Ewe Ram Mountain, the Zang family estate.

It was harvest season again in the spirit fields. Looking out, the valleys and hills were filled with heavy rice heads, bending low whenever the wind swept through.

Since the great battle at Zhuoshui, which drew in Wulong Mountain as well, many cultivators from western Xian had been killed or wounded. The Zang family itself lost two of its consecrated retainers in the final fight. Yet this year, instead of fewer, even more laborers came forward to enlist.

Only after asking around did people learn the reason. Once Gengsang Cave seized the territories west of Zhuoshui, many of the local cultivators moved with their families to the river’s eastern bank.

Who could have guessed that so many scattered cultivators had been living out there? Back during recruitment for the war, how had no one noticed?

Master Zang Baili had been worried about not having enough hands and was ready to loosen the requirements. Now that concern was gone. He even told the steward to tighten the screening, with an easy excuse to point to: keeping out the Badong bandits trying to slip in.

When Fang Bu’ai arrived, a long line already stretched before the Zang family estate. He squeezed into the crowd, looking around in some confusion. He’d heard there were a lot of applicants, but hadn’t expected quite this many.

After waiting nearly an hour, word came from the front that the Zang family had just taken on two more. A stir immediately rippled through the crowd: “Only ten slots left. What now?”

A Zang family retainer came over, eyes glaring and face like stone, patrolling the line. He yanked out a few of the loudest troublemakers and threw them out. The noise quickly died down, and the restless crowd managed to hold together.

Right after that, Fang Bu’ai found himself being urged to give up by several of the rogue cultivators behind him.

“Brother, you’d better head home. The Zang family’s only taking forty people, and more than half the spots are already gone. Do the math. How many do you think are left?” That was the “limited slots” persuasion.

“Yeah, yeah. You look way too fresh-faced for this kind of rough work. Why fight us for it? Just look at us... we don’t even have rice to cook. Do you really have the heart to steal our chance? Go on home.” That was the appeal to pity.

“You there, youngster. Ever harvest spirit rice before? Do you even know how to use a spirit sickle? The Zang family only wants seasoned hands. If you haven’t done it, don’t make a fool of yourself.” That was the “lack of skill” persuasion.

Fang Bu’ai ignored them all. Easy for you to say cultivation’s hard, like mine isn’t? Heaven knows I haven’t had a single spirit stone to my name in half a year!

Seeing that he wouldn’t budge and didn’t even bother arguing back, a few of them started getting other ideas and turned to threats.

“You deaf or just stupid? We tried being nice, but maybe you’d rather learn the hard way?”

“Kid, what layer are you at? Got three meridians cleared yet? Believe it or not, I can block off however many you’ve managed to open....”

“Where’d you come from? Where do you cultivate? Give us your name; let’s see if any of the brothers here have even heard of you...”

Fang Bu’ai swept them with a cold glance. “I’m from Wulong Mountain,” he said, “And you lot, where are you from?”

The name of Wulong Mountain carried a fearsome reputation. Just that one line was enough to make the crowd flinch and fall silent, none of them daring to provoke him further.

From up ahead in the line, someone caught the words “Wulong Mountain,” turned to look back, and called out, “Junior Fang, you’re here too?”

Fang Bu’ai looked over and saw a few seniors from Guzhang Mountain. They were standing right at the front of the line, too far off for him to have noticed earlier. He quickly bowed. “So the seniors are here as well? Greetings, Eldest Uncle, Fourth Uncle, Fifth Uncle... ah, the Sixth and Seventh too!”

Old Seventh waved him over. “Why are you stuck back there? Come on, join us.”

Fang Bu’ai hurried forward and squeezed in behind Old Seventh. “Many thanks, Seventh Uncle!”

A grumble rose at once from the rear. “Hey, what’s with cutting in line?”

Old Seventh shot a fierce glare toward the back. “What was that you said? Who cut in line? Which of your eyes saw it?”

The grumbling voices vanished at once.

Before long, it was their turn. Steward Zang held an old ledger in his hands. Anyone without a known background was dismissed with the same two words: “Get lost.” But when he saw the Five Heroes of Guzhang Mountain, his face darkened. “All five of you showed up? Didn’t you make plenty already in the Zhuoshui battle?”

“Steward Zang,” Old First began, “this time we brothers just want to earn some spirit rice to eat for ourselves. We won’t trade it for stones. Think of what we went through in the war... please let us in.”

