Jin woke to the sensation of something cold and wet sliding down his face.
He shot upright with a strangled yelp, arms flailing wildly as he tried to escape whatever creature had attacked him in his sleep. His elbow connected with something solid—the wooden frame of his narrow bed—and pain lanced up his arm even as he tumbled sideways onto the cold stone floor in a tangle of thin blankets.
Laughter echoed through the dormitory.
Jin blinked away sleep and confusion to find Old Shen standing over him, a now-empty cup in his weathered hand and a grin splitting his lined face that made him look decades younger.
"Rise and shine, little farmer," the old man said cheerfully. "The spirit rice won't tend itself, and the sun waits for no cultivator—especially not ones who sleep until half past fifth bell."
Jin wiped water from his eyes, still struggling to orient himself. Through the dormitory's narrow windows, he could see that the sky was barely beginning to lighten, the darkness of night giving way to the deep blue of pre-dawn. The other beds were already empty, their occupants long since departed for their morning duties.
"Half past fifth bell is late?" Jin asked, his voice rough with sleep.
"For an agricultural disciple? Catastrophically so." Old Shen extended a hand and hauled Jin to his feet with surprising strength. "Most of us rise at fourth bell. The spiritual energy in the fields is most potent in the hours before sunrise. Tend your crops during that window, and they'll yield twice the quality. Miss it consistently, and Overseer Huang will have you reassigned to the compost pits." The old man's grin widened. "I hear the smell never really washes off."
Jin's eyes went wide with alarm. He scrambled to straighten his rumpled robes, trying to smooth out the worst of the wrinkles while simultaneously searching for his shoes. One had somehow ended up beneath the bed, and the other was nowhere to be seen.
"Looking for this?"
Old Shen held up Jin's missing shoe, dangling it by the laces with an expression of pure innocence.
"How did—" Jin started, then stopped. The old man's barely suppressed laughter told him everything he needed to know. "You took it while I was sleeping."
"Consider it your first lesson in vigilance," Old Shen said, tossing the shoe to Jin, who fumbled the catch and had to chase it across the floor. "The sect may seem peaceful, but there are always those who would take advantage of the unwary. Never let your guard down completely—not even in sleep."
Jin pulled on his shoes, cheeks burning with embarrassment. He couldn't tell if the old man was genuinely trying to teach him something or simply enjoyed watching him make a fool of himself. Possibly both.
"Now, come," Old Shen said, heading for the dormitory door. "I'll show you where the tools are kept before I head to my own field. After that, you're on your own."
—————
The tool shed stood at the edge of the agricultural terrace, a squat building of weathered gray stone that seemed to have grown from the earth itself. Moss covered its northern wall in a thick carpet of deep green, and the wooden door hung slightly askew, requiring a firm shoulder-push to open. Inside, the air smelled of oiled metal and dried earth—scents that reminded Jin painfully of his father's tool shed back in the village.
Wooden racks lined the walls, each holding an array of implements that ranged from the familiar to the bizarre. Jin recognized hoes, rakes, and pruning shears easily enough, though even these common tools seemed subtly different from their mundane counterparts. The metal gleamed with an inner light, and faint characters were etched into handles that seemed to thrum with dormant energy when he looked at them directly.
"Spirit-touched tools," Old Shen explained, noting Jin's fascinated gaze. "Even basic implements must be infused with spiritual energy to work the fields here. Mundane iron would corrode within days from exposure to the ambient qi in the soil."
He led Jin deeper into the shed, past rows of unfamiliar implements that defied easy description. There were curved blades attached to long poles at odd angles, basket-like devices with glowing mesh bottoms, and something that looked disturbingly like a giant spider made of bronze wire and crystal.
"Don't touch that one," Old Shen said quickly, steering Jin away from the spider-thing. "It's for harvesting nightmare lotus, and it has a tendency to mistake human fingers for stems."
Jin snatched his hands behind his back, suddenly very aware of how close he'd come to touching it out of simple curiosity.
They stopped before a modest rack near the back of the shed. The tools here were older, more worn than those at the front—still functional, but clearly handed down through generations of outer disciples.
"These are for new agricultural workers," Old Shen said. "Nothing fancy, but they'll serve you well enough if you treat them with respect."
He began pulling implements from the rack, naming each as he placed them in Jin's increasingly full arms.
