Chapter 62: Spiritual Soil

Inside the room.

Li Rui’s breathing grew rapid; the value of the spiritual soil was beyond doubt.

Wu Tu grew even more triumphant:

“Old Brother Li, you can rest easy—I’ve got this handled.”

As he spoke, he pulled out another box made of yellow rosewood and poured four-tenths of the spiritual soil into it.

Then he handed Li Rui the purple sandalwood box containing six-tenths of the spiritual soil.

“Old brother, you’re straightforward—I won’t be stingy. Nine in, thirteen out; the extra is interest for the Bone-Strengthening Elixir.”

He was simply this kind of man.

If others showed him respect, he would repay them tenfold.

He had never forgotten the debt of the elixir gifted to him in his time of hardship.

Keeping his current steward position was a long-term gain; since he had benefited, he must make amends—how could he let others bring coal in the snow while he reaped all the advantages?

Li Rui’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

He didn’t hesitate: “Fine, then I won’t be polite—I’ll accept it.”

Taking the purple sandalwood box, he stared at the spiritual soil within, his emotions lingering, hard to settle.

“Old Li has finally reached a day where he uses spiritual soil.”

Wu Tu said:

“This spiritual soil is wondrous—though there’s not much of it, if you scatter it in a flowerpot and leave it outdoors, it naturally grows spiritual herbs.”

“One growth per year; it should retain its spiritual potency for about fifty years before fully depleting. You can feed it beast meat to fatten it and extend its lifespan.”

Li Rui nodded.

He had read about this in an ancient book dedicated to spiritual soil.

But most beasts were powerful.

The weakest required at least an Eighth-Rank martialist to handle; hunting them was even harder. Only major sects with strong resources could use it for more than a hundred years before its spiritual potency vanished entirely.

Yet a human life spans only a hundred years.

A hundred years in ancient times could sustain five or six generations—making spiritual soil a fine heirloom.

“Alright, the goods are delivered. I’ll be off now, little brother.”

Wu Tu left in a hurry.

Li Rui tucked the purple sandalwood box away and took an early leave from work.

Tianyi Hall, Li residence.

In the courtyard.

Li Rui leaned on a hoe, under the blazing sun, finally clearing a small garden patch, then scattered the spiritual soil across it.

All he had to do was wait until next year.

Then he could harvest spiritual herbs.

As he prepared to scatter the soil, a knock came at the gate.

Seeing this, Li Rui could only pause.

When he opened the door and saw who stood outside, he froze.

“Young master, are you here to see this old man?”

The person at the door was Han Qin, a disciple of Huaqing Sect.

Han Qin’s smile was radiant—if a naive young girl saw it, she’d dream of him nightly.

But Li Rui was an old man—he wasn’t swayed.

Han Qin bowed politely: “Elder, the other day at your alliance’s competition, I saw your sword technique—exquisite, peerless. Your understanding of weapons was profound. I’ve come to learn from you.”

Li Rui didn’t even think:

“Sorry, I’m swamped with chores—I can’t spare the time.”

Even martial academies charge tuition.

This Huaqing disciple says “learn from me,” and I’m supposed to teach for free? The world doesn’t work that way.

Han Qin wasn’t reckless.

He knew he’d been too abrupt.

He was pondering what treasure to bribe the old man with when, after a closer look, his smile brightened further.

“Elder, are you tilling the soil?”

Li Rui still held the hoe; his sleeves were rolled up, his trousers hiked.

Any observant person could tell.

Han Qin said something cryptic: “Elder, have you heard of spiritual soil? I once read a secret in Huaqing Sect’s scripture hall—it turns out spiritual soil has another use besides growing spiritual herbs.”

Li Rui’s eyes narrowed slightly.

This kid was baiting him.

He pretended not to hear and moved to shut the door.

“Oh, I have other business—I won’t keep you for tea.”

Seeing Li Rui ignore him, Han Qin’s confident demeanor flickered with anxiety; in an instant, he made his decision.

He reached out and seized the doorframe.

“In major sects, spiritual soil becomes farmland—long-term returns. But for an individual, it’s better swallowed directly.”

Li Rui’s expression relaxed, then turned strange.

“Eat soil?”

Han Qin nodded: “Yes. Spiritual soil is a natural substance formed from absorbed beast spiritual essence. Swallowing it may seem wasteful, but the effect is swift—equal to an elixir. And given your age, you likely can’t wait.”

Li Rui pondered silently.

Eating soil wasn’t unheard of in ancient times.

In fact, using metals, stones, earth, and wood in medicine was common in alchemy.

For example, clay used as food during famines, gold, and even mercury were used in alchemical pills.

Compared to those, swallowing spiritual soil seemed more acceptable.

Seeing Li Rui didn’t close the door, Han Qin chuckled: “I happen to remember the exact formula for consuming spiritual soil. Let me write it down for you inside.”

Li Rui instantly transformed into a warm, hospitable host: “Young master, you’ve traveled far—I’ve got a jar of aged tea. Let’s share a cup, old and young.”

As Han Qin had said:

He was already seventy. Though his strength had surged, he couldn’t say how many years he had left.

An individual wasn’t a sect.

There was no need to treat spiritual soil as an heirloom—better to boost combat power immediately.

“No wonder Huaqing Sect—your knowledge is vast.”

He praised inwardly.

Li Rui had read many books at Tianyi Hall, yet he’d never heard of this use for spiritual soil.

He led Han Qin into the reception hall.

He brewed a pot of tea.

The tea was aged, of course—but no matter how old ordinary tea became, it couldn’t become good tea.

Han Qin sipped the tea, then handed Li Rui a written formula: “This is the method for consuming spiritual soil.”

He hadn’t expected Li Rui to possess spiritual soil.

Back at Huaqing Sect, he’d once served as a field guardian on the sect’s spiritual farmland—he knew the scent of spiritual soil too well.

That’s why he’d recognized it with just a sniff.

“Elder, we’re clearly fated. This formula is rare—it was accidentally discovered by a mad alchemist of Huaqing Sect. Few know of it.”

Spiritual soil was mostly held by major sects and clans.

Very little ever leaked out.

Even if someone obtained it, they lacked alchemical knowledge and only copied the sects’ method—growing spiritual herbs.

They didn’t know it could be swallowed directly.

Neither use was superior—only a matter of personal choice.

Wu Tu was young—he had at least thirty years left. Growing herbs was clearly more profitable.

But Li Rui was seventy.

How many years did he have left?

Li Rui understood: obtaining a treasure was hard, but learning how to use it was fate itself.

“Young friend, you just said you wanted to discuss weapon use with me?”

Han Qin’s eyes lit up instantly.

“I humbly ask for your guidance.”

(End of chapter)