The steward shook his head. “It’s not that our house doesn’t value old ties, but you can see the situation. Too many people. No need for all five of you. Two should be more than enough.”

Fang Bugai, listening from behind, instinctively rushed forward a couple of steps. “Steward Zang,” he said, “Wulong Mountain comrades really went all out for the Zhanglong Sect.”

The steward’s face turned cold. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Old Seventh, who had seen Fang Bu’ai in action at Zhuoshui and worried he might draw his sword, quickly grabbed his arm and explained. “This is Junior Fang, a young man newly joined to Wulong Mountain. These days he’s working under Liu Xiaolou of Ganzhu Ridge. Steward Zang, you know Liu Xiaolou, don’t you?”

Steward Zang’s expression softened a little. “Didn’t he marry into the Su family of Shenwu Mountain? He’s back now?”

Fang Bu’ai wasn’t the type to be rigid. He’d already benefited from Liu Xiaolou’s reputation back at Mount Mo, so without hesitation he pulled out a letter of recommendation written by Liu Xiaolou and handed it over.

Steward Zang glanced at the letter, curling his lip. “So that’s how it is. He marries into money, doesn’t show up himself, and instead sends a recommendation letter? Figures. He’s rich now.” The words carried a mocking edge, but he still waved his hand. “Fang Bu’ai, right? Record his cultivation under Qianzhu Ridge.”

Fang Bu’ai wasn’t about to walk in first by himself. He turned to the Five Heroes of Guzhang Mountain. “Uncles, please.”

Steward Zang waved again. “Alright, alright, go ahead, all of you.”

Fang Bu’ai had won himself a worker’s spot and joined the harvesters in the spirit fields. He’d never done that kind of work before, but he was always willing to endure hardship. Not only did he use his strength to guard what he harvested, he even dared to learn from the five Guzhang brothers to improve his yield. By the end of the nine-day harvest, he’d earned a hefty return: two full spirit stones and thirty catties of spirit rice.

When Fang Bu’ai got back to Wulong Mountain, he went straight to Liu Xiaolou to thank him for the recommendation. He solemnly presented a spirit stone. “Senior Liu. I earned this on Ewe Ram Mountain. Thanks for taking care of me these past six months. Please, accept it.”

Liu Xiaolou politely declined. “You worked hard to earn this stone, so of course it’s yours to enjoy. I just did a little thing. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Fang Bu’ai spoke with heartfelt gratitude. “Without your recommendation, I never would have gotten the worker’s spot. Please don’t refuse me, Senior Liu. If you do, I’ll have no face to stay at Qianzhu Ridge.”

Left with no choice, Liu Xiaolou accepted the spirit stone. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll accept it, but then I’m giving it back to you. Don’t turn it down. You’re a good fellow, Junior Fang, and you put your whole heart into what you do. In the future, I’d like to rely on you again. But for that to happen, you need to improve your cultivation as soon as you can. If you want to stand firm on Wulong Mountain, my help can only go so far. What matters most is your cultivation. That’s the foundation.”

After much back-and-forth, Fang Bu’ai finally accepted the stone with deep gratitude. He quickly set down his bundle, pulled out the spirit rice he had harvested himself, and lit the stove to cook. “Senior Liu, this spirit rice was harvested by my own hands. Please, you must try it!”

That night, over a full pot of spirit rice, Fang Bu’ai lost his composure. His eyes reddened as he spoke of the days cultivating under his master, choking up more than once. Liu Xiaolou couldn’t help but sigh with emotion as he listened.

It was only cheap wine bought from Wuchao Town, but Fang Bu’ai got completely drunk. So drunk that Big White had to hitch up the little handcart and, together with Little Black, haul him back to Half-Pine Plateau.

Liu Xiaolou understood well what it meant for Fang Bu’ai to earn his first spirit stone on his own. He felt moved too. But once the moment passed, he turned back to work, sorting through the spiritual materials.

Just seven days earlier, Yun Ao had come to Wulong Mountain with all the materials on the list and handed them over to Liu Xiaolou. They had agreed the formation disks would be delivered in three months. In truth, these disks were only a simplified version of the Abyssal Blackstone Formation. It didn’t require three months at all. One month at most would be enough to finish it.

While Fang Bu’ai threw himself into absorbing the spirit stone’s energy, Liu Xiaolou kept busy processing the materials. Five days later, he packed everything up and set out for Xingde Mountain.