Chapter 9: Junior Sister Shen, Don't Stop

The disturbance in the spiritual field did not escape Shen Qinghe’s notice. All around her, the spiritual energy abruptly became unusually active, as if drawn by an invisible force, swirling ceaselessly amidst the fields—impossible not to notice.

She straightened up, fingertips still stained with damp spiritual soil, her gaze sweeping over the entire field.

Around every young Azure Spirit Rice shoot, faint wisps of spiritual energy coiled, linking one to another, as though a circulation of spiritual energy was about to form across the whole field.

“What’s happening here?” she wondered, frowning in thought.

Suddenly, a realization dawned on her. Fixing her gaze on one particular seedling, she summoned her ancient tome with a thought.

The ancient book’s pages fluttered open of their own accord, revealing the information about the seedling:

Name: Azure Spirit Rice (recorded)

Condition: Good

Growth: 3/10 (Seedling Stage)

Cultivation: Proficient (47/500)

Mutations: None

Note: The spiritual rice produced by Azure Spirit Rice carries special effects; consuming it over time can strengthen the body and purify one’s spiritual power.

Her eyes lingered on the “cultivation” line, a flash of understanding passing through them.

Recalling her earlier transplanting, she remembered how each seedling initially required repeated adjustments, her fingers fumbling with the right amount of pressure. Yet as she planted one after another, awkwardness gradually gave way to fluidity, until by the end, her movements were almost instinctive. Every bit of force, every angle, felt as if honed to perfection through countless repetitions.

“So that’s how it is…” she murmured, a faint smile curving her lips.

Who would have thought that simply transplanting rice seedlings could increase her cultivation proficiency, pushing her to the “proficient” level in one go? Even more astonishing, at this level, the spiritual plants she cultivated could spontaneously form a cycle of spiritual energy.

“Junior Sister Shen, don’t stop now!”

Just as Shen Qinghe paused to consult the ancient tome, a voice called out from the edge of the field.

She looked over to see a disciple in gray robes standing on tiptoe atop the embankment, a jade slip glowing with recording light in his hand, his face full of anxious impatience.

“Yes, Junior Sister Shen, please continue! Don’t miss the seedlings’ optimal planting time!” another called, clutching a jade slip as well.

“Junior Sister Shen…”

Several others chimed in, their eagerness surpassing even their own urgency when planting spiritual crops.

Shen Qinghe sneered inwardly—these were the very same people who had mocked her earlier, now suddenly calling her “Junior Sister Shen” with such forced familiarity. Their sudden change of face was truly astonishing.

At that moment, an idea occurred to her.

Shen Qinghe set aside the seedling in her hand and rose, wading through the muddied water, which rippled gently around her calves.

She trudged unevenly toward the embankment. Seeing her approach, the disciples looked at one another in confusion.

The gray-robed disciple who’d called out before stammered awkwardly, “Junior Sister Shen, why did you stop? These seedlings shouldn’t be left out of the soil too long, or else…”

Shen Qinghe stopped in front of the embankment, droplets falling from her rolled-up sleeves, scattering prisms of light in the sun.

She regarded them calmly and spoke in an unhurried tone, “Senior brothers and sisters, this planting method of mine is a family secret—hardly something I can share.”

As she spoke, she tapped a finger toward the glowing jade slips in their hands, her lips curling in a subtle smile. “I must trouble you all not to try and steal my methods.”

Her words were gentle, but they left her audience visibly embarrassed.

One disciple’s jade slip slipped from his hand and fell to the ground with a clatter, his face blanching and flushing by turns. “Who…who’s stealing?!” His voice trailed off, lacking conviction.

The others hurriedly concealed their jade slips, faces colored by embarrassment.

Shen Qinghe noticed these furtive gestures but made no move to stop them; she was powerless to do so, and cared little.

Just then, an older disciple forced a smile and bowed politely. “Junior Sister Shen, you misunderstand. Sharing planting techniques among fellow disciples is only natural. Why don’t we each share our own methods? What do you say?”

