Longevity: Starting as a menial servant in the Green Wood Sect

Cultivating immortality knows no time, but on Miscellaneous Service Peak, days are measured by the withering and flourishing of spiritual rice.

Half a month passed in the blink of an eye.

The fourth section of the Bingzi (丙字) district ushered in the busiest and most stressful time of the year—harvest day.

The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of ripe rice, but on the faces of the many laborers and farmers busy in the fields, there was little joy of harvest; instead, there was a sense of unease about facing judgment.

Gu An held a black iron sickle in his hand and skillfully harvested the golden rice ears.

[Lawn Mowing Skill Experience +1]

[Lawn Mowing Skill Experience +1]

Even with such strenuous work as harvesting, Gu An maintained a specific breathing rhythm, coupled with special exertion techniques. According to the panel's assessment, this was also a skill. Although it didn't directly increase combat power, it allowed him to conserve energy and maximize the preservation of the spiritual energy of the spirit valley.

"Gu An, your rice is growing quite well."

An old voice came from the neighboring field.

Gu An straightened up and saw Old Zhang, the neighbor from Field No. 5 of Class C, looking at him with a worried expression. Old Zhang's hair was gray, and his face was covered with wrinkles like cracked tree bark. He was holding a pipe in his hand, but he couldn't bear to light it.

"Uncle Zhang, I was lucky; I caught some insects recently." Gu An smiled humbly, without revealing the breakthrough of the Gengjin Finger.

In this place where there are no laws, keeping a low profile is the first rule of survival.

Old Zhang sighed, his eyes cloudy: "I'm in big trouble. Those black threadworms are too vicious; they ruined half an acre of my land. This year's target of 600 jin is probably... hopeless."

Gu An remained silent.

He knew about Old Zhang's situation. At the third level of Qi Refining, he was old and his blood and qi were declining, his magical power was regressing, and he had no special skills. If he couldn't pay the rent this time and was punished by being sent to the mine, it would basically be a death sentence.

"Uncle Zhang, how much more is needed?" Gu An asked in a low voice.

"At least fifty catties short." Old Zhang's voice was trembling. "I've already taken out the two low-grade spirit stones that I had saved for my coffin, and I'm going to go to the market to buy some old rice to make up the difference. I hope I can get by."

Using old rice to pass off as new rice is a major taboo. If caught, the punishment is even more severe. But Old Zhang was clearly at his wit's end.

Gu An tightened his grip on the sickle, but eventually loosened it.

Although his own yield this year is quite good, estimated at around 700 jin, 100 jin more than expected, he dares not help.

One hundred catties of spirit grain can be sold for two low-grade spirit stones on the black market. This is a huge sum of money for him, a resource for his attempt to break through to the third level of Qi Refining. More importantly, if he appears too wealthy or too chivalrous, he will be targeted as easy prey in this ruthless servants' quarters.

"Uncle Zhang, take care." Gu An could only say this dryly.

Just then, a commotion arose in the distance.

"Manager Zhao is here! Quick, everyone stand at attention!"

In the distance, a streak of blue light flashed across the sky, and then a middle-aged man dressed in a blue brocade robe slowly descended onto the ridge of the field, stepping on a leaf-shaped magical artifact.

This is Zhao Feng, the manager of the Bingzi District. He is a distant nephew of an elder of the Zhao family, who is at the sixth level of Qi Refining. In the eyes of Gu An and other menial servants at the second or third level of Qi Refining, Zhao Feng is a god who holds the power of life and death.

Zhao Feng, with his slightly protruding belly, arrogantly surveyed the surroundings. Behind him followed two burly law enforcement disciples, each holding a weighing instrument and a jade slip for recording.

"Let's begin, one at a time," Zhao Feng said casually.

The first person to go up was a lean man who nervously handed over five sacks.

The disciple waved his hand, and a beam of light swept across.

"Grade C, No. 1, 580 jin. Contains too many impurities, so calculate it as 550 jin. Unqualified!"

The man knelt down with a thud, kowtowing repeatedly: "Please have mercy, sir! This is all from last year's leftover grain; it's truly a natural disaster..."

"Shut up!" Zhao Feng sneered. "Not enough is not enough. Take him away, give him twenty strokes of the cane, confiscate three spirit stones, and record a demerit."

