Gu An and Zhang Song rose swiftly through the air toward Cui Bamboo Peak. From afar, the mountain range stretched skyward like a pillar of jade piercing the clouds. Mist drifted lazily between the slopes; the sea of bamboo swayed in waves of green, each rustling leaf whispering as if stirred by the sleeve of an immortal.
A stone stairway coiled up the mountainside, its steps covered in moss and faint traces of age. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the bamboo canopy, spilling over the damp stones like drops of molten jade. The whole scene shimmered with otherworldly beauty—tranquil, ethereal, and undeniably divine.
Yet even immortals must worry about their livelihood. Sixty years ago, when Qingyuan Sect's Golden Core inheritance shifted to a new master, the sect had pooled its resources to purchase a rare spiritual treasure to aid Realman Qingxiao in forming his core. To raise the necessary spirit stones, the old master initiated reforms—one of which repurposed Cui Bamboo Peak into a spiritual beast farm.
At the mountain's base were more than eighty Bamboo-Fragrance Pigs; halfway up, over two hundred Rainbow-Feathered Chickens; and at the summit, seventy-six Emerald Bamboo Serpents. Qingyuan Sect owned four or five such farms just for these three species, not to mention countless other holdings. Truly, the sect's reach and wealth were immense.
The famous Qingyun Tower restaurant, run by the sect, was known far and wide for its Heavenly Fragrant Pork Knuckle, Spirit Ginseng Stewed Chicken, and Emerald Bamboo Snake Wine—all prepared with ingredients raised on these very peaks.
Unfortunately, Gu An was too broke to ever step foot inside that place, let alone taste the food.
The two ascended the stone path, lost in thought, and before long arrived halfway up the mountain. A narrow path branched left—barely a hundred steps long—and at its end lay the Spirit Chicken Farm.
"Ha! The sun must be rising from the west today! You two actually showed up on time? Now that's rare—truly rare!"
The mocking voice greeted them before they even reached the gate. A tall, thin man emerged from the shadows. His face was pale and drawn, cheekbones sharp as knives, and his narrow eyes gleamed with a hint of perpetual irritation. His lips were thin and tight, curling downward slightly as he gave them a sideways glance.
"Hehe, Elder Liu, look what you're saying! The apricots in my courtyard just ripened—I brought a few especially for you today!"
Gu An stepped forward with a grin and produced two greenish-yellow apricots from his storage pouch. They weren't spiritual fruit, but their sweet-and-sour taste made them a decent offering.
As for the old steward's sharp tongue, Gu An had long since stopped taking it personally. Despite his cold looks and sarcasm, Liu Guan Shi—Steward Liu—had never actually made their lives difficult.
The sect's attendance bell rang at the third quarter of the Chen hour, leaving disciples ample time to meditate at dawn before reporting to duty. The only problem was that Cui Bamboo Peak was remote, and Gu An's cultivation had been weak—plus, he always insisted on cultivating until the last wisp of morning spiritual energy faded. That meant he was always late.
And since Zhang Song worked the same post, he got dragged into it, too.
Steward Liu accepted the apricots, his expression easing slightly. He didn't ask any questions; he didn't have to. From the faint ripples of spiritual energy still emanating from Gu An's body, it was obvious the boy had just broken through. As a cultivator at the seventh layer of Qi Refinement, Liu wasn't blind.
Ask him to share his "breakthrough insights"? Please. Why humiliate himself like that?
The thought made Liu's chest tighten with sour envy. He remembered his own youth—how he'd used his grandfather's influence (a Foundation Establishment elder) to enter Qingyuan Sect with the crappiest five-element spiritual root one could imagine. After decades of struggle and suffering, he'd clawed his way to the seventh layer.
Now seventy years old, his blood and spirit nearly spent, he had long since given up on cultivation. With no heirs possessing spiritual roots, he'd settled for a comfortable post as a farm steward—drinking wine, roasting chickens, and enjoying what peace his twilight years could offer.
Gu An, though… three spiritual roots—average by cultivation world standards—but within Qingyuan Sect, that was a fine talent.
In twelve hundred years of history, only the second-generation ancestor had possessed a Heavenly Root, and even dual roots were prized as potential Core Formation geniuses. Many Foundation Establishment elders had begun as triple-root cultivators like Gu An.
But four-root and five-root cultivators? They might as well be mortal farmers. Without absurd luck, resources, or divine favor, reaching Foundation was almost impossible before sixty—and after that, one's body would decay too fast to continue.
So yes, Liu was bitter.
He bit into the apricot; its sour juice hit his tongue. His face twisted."Ugh—still sour as ever."
"Elder Liu," Zhang Song interrupted, raising his voice a bit. "You mentioned a senior from Qingyun Tower would be coming to collect spirit chickens today—"
Liu shot him a side-eye. "What? Feeling sentimental already? Don't want to sell them? Or are you planning to sleep with one under your blanket, huh?"
"You—you're slandering my honor!"
Even after three years at the Spirit Chicken Farm, Zhang Song still couldn't handle the old man's jabs. His face turned red as he sputtered indignantly, which only seemed to amuse Liu more.
This time, though, the steward just gave a dismissive look and turned to Gu An."Gu An, it's been nearly three years since you two took over this farm, right?"
"Almost exactly three," Gu An nodded earnestly. "The first summer, I learned how to mix spiritual grain, gather spirit eggs, and groom the feathers. The second, I followed you through the full hatch-to-maturity cycle. By the third summer, Zhang Song and I were each assigned fifty chickens to raise ourselves. Now another summer's come around—the Qingyun Tower brothers will collect the grown ones, and it's time for a new batch of chicks."
Indeed, nearly three years had passed. And Qingyuan Sect's outer tasks lasted exactly that long. Which meant their assignment here was about to end.
Soon, new junior disciples would take their place—but not Gu An and Zhang Song. As mid-stage Qi Refinement cultivators, they'd outgrown beginner chores like poultry tending. Besides, the rewards were far too low for their current needs.
"Bah! I trained you two for two whole years, and now you're leaving just when you've finally learned something. The clerks at the Office of General Affairs are idiots!"
Liu grumbled, though everyone could tell he wasn't truly angry.
Gu An merely smiled to himself. Didn't see you complaining when you were bossing us around before, old man.
Truth be told, Gu An had liked this assignment. Zhang Song looked out for him, Liu's bark was worse than his bite, and the farm life was comfortable enough. In other departments, even a single late attendance could get your rewards downgraded—or worse, your payment docked entirely.
Plus, when Liu's cravings hit, he'd roast a spirit chicken and share it with them. Not a bad perk—eating such meat boosted their spiritual power noticeably.
No wonder Zhang Song's grandfather had called it a "fat job."
Gu An sighed inwardly. He'd heard stories of other stewards who worked their juniors to death, docked their spirit stones, and still scolded them for breathing too loud.
When this job ended and it came time to take a new one, he'd have to choose carefully. Some "opportunities" in Qingyuan Sect were traps dressed in silk.
Liu finally waved them off, pointing toward the chicken pens. "Go feed the spirit grain. I'll be in my quarters."
And with that, the old steward shuffled away, muttering under his breath about lazy disciples and sour apricots.