Chapter 3: White Rice Turns to Golden Rice

Ding ding dang dang… ding ding dang dang…

As dawn began to break, a rapid clanging of metal echoed through the air.

He Pingsheng rubbed his eyes hard, forcing his weary eyelids open.

A new day had arrived.

Time to work again.

?

So fragrant!

The scene before He Pingsheng gradually sharpened: “Where is this scent coming from?”

He sat up abruptly from bed, his gaze sweeping the room.

Suddenly… his pupils contracted slightly: “This is…”

The entire room was dark, save for a sliver of dawn light streaming through the window; just beyond the windowsill, a black clay basin was filled to the brim with golden rice.

He Pingsheng rubbed his eyes hard again.

He thought he was seeing things!

He pinched his thigh hard: hiss… so painful.

Not a dream!

Not an illusion!

This... is truly supreme-grade spiritual rice?

At that moment, He Pingsheng’s heart pounded uncontrollably. He slipped off the bed and tiptoed to the clay basin.

He reached in and gently scooped up a handful of the golden grains.

All of it was golden rice.

Though he’d never seen it before, He Pingsheng knew the basics: this was supreme-quality spiritual rice.

But why?

Yesterday, that bastard Zhang Da gave me half a basin of ordinary spiritual rice, pale white with faint greenish tinges, didn’t he?

When did it turn golden?

“No…” He Pingsheng noticed sharply—not only had the quality changed, but the quantity had too.

Yesterday there was only half a basin of ordinary spiritual rice; today, it was a full basin of golden supreme-grade spiritual rice.

What’s going on?

Could someone have slipped into my room and left this?

He Pingsheng glanced toward the door.

No!

The bolt was locked, the iron padlock firmly secured.

No one could have gotten in.

Then how?

He Pingsheng racked his brain but found no answer.

Bang bang bang… At that moment, a loud pounding came at the door: “He Pingsheng… you still haven’t gotten up? Get your ass up and come eat and work!”

It was Zhang Da’s harsh voice outside.

“Coming, Zhang Da! Right away!” He Pingsheng quickly shoved the entire basin of golden rice under the bed and covered it haphazardly with his clothes, then opened the door and grabbed his iron bowl to head for the canteen.

Yet his thoughts remained fixed on the golden spiritual rice.

“Little He… eat more meat, build up your strength!” Canteen Master Bao scooped a generous ladleful of meat into He Pingsheng’s bowl: “Eat up!”

“Yes yes… thank you, Uncle Bao!” He Pingsheng bowed gratefully, then squatted beneath the eaves outside the canteen and devoured his meal.

“Kid!” Zhang Da walked over, looking down at He Pingsheng: “I know you’re tired, but don’t slack off!”

“Remember my words—eat some spiritual rice later. Finish today’s task, or you won’t get to sleep tonight!”

“Yes yes yes…” He Pingsheng nodded while wolfing down his food.

By the time Zhang Da left, He Pingsheng had nearly finished his bowl.

“Uncle Bao!” He held out his empty bowl: “Another bowl, please!”

“Alright…” Master Bao didn’t stint—he gave He Pingsheng another large bowl of meat.

In the immortal sect, meat was plentiful—it was worthless.

After eating, He Pingsheng returned to his room, locked the door, and pulled the spiritual rice out from under the bed.

Should I cook some spiritual rice?

“No… no…” The thought vanished instantly.

Why?

Because it was too fragrant.

He’d once cooked spiritual rice for Jiang Jian—he still remembered that scent. The rich rice aroma could carry dozens of zhang away.

That was just green superior spiritual rice; mine is golden supreme-grade.

If the scent grows too strong and someone notices, they’ll think I’m a thief who stole the rice.

No, absolutely not cook it!

He Pingsheng grabbed a handful of golden spiritual rice and swallowed it raw.

Can’t cook it? Fine—I’ll swallow it raw!

A few mouthfuls down, he felt fire burning in his belly.

No—more accurately, a warm, gentle fire slowly spreading. The heat surged through his limbs and meridians, filling him with boundless strength.

The exhaustion from yesterday vanished in an instant.

Hiss… hiss… hiss…

Amazing!

Golden rice is truly extraordinary.

Regardless of how the golden rice appeared, He Pingsheng poured it out of the basin and stuffed it into the leg of an old pair of pants, tying both ends shut, then placed it on the bed as a crude, ugly pillow.

Now, even if someone broke in, they wouldn’t suspect a thing!

He covered the “pillow” with more ragged clothes, then carefully stepped out.

He lifted two massive water buckets and sprinted toward the mountain spring.

The summer heat was fierce; by the time he reached the waterfall, sweat drenched him. He set down the buckets, bent over the pool, and drank two mouthfuls of cool water.

Refreshing!

But the spring water tasted different now.

He couldn’t quite say how—it just didn’t taste as good as before.

After drinking, he got to work.

He carried the two huge wooden buckets on his shoulders—and today, they felt noticeably lighter.

As he carried water, He Pingsheng marveled: the spiritual rice was truly powerful. Just a handful had given him this much strength.

Again and again!

Before noon, he’d already filled the giant vat outside the laborer’s canteen.

He counted—ten trips.

That’s too fast!

Back at the spring, he didn’t rush to carry more water—he rested.

Though only fourteen, he didn’t understand everything, but he knew danger when he saw it.

He knew: if he finished too quickly, Zhang Da would grow suspicious. If Zhang Da investigated, the golden rice secret would be exposed.

At that point, death would be near.

So!

Better to be cautious, slow down.

Thus, for the rest of the afternoon, He Pingsheng dragged his feet. Though the work was easy, he made it look agonizingly hard.

Only when night had long fallen did he complete his twentieth trip.

Though he carried five more trips than yesterday, the spiritual rice’s boost made it far easier.