Two enforcement disciples pounced on him like wolves, dragging the screaming man aside. Soon, the dull thud of clubs piercing flesh and piercing screams echoed across the fields, turning all the spirit farmers present pale and utterly silent.

To kill the chicken as a warning to the monkey.

Gu An lowered his head, hiding in the crowd, his heart pounding slightly. This was the world of cultivation—no warmth, only cold, hard numbers and power.

Soon, it was Old Zhang's turn.

Old Zhang shakily handed over the spirit grain, and secretly slipped a broken spirit stone into the disciple's hand. The disciple weighed it in his hand, then expressionlessly swept it with his magic weapon.

"Number 5, grade C, 560 jin. Although it's not quite the required quantity, the quality is acceptable. Senior Brother Zhao, what do you think…?"

After receiving the money, things were indeed different.

Zhao Feng glanced at Old Zhang and said indifferently, "Considering your advanced age, I'll let it go this time. Make up the difference next month. If you do it again, you'll be sent straight to the mine."

"Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir!" Old Zhang cried with joy, as if he had been given a second chance at life.

Gu An watched from behind, his heart turning cold. So-called rules are nothing but a piece of waste paper in the face of self-interest.

"Next, number four, number C, Gu An."

Gu An took a deep breath, picked up the pre-packaged sacks, and walked forward.

He harvested a total of 720 jin. But he only took out 650 jin. He used a special spirit-sealing technique to seal the remaining 70 jin in his cellar.

This isn't embezzlement; it's self-preservation.

If a farmhand produces a yield far exceeding the average, instead of a reward, he will face endless demands. Zhao Feng will raise his quota and even interrogate him about any special farming techniques he may possess.

"Number 4, grade C, 650 jin." The enforcement officer announced the number, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Excellent quality."

Zhao Feng's sinister eyes instantly fell on Gu An.

"Oh? Gu An?" Zhao Feng seemed to have some impression of this usually taciturn young man. "With such a severe insect infestation this year, you still managed to produce an extra fifty catties. Not bad."

Gu An quickly bowed, feigning trepidation: "Reporting to the steward, this disciple has been guarding the fields day and night, not daring to slack off for a moment. In addition, we were lucky that those few acres of land happened to avoid the main force of the insect swarm."

"Good luck?" Zhao Feng gave a forced smile and walked up to Gu An. He released his powerful spiritual pressure without any restraint, making it difficult for Gu An, who was only at the second level of Qi Refining, to breathe.

"Since you're so lucky and so diligent..." Zhao Feng patted Gu An on the shoulder, "I'll increase your quota for next quarter by fifty jin. It's good for young people to be given more responsibility."

Gu An lowered his head, concealing the flash of anger in his eyes, but his voice remained respectful: "Yes, disciple obeys."

Zhao Feng nodded in satisfaction and turned to leave. To him, it was just a casual remark, but it added a huge burden to Gu An's life for the next six months.

Watching Zhao Feng's departing figure, Gu An straightened up and slowly loosened his clenched fists.

"Sixth level of Qi Refining..." he murmured to himself.

If he is at the fourth level of Qi Refining, he can apply to become an outer disciple and break free from Zhao Feng's jurisdiction.

If he were at the seventh level of Qi Refining, Zhao Feng would still have to address him politely as "Senior Brother."

"Strength, everything comes down to strength."

Gu An neither complained nor showed anger. Anger is poison for the weak; it serves no purpose other than to destroy one's reason.

He returned to the hut, closed the doors and windows, and after confirming that no one was around, he carefully moved the bed board, revealing a small cellar underneath.

There, he secretly kept seventy catties of top-quality yellow sprout rice.

This was his first pot of gold.

"I must get rid of this batch of rice as soon as possible and exchange it for cultivation resources. Relying on those trashy Qi-restoring pills that the sect gave me, I'll never be able to break through to the third level of Qi Refining in this lifetime."

Gu An's gaze fell on a place thirty miles to the west of the sect.

There is an underground black market there that is not under the official jurisdiction of the sect—the Ghost Market.

Although it is dangerous, the place does not care about origins, only the spirit stones.

Gu An glanced at the progress bar of [Minor Cloud Rain Technique] on the panel; that was the next skill he wanted to max out.

"Let's go tonight."

Gu An made his decision. In this perilous sect, lying low didn't mean inaction, but rather accumulating strength in the darkness and waiting for dawn.