The Laborer Disciples stood with their hands at their sides, listening in silence to Steward Wang’s voice, which was thick with habitual irritability.

"First matter: reclaiming the spirit fields," the Steward barked.

"In recent months, two more from the Spirit Field Department have met their ends. The first was Wang Fugui. A man with Five Spirit Roots, he died of old age and infirmity. His sect merits were entirely exhausted, leaving his son and daughter with nothing. Since he left no legacy and neither child possesses a Spirit Root, they are forbidden from remaining in Wanchun Valley. They are to be expelled and their father’s field reclaimed."

"The second is Ling Hui. Also Five Spirit Roots. She abandoned her post for two months, leaving her field fallow. Her land is reclaimed, and an Outer Disciple has been tasked with hunting her down. If she has been law-abiding and kept our secrets, she will merely have her cultivation crippled before being cast out as a mortal. But if she has leaked our techniques, every soul involved will be slaughtered."

Steward Wang scanned the crowd, satisfied by the deathly silence.

"Mark my words. Wanchun Valley is magnanimous, but we are not Running a Charity! You lot are allowed to learn combat spells only after reaching the Outer Sect or by trading hard-earned Minor Merits. This is so you can focus on your work and your path, not on foolish distractions!"

He sneered. "Look at Wang Fugui. His talent was trash. He earned a few grains of spirit rice and spent it all on women instead of his path. He spent his life stuck at the second layer of Qi Refining, his children are now beggars, and he died in the dirt. Isn’t such a useless wretch a joke?"

Though the Steward was a loathsome man, his words held a jagged truth. For a laborer, seeking worldly pleasures was a form of suicide; it meant severing one's own already fragile path to immortality.

"One more thing," Wang added. "Traces of Demonic Cultivators from the Demon Blood Sect have been spotted near the Green Grain Market. Inner Disciples have already taken up patrol missions."

"With your pathetic cultivation, a run-in with a Demonic Cultivator means certain death. Stay away from the market unless you have no choice. And if you’re caught and detained by our own Inner Disciples on patrol, don't expect me to come for you!"

"At that point, your life is in the hands of fate."

Han Yu remained expressionless, but he felt the man beside him stiffen. Li Quan was clearly on edge.

Once the Steward and his retinue departed with the harvested rice, the silence broke. It was replaced by a discordant symphony of wailing, sobbing, and hushed, nervous chatter.

From the distance came the desperate pleas of Wang Fugui’s children. They knelt in the dirt, begging to stay, but their cries only grew fainter as they were dragged toward the gates.

Nearby, Liu Lan began to weep. She had recently reached the third layer of Qi Refining, but her harvest had fallen short, leaving her with no rice to sustain her next stage of growth.

Zhang Shan and Sun Kang moved to comfort her.

"If I’d known, I would have lent you ten catties to pad your harvest," Zhang Shan said, his voice full of regret. "You would have lost the rice, but you’d have kept your merits and received a fresh allotment. It would have been worth the trade."

Liu Lan sobbed, "My harvests were always fine before. I didn't slack off. I just... I spent too much time pushing for the third layer. I never thought I’d fall below the quota."

Zhang Shan gritted his teeth as if making a painful sacrifice. "Junior Sister, if you’re truly stuck, you can borrow my spirit rice for your cultivation."

Liu Lan looked up, her eyes wide with tearful gratitude. "But... what about you?"

"Junior Sister has a superior Spirit Root. You have a future. Just... don't forget this Senior Brother when you reach the Outer Sect."

"I would never!" she promised fervently.

Sun Kang opened his mouth to speak, but he looked at the meager pile of his own resources and went silent.

Han Yu watched the scene with cold detachment. The "honest" Sun Kang wasn't willing to risk his own progress for a girl, yet Zhang Shan—the man of Empty Lip Service—was suddenly playing the hero. Given the possibility that Zhang Shan was the one breeding the rats, this "generosity" felt more like a calculated investment.

Elsewhere, Senior Sister Wei was surrounded by a small crowd of sycophants congratulating her on her massive harvest. She basked in the attention, her face glowing with pride.

Han Yu and Li Quan ignored it all. They returned to their huts in silence. Neither mentioned the Demon Blood Sect. Whether there truly were demons afoot, or if the sect had simply found the bodies of the robbers Li Quan had killed and misidentified the culprit, didn't matter. The danger was the same.

That night, Han Yu followed his routine. He refined the Mystic Heart Fruit, drilled his spells, and then replicated his Blood Essence.

The morning’s events acted as a grim reminder. The image of Wang Fugui’s children served as a warning bell in his mind: Immortality was the only goal. Everything else was noise.

A soft scratching sounded at the window. The two crows flew in. They had no fruit today, but Han Yu simply stroked their feathers, asking if they had hunted.

They cawed and nodded. Their feathers now felt like cold iron beneath his fingers. Han Yu was pleased; if they continued to evolve, they would eventually become ranked demonic beasts. They would be more than just scouts—they would be lethal partners.

After a few moments of affection, they took flight again.

Han Yu stood by the window, watching them disappear. In the distance, he saw a graceful silhouette moving through the darkness toward the Steward’s residence.

It was Senior Sister Wei.

Han Yu withdrew his gaze and closed the shutters. To him, there was no difference between her and the man who had died in the dirt. Both were just bartering whatever they had to survive another day.

Weeks bled into a month. Han Yu became a ghost, ignoring the world to focus on his fields and his power. Every three days, he consumed a Mystic Heart Fruit.

His mastery over the Wind Control Technique and Water Control Technique reached a terrifying level of precision. He could now trigger them with a mere flick of his finger. In secret tests, his wind blades were faster and sharper than any laborer's, rivaling the strike that had sent Li Quan coughing blood.

His blood cultivation progressed even faster. By replicating his essence constantly, he pushed his limits.

Four drops. Six drops.

Finally, a month later, Han Yu could condense nine drops of Blood Essence at once.

His body hummed with hidden vitality. Though he still looked like a slender youth, he was now quietly stronger than a mountain ox.