Chapter 2: Spirit Rice

“Splash…” He Pingsheng poured the two buckets of water from the pole into the water tank.

The large tank was now half full.

Five trips completed today.

He scooped some water with the worn-out clay basin to wash his hands and face, then scrubbed the basin inside and out until it was spotless, before filling it halfway and carrying it back to his room.

This half-basin of water was for drinking—if he got thirsty at night, he wouldn’t have to go outside.

Back in the room, he locked the door and wedged the bolt firmly in place.

Moonlight flowed like water, streaming through the lattice gaps in the window, casting dappled, dreamlike patterns.

He Pingsheng rolled onto the bed and fell into a deep, snoring sleep.

The next morning, a rapid banging on a gong echoed outside!

Time to get up!

He Pingsheng dragged his weary body up and rushed to the kitchen with his iron bowl.

Because breakfast was ready.

You need to eat well in the morning to have strength for work, right?

The servitor disciples filed out of their rooms one by one, heading toward the dining hall ahead.

More than twenty people, a chaotic mess.

Zhang Da, still bare-chested but wearing dark red pants, waited until everyone arrived, then called out each name. When he finished, he said: “Breakfast’s ready… Old Bao, give this kid extra meat—make sure he eats his fill… or he won’t have the strength to carry water!”

He wasn’t pitying He Pingsheng—he understood how grueling water-carrying was.

He Pingsheng was young, only fourteen this year; if he didn’t eat enough, how could he work?

If he couldn’t finish the work, the one who’d suffer in the end was Zhang Da himself.

Don’t forget—he was the head of this servitor squad!

“Thank you, Brother Zhang!” He Pingsheng, dazed and grateful, bowed to Zhang Da.

He was still a child; he hadn’t yet grasped the subtleties of human relations or basic truths, so he naturally didn’t see the deeper meaning.

To be fair, the immortal sect’s meals were quite plentiful.

Breakfast even provided ample meat.

After eating, He Pingsheng cleaned his bowl and returned to his room to head to the waterfall behind the mountain for water. But as soon as he stepped inside, the scene stunned him.

The basin he’d used yesterday to hold mountain spring water sat by the window—originally half-full with clear water, now it was completely full, glowing a vivid green.

“Strange… in just one night, did the water spoil?”

He Pingsheng set down his iron bowl and walked to the window, leaning close to examine it.

Up close, he saw the water was truly green—bright, emerald green.

Clearly rotten.

“Guess I can’t use this basin for water anymore!” He Pingsheng picked up the basin and dumped the entire green contents out the window: “From now on… I’ll use it to wash clothes!”

He tossed the basin carelessly to the ground with a clang, shouldered his pole, opened the door, and headed toward the mountain spring.

Since he’d carried water five times yesterday, today he only needed to do fifteen trips.

Fifteen trips didn’t sound like much—but by the time He Pingsheng finished all his tasks, it was already deep night.

Dragging his exhausted body back to his small room.

He Pingsheng frowned: carrying water fifteen times a day was already near his limit—tomorrow he had to do twenty. How could he manage?

Just as he lay on the hard wooden bed, he heard a knock at the door.

No—more accurately, it was pounding, accompanied by a rough voice: “He Pingsheng… open up…”

It was Zhang Da’s voice.

He Pingsheng removed the bolt and opened the door with a creak.

There stood Zhang Da, holding a sack, smiling as he walked in: “Pingsheng, how are you? Tired today?”

He Pingsheng thought Zhang Da was showing concern and replied gratefully: “A bit tired.”

“Hehe…” Zhang Da chuckled: “I saw it—you did five trips yesterday, and today you didn’t stop, did fifteen rounds.”

“Ah, I know you’re exhausted!”

“Can you finish tomorrow’s task?”

Faced with Zhang Da’s question, He Pingsheng had no confidence.

He could only say: “I’ll work hard tomorrow!”

“Good!” Zhang Da slapped his shoulder: “Working hard is good—but I’m afraid even if you drop dead, you won’t finish the water-carrying quota!”

“Look, what’s this?”

Zhang Da opened the sack in his hand.

A small pile of white rice appeared before He Pingsheng.

He Pingsheng asked curiously: “Is this rice?”

“Not rice!” Zhang Da shook his head: “The Immortals pity us servitor disciples and have decreed that each of us receives a set amount of spirit rice monthly. Everyone else gets two catties per month—you’re different: you get ten catties!”

“Huh?” He Pingsheng asked: “Why?”

Zhang Da said: “Why else? Because carrying water is heavy labor. But brother, every new recruit goes through this—it’s not me screwing you. Ask anyone else—they’ve all carried water!”

“Once a new recruit arrives, you won’t have to carry water anymore!”

“Come on… find something to hold it—I’ll pour the rice.”

He Pingsheng looked around the room and realized the only container large enough was the old clay basin.

He picked up the soot-blackened basin from the floor and placed it on the table.

Zhang Da tipped the sack, and the rice poured out with a rustling sound, filling the basin completely.

In the dim night, under the moonlight, He Pingsheng saw a faint green glow emanating from the white grains.

Indeed—spirit rice!

He Pingsheng had seen spirit rice before!

When Jiang Jian, Uncle Jiang, was an outer disciple, he received ten catties of spirit rice each month.

He Pingsheng always fetched it for him, and Jiang Jian’s spirit rice was emerald green.

The color of spirit rice indicated its quality.

Supposedly, the finest spirit rice glowed golden yellow.

High-grade spirit rice was emerald green.

But the rice in He Pingsheng’s basin was the lowest grade, the kind even immortals wouldn’t touch—otherwise, how could it end up in the hands of servitor disciples?

“Remember—cook two handfuls daily. Eat half before morning work, half before afternoon work!”

“Eat more of this rice—you’ll manage twenty water trips a day!”

After speaking, Brother Zhang simply kicked off and left.

He Pingsheng frowned.

Because he had always fetched Jiang Jian’s spirit rice, he knew exactly how much ten catties weighed.

This basin before him didn’t hold ten catties.

It was barely half—no more than five.

That bastard Zhang Da… did he steal half my spirit rice?

Lost in thought, He Pingsheng locked the door again and collapsed onto the bed.

Overthinking was useless.

He was too weak now—even if he knew someone was stealing his spirit rice, what could he do?

Could he demand it back?

No.

Since he couldn’t, better not waste energy—just sleep.