Journey to the West: A clone sacrifices to the heavens, possessing boundless magical power.

Shen Feng remained calm, neither asking for the spirit brush nor taking the antidote pill, and walked straight to the edge of the flower field.

"They're courting death, refusing even to take the antidote." Zhao Yuan sneered from behind.

Shen Feng stood still three zhang away from the flower field.

He closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment, then opened them, raised his right hand, put his index and middle fingers together, and gently flicked the nearest blooming purple firework.

A barely perceptible breeze arose at his command, brushing past the stamen of the purple firework. Instantly, a pale purple powder was gently lifted and suspended an inch above the flower, gathering without dispersing.

The onlookers gasped in quiet amazement. Controlling the wind to lift the pollen wasn't too difficult; the challenge was keeping these highly toxic and extremely light pollen grains so obediently gathered and not scattered.

Shen Feng remained expressionless, his fingers tapping lightly in succession. Under his control, the small clump of pollen was as if pinched by invisible fingers, splitting into dozens of finer streams of powder.

The next moment, these powder streams moved simultaneously, each following its own different trajectory, and lightly entered the pistils of several surrounding purple fireworks!

The whole process was silent and seamless. The pollination of a flower was completed in the blink of an eye. The stamen from which the pollen was taken was intact, while the pistil that received the pollen trembled slightly, as if a flash of inspiration had occurred to it.

Shen Feng continued walking slowly along the ridge of the field, his fingers tapping repeatedly.

Gentle whirlwinds are born and wander through the flower field. From a distance, one can see pale purple pollen dancing lightly among the flowers, tracing mysterious paths before disappearing into the heart of the flower, leaving nothing behind and wasting nothing.

In the short time it takes for an incense stick to burn, all the dozens of plants on the three acres of purple fireworks have been pollinated.

Shen Feng lowered his hand, his face slightly pale. This operation had consumed far more of his spiritual energy than usual.

But the effect was remarkable; all the purple firework buds appeared vibrant and radiant, with a subtle glow flowing through them.

All the servants stared wide-eyed at Shen Feng as if he were a monster, while Zhao Yuan rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was under an illusion.

Even the managers were dumbfounded. They had served Zi Yanhua for decades and had never seen such miraculous skills.

"Good! Good! Good!"

Wang Xulian said "good" three times, looked Shen Feng up and down, his worried expression completely gone, replaced by surprise and curiosity.

He strode up to Shen Feng, looked him up and down, his gaze intense: "What's your name?"

"Reporting to Steward, this disciple is Shen Feng." Shen Feng lowered his head, displaying respect and humility.

"What a skillful use of wind-transferring technique! Shen Feng, is that right? You're very good; you deserve credit this time!"

Shen Feng bowed slightly: "You flatter me, Steward. It's just my duty."

He knew in his heart that this performance might attract some attention, but the value he demonstrated was real.

In this Wuzhuang Temple, he needs more merits to exchange for a more relaxed environment and... perhaps the opportunity to access something deeper.

"From this day forward, this field of purple fireworks will be under your management, and your monthly salary will be doubled."

Upon hearing this, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. His monthly salary had doubled, and more importantly, he had earned the appreciation of the head steward!

Zhao Yuan's eyes turned red as he watched Wang Xu take out a blue wooden plaque, but he dared not make the slightest move.

Shen Feng accepted the wooden plaque and bowed, saying, "Thank you for your guidance, sir."

Wang Xu nodded in satisfaction and led everyone away. With the crisis resolved, he had to report back to the elders.

After everyone had left, Shen Feng held the still-warm wooden plaque, a barely perceptible smile curving his lips.

Managing the Purple Firework Field means he can legitimately approach the inner sect area.

The purple fireworks field was located at the junction of the outer and inner gates, much closer to the ginseng fruit tree.

Shen Feng looked up at the main peak shrouded in clouds and mist deep within Longevity Mountain.

There, he seemed to sense a vast, suffocating source of the Wood element, pulsating in rhythm with the earth's breath.

"Soon."

Shen Feng put away the wooden sign and turned to walk back to his house.

Now that we have already shown our strength, we must improve our capabilities as soon as possible to prepare for any potential attention and probing.

……

After taking over the Purple Flower Field, Shen Feng moved out of his original herb garden residence and into a detached house next to the flower field.

The terrain here is slightly higher, with a bamboo forest behind it and facing the misty inner sect. Although it is still within the outer sect territory, the concentration of spiritual energy in the air is much stronger than before.

More importantly, in the dead of night, Shen Feng could clearly sense the pulse of the earth beneath his feet.

This is a vast and ancient breath, originating from the spiritual root of heaven and earth deep within Longevity Mountain.

Recently, during the Earth Spirit Tide that occurs once every 360 years at Wuzhuang Temple, the earth veins surge and spiritual energy bursts forth. For the low-level cultivators in the outer sect who are responsible for tending to the spiritual plants, this is both a good opportunity to absorb and cultivate spiritual energy and a severe test.

A surge in spiritual energy is often accompanied by a resurgence of earthly evil energy; if one is not careful, even the most delicate spiritual herbs will wither and die.

One early morning, just as dawn was breaking and the thin mist had not yet dissipated.

After finishing his breathing exercises the night before, Shen Feng pushed open the door and went outside, only to see chaos in the direction of the Jia-class medicinal herb garden in the distance.

Several streaks of light descended hastily. The leader was one of the outer sect managers, and standing beside him was the young Daoist boy who had once guided him.

"What happened?"

Shen Feng frowned slightly. He didn't want to meddle in other people's business, but the Grade A medicinal garden was right next to his Purple Firework Field. If something serious happened, he would inevitably be affected.

After a moment's thought, he calmed his breathing and slowly walked over.

Before they even got close, they heard the boy's cold voice, which was filled with suppressed anger.

"Manager Tian, ​​is this the absolute certainty you assured the alchemy room? This Moonflower Grass was personally selected by the outer sect elders to be the main ingredient for refining the Void Spirit Pill! It's meant for our senior uncles to stabilize their cultivation levels! Now that the grass is in this state, how am I supposed to explain this to the elders?"

Steward Tian, ​​his forehead dripping with cold sweat, stood bowing to the side, repeatedly apologizing, "Your Excellency, please calm your anger! Your Excellency, please calm your anger! Everything was fine when I inspected it last night, but who knew that this morning the earth's veins would stir, and this grass... well..."

He turned to the group of spirit plant growers and laborers behind him and shouted sternly, "Are you all mute? You all boast of your superb skills, but who can tell what's wrong with this Moonflower Grass? Whoever can save it will receive a major commendation!"

Despite the generous reward, there was only deathly silence.

The dozen or so plant growers surrounding the area looked at each other, none daring to step forward.

The Moonflower Grass surrounded in the middle, which should have been entirely silvery-white with leaves shaped like crescent moons, now looked as if its essence had been drained, with its leaves withered and curled, and its roots and stems covered with an unnatural dark red, as if it would turn to ashes at any moment.

This kind of spiritual herb is usually carefully tended, as the slightest mistake could lead to disaster. Now that it's on the verge of death, who would dare to touch it? If it's cured, all will be well; but if it kills, then the person in charge will have to take the blame.