.

His brief time at Fangtai Pavilion had made Chen Yu realize how little he understood of this world—his knowledge was lacking.

Perhaps because his predecessor had been ignorant, Chen Yu found himself strangely unfamiliar with many aspects of this land.

Yet, for that very reason, learning was not tedious; it brought him a joy others could scarcely comprehend.

“If only I could move the entire pavilion here!”

He bit his lip in frustration, vowing that, given the chance, he would return for a stay of ten days or half a month, to satisfy his thirst for knowledge.