"Spirit hoe—for breaking up the qi-saturated soil. The blade is angled specifically for rice paddies, so don't try to use it on anything else or you'll chip the edge." The hoe was heavier than it looked, with a wooden handle worn smooth by countless hands and a blade of dark metal that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. "Circulation rake—see how the tines are spaced unevenly? That's to create proper energy flow patterns in the soil. Very important for rice cultivation."
The rake joined the growing pile in Jin's arms. Its handle was longer than he was tall, and he had to hold it at an awkward angle to keep it from dragging on the ground.
"Pruning shears for removing dead growth—never cut live plants with these, or the spiritual backlash will give you blisters for a week. Measuring cord for laying out your planting rows. Bamboo knee pads because you'll be spending half your life crawling through mud. And finally—"
Old Shen produced a final item from the rack with a flourish. It was a small ceramic pot, glazed in deep blue with white characters painted around its rim.
"Pest ward. Bury it in the center of your field and fill it with offerings once a week. Keeps the spirit beetles from eating your crop."
"Spirit beetles?" Jin asked nervously.
"Nasty little things. About the size of your fist, with mandibles that can cut through spirit rice stems like scissors through paper. They're attracted to the ambient qi in the paddies." Old Shen's expression turned thoughtful. "Actually, the field you've been assigned—the one they call the cursed field—has always had a particularly bad beetle problem. Previous cultivator gave up after they devoured three consecutive harvests."
Jin's arms sagged under the weight of his new tools. "Why didn't anyone mention this yesterday?"
"Would it have changed anything?" Old Shen asked with infuriating reasonableness. "You're here now. The field is yours. The beetles are your problem." He clapped Jin on the shoulder hard enough to make the boy stagger. "Welcome to the agricultural division!"
And with that, the old man turned and walked out of the tool shed, his laughter echoing behind him.
—————
Jin stood at the edge of his hectare, tools laid out on the grass beside him, and tried not to feel overwhelmed.
In the light of dawn, the field looked even worse than it had the previous evening. The spirit rice had clearly been neglected for months—the plants were yellowed and wilting, their stalks bent at unhealthy angles and their roots barely visible above the waterlogged soil. Weeds had invaded every corner, strange purple-leafed plants that seemed to pulse with malevolent energy. The water level in the paddy was uneven, too high in some areas and nearly dry in others.
And everywhere—absolutely everywhere—Jin could see signs of spirit beetle damage. Perfectly circular holes in leaves. Stems cut clean through at the base. Little mounds of disturbed soil where the creatures had burrowed to escape the daylight.
He looked at his tools. He looked at the field. He looked at his tools again.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," he said aloud to no one.
From the adjacent field, a laugh reached his ears. Jin turned to see Lin Mei already at work, her small form bent over the rice plants with practiced efficiency. Unlike Jin's disaster area, her field was pristine—orderly rows of healthy green plants, water levels perfectly maintained, not a weed in sight.
"That's the most honest thing I've heard from a new disciple in years," she called out. "Usually they're too proud to admit it."
Jin felt his cheeks flush, but he appreciated the lack of mockery in her tone. "Did you know what you were doing when you started?"
"Absolutely not. I nearly killed half my crop in the first month." Lin Mei straightened, stretching her back with a wince. "But I watched the others, asked questions, and learned from my mistakes. You'll do the same."
She returned to her work, leaving Jin to ponder her words. Watch the others. Ask questions. Learn from mistakes.
He could do that. He hoped.
—————
For the first few hours, Jin simply observed.
He walked the perimeter of his field, but his eyes were focused on the neighboring plots where more experienced disciples worked with quiet efficiency. He watched Da Feng, the broad-shouldered man with the scarred head, as he wielded his spirit hoe with powerful, precise strokes that seemed to coax the very earth into submission. Despite his gruff introduction the previous night, the big man moved with a grace that seemed at odds with his intimidating appearance.
He watched Luo Qiang, the severe woman with the elaborate hair, as she used her circulation rake in patterns that Jin couldn't quite follow—sweeping curves and sharp angles that left glowing trails in the soil. Her movements were exact, mechanical, repeated with the same precision each time. When she noticed Jin watching, she pointedly turned her back to him.