“Yes, let’s exchange cultivation methods,” others quickly echoed.

“Oh?” Shen Qinghe let out a light laugh, her gaze drifting to the patch of stunted spiritual rice behind them. “Do you really think your methods can compare to mine?”

Silence fell. They all knew the truth—how could their clumsy techniques compare with a method that prompted spiritual plants to form their own cycles of spiritual energy?

The older disciple’s face flushed crimson, and he was unable to reply.

The embankment was quiet save for the gentle breeze stirring the green seedlings, which seemed to sway in mockery of their overconfidence.

Sensing the time was right, Shen Qinghe allowed a sly smile to play on her lips, drawing out her words, “However…”

Her pause made the disciples’ eyes light up with hope.

The older disciple, his face still red, couldn’t help but ask eagerly, “Are you willing to instruct us, Junior Sister Shen?”

“You wish to learn?” Shen Qinghe flicked the water from her sleeve, a glint of cunning in her eyes. “Naturally, it’s possible, but…”

“But what?” another disciple pressed, stepping forward impatiently.

Shen Qinghe raised a slender, pale finger and said seriously, “One low-grade spirit stone per hour.”

Her words struck them like a boulder dropped into a still lake, sending ripples of shock through the crowd.

“What?!”

A round-faced female disciple cried out, “Are you robbing us? We tend these fields year-round and barely earn two hundred low-grade spirit stones. We need them for our own cultivation, and you want one for every hour? On what grounds?”

“That’s outrageous!” several others chorused, faces flushed with indignation.

A tall, thin disciple’s eyes darted as he stepped forward with a forced smile. “Junior Sister Shen, how about this: we each pay you one low-grade spirit stone a month as an observation fee—whether we learn anything will depend on our own comprehension. What do you think?”

Hearing this, Shen Qinghe’s lips curved meaningfully. “One a month? That’s not impossible…”

The disciples’ faces lit up in joy; some even began to reach for their spirit stones.

But before their smiles could fully bloom, her next words cut them off cold.

“However…” Shen Qinghe deliberately drew out her reply, her gaze sweeping across their faces. “My technique has a peculiarity—if you only watch from afar, you’ll only ever grasp the surface. You’ll never be able to make your spiritual plants establish a true energy cycle as mine do.”

She paused, then changed her tone abruptly: “Here’s my offer—I won’t insist. If you only wish to observe from a distance, then as you suggested, one low-grade spirit stone per month. But if you want my personal instruction…”

She raised that slender, white finger again. “One low-grade spirit stone per hour—no exceptions.”

At this, the disciples looked at each other in hesitation. Some doubted her words, yet none wished to miss such a rare opportunity.

After all, the chance to learn a method that enabled spiritual plants to form energy cycles was beyond their grasp otherwise.

“I don’t believe a word of this nonsense!” Suddenly, a burly disciple—one of those who had secretly put away his jade slip earlier—shouted angrily.

He glared at Shen Qinghe with open hostility. “I won’t give you a single spirit stone!”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, his retreating back bristling with shame and anger.

Shen Qinghe watched him go, her face still composed and smiling. “Suit yourselves,” she said quietly.

At that moment, a disciple spoke up with a false note of concern: “Junior Sister Shen, if you don’t plant those seedlings soon, they’ll wither.”

Though it sounded like a friendly reminder, there was a veiled threat in his words. With her meager cultivation at the first level of Qi Refinement, there was little she could do if they refused to leave. Besides, more than half her seedlings remained unplanted—the longer the delay, the greater her loss.

They were clearly waiting for her to panic.

But Shen Qinghe heard the hidden meaning in his words. She smiled coldly, a glint of sharpness in her eyes. “In that case, I won’t trouble you further.”

With that, she really did turn away, heading out of the spiritual field with not a trace of hesitation.

Her action left the disciples stunned.

She actually dared to abandon her seedlings to their fate!