He watched Twitchy Fan work despite his trembling hands, compensating for his nervous shake with a unique rhythm that turned his apparent disability into an unconventional technique. The young man's field was not as orderly as the others, but his plants grew in strange spiraling patterns that seemed somehow healthier than they should be.
And he watched Lin Mei, whose youth belied her skill. She moved between plants like water flowing around stones, touching each one briefly, assessing its health with a glance, making tiny adjustments that added up to tremendous results.
Only Zhou Tianyu seemed to share Jin's inexperience, though the handsome boy would never admit it. He attacked his field with aggressive strokes that scattered more soil than they turned, his refined features twisted with frustration whenever his plants failed to respond as he wished. Several times, Jin saw him glance toward the distant towers of the sect's inner compound, his expression equal parts longing and resentment.
By midmorning, Jin felt he had learned enough from observation to at least attempt the basics. He picked up his spirit hoe, settled his grip on the worn handle the way he'd seen Da Feng do, and brought it down toward the soil.
The blade sank into the earth—and stuck fast.
Jin pulled. The hoe didn't budge. He pulled harder, bracing his feet against the ground, but the qi-saturated soil seemed to have swallowed the blade entirely. Sweat broke out on his forehead despite the cold as he strained with all his meager strength.
"You have to pulse your qi through the handle when you strike," came a voice from behind him. "Otherwise the soil treats the blade like any other intrusion and locks around it."
Jin released the hoe and turned to find Old Shen watching him from the stone wall that divided their fields. The old man's earlier mischief seemed to have faded, replaced by something that might have been genuine helpfulness.
"I don't know how to use qi yet," Jin admitted. "I only received the cultivation method last night. I haven't even started practicing."
Old Shen's eyebrows rose. "No one told you? You can't effectively work a spirit field without at least basic qi circulation. The tools require it. The plants respond to it. The water levels are maintained by it." He shook his head. "What exactly did Overseer Huang explain to you?"
"She told me this was my field and I should study the cultivation method and not perform poorly."
"Typical." Old Shen sighed heavily. "The overseers forget what it's like to be new. They've been at this so long that the basics seem obvious to them." He hopped over the low wall with surprising agility and approached the stuck hoe. "Watch carefully."
The old man wrapped his hands around the handle just below where Jin's grip had been. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then Jin noticed a faint shimmer traveling from Old Shen's palms into the wood—a barely visible pulse of energy that flowed down toward the blade.
The hoe slid free of the soil as if it had never been stuck at all.
"You need to establish a connection with your tools," Old Shen explained, handing the hoe back to Jin. "Not much—even the tiniest trickle of qi will do. The tool handles that with resonance. But without any qi at all, you're just a mortal pushing against earth that's been saturated with spiritual energy for centuries."
Jin looked down at the hoe in his hands, then at the field stretching before him. "So I can't do anything until I learn to cultivate?"
"I didn't say that." Old Shen's grin returned, though it was softer now. "You can pull weeds by hand—the ones with purple leaves are the worst, get those first. You can clear debris from the water channels. You can observe your plants and learn to recognize the signs of health and disease. There's plenty of work that doesn't require qi."
He paused, his expression growing more serious.
"But you should begin your cultivation practice tonight without fail. Every day you delay is a day your field falls further behind. The sect evaluates new disciples at the one-month mark. Those who haven't shown sufficient progress…" He drew a finger across his throat with dark humor.
"They kill us?" Jin squeaked.
"What? No! They reassign you to the compost pits. I told you about those, remember?" Old Shen laughed at Jin's relieved expression. "Death would almost be preferable, mind you. The smell really doesn't wash off."
—————
Jin worked until his hands bled.
The purple-leafed weeds had shallow roots but edges sharp enough to slice skin, and he'd forgotten to bring gloves. By midday, his palms were covered in tiny cuts that stung whenever he touched anything. His knees ached from crawling through the mud, protected somewhat by the bamboo pads but still bruised from hours of kneeling on uneven ground.
Yet despite the pain, he felt he was making progress. Nearly a quarter of the weeds had been pulled and piled at the edge of his field. The water channels, clogged with dead vegetation and accumulated sediment, were beginning to flow more freely. And he was learning to read his plants—to recognize which yellowed leaves indicated nutrient deficiency versus pest damage versus simple neglect.
The spirit beetles remained a mystery, though. He'd found several of their burrow mounds but hadn't actually seen the creatures themselves. According to Lin Mei, who had taken pity on him and provided a few minutes of guidance during her own break, the beetles only emerged at night to feed.
"The pest ward will help once you get it set up properly," she'd explained. "But you need to make offerings to it—small amounts of qi-infused water or low-grade spirit stones. Without regular offerings, it's just a pretty pot."
"Where do I get spirit stones?" Jin had asked.
Lin Mei's expression had been sympathetic. "You earn them. Good harvests, extra work assignments, or you can trade with other disciples. For now, qi-infused water will have to do. It's less effective, but it's free—just hold water in your hands while circulating qi through your palms."
Which brought everything back to cultivation, as all things seemed to in this world.
When the sun began its descent toward the western ridge, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold that seemed to set the spirit plants ablaze with reflected light, Jin gathered his tools and made his way back to the dormitory. His body ached in places he hadn't known could ache. Dried mud caked his robes up to the waist. His hands had swollen around the cuts, making it difficult to grip anything.
But he had learned. Through observation and trial and error and the occasional grudging advice of his fellow disciples, he had grasped the fundamentals of what his work would entail. The tasks ahead were enormous, his field a disaster that would take weeks of effort to bring up to acceptable standards, but at least now he understood what needed to be done.
He wasn't completely helpless anymore. Just mostly helpless, which felt like a significant improvement.
—————
The sect kitchen was a cavernous hall attached to the main dormitory complex, filled with long wooden tables and benches worn smooth by generations of use. When Jin arrived, having quickly washed the worst of the mud from his hands and face at the communal well, the hall was already crowded with disciples from across the agricultural terrace.
The noise was overwhelming—dozens of conversations overlapping, the clatter of chopsticks against ceramic bowls, the occasional burst of laughter or raised voice. Jin stood in the doorway for a moment, paralyzed by the chaos, until a firm hand grabbed his elbow and pulled him toward the serving line.
"Don't just stand there blocking the door," Lin Mei said, releasing him once he started moving. "Food distribution ends at seventh bell, and if you miss it, you don't eat until tomorrow. The sect doesn't tolerate tardiness in anything."
The serving line moved quickly, each disciple receiving an identical meal portioned out by stone-faced outer sect workers who seemed to view their task with grim determination. Jin's meal consisted of a bowl of plain rice (mundane, not spirit-grade, he noted with some disappointment), a small portion of pickled vegetables, a cup of thin soup that was mostly broth with a few lonely vegetable fragments, and a single steamed bun that was slightly stale.
It was, without question, the simplest meal Jin had ever eaten. Yet he found himself grateful for every bite. His empty stomach had been complaining for hours, and even plain rice tasted like a feast after a day of hard labor.
He found a spot at the end of a long table, where Lin Mei and the two younger members of their dormitory group had already gathered. Zhou Tianyu sat slightly apart from the others, his handsome features arranged in an expression of aristocratic disdain as he picked at his food with obvious reluctance.
"How did your first day go?" Lin Mei asked, sliding down the bench to make room for Jin.
"I got my hoe stuck in the ground," Jin admitted. "And I cut my hands on weeds. And I still don't really understand how the water channels work. But I pulled a lot of weeds, so that's something."
"Honest again," Lin Mei said with approval. "You'd be amazed how many new disciples try to pretend they know everything. They usually fail their first evaluation."
Zhou Tianyu made a dismissive sound. "Some of us have actual talent instead of pretending mediocrity is a virtue."
"Some of us have three-color spiritual roots just like him," Lin Mei shot back. "The only difference between you and Wei Jin is that your family has money."
The handsome boy's face flushed with anger, but he said nothing, returning his attention to his meal with forced indifference. Jin noticed that despite his disdain, Zhou Tianyu had eaten every grain of his rice—apparently even privileged disciples got hungry after a day in the fields.
"Tell me about the sect," Jin said, eager to change the subject before the tension could escalate. "I don't really understand how anything works here. Back in my village, things were simpler."
Lin Mei exchanged a glance with Zhou Tianyu, who sighed but seemed willing to participate in a neutral topic.
"The Dark Rose Sect is divided into three main divisions," Lin Mei began. "Combat, Alchemy, and Agriculture. Combat disciples are the face of the sect—they handle external conflicts, exploration of dangerous areas, and enforcement of sect rules. Alchemy disciples create pills, elixirs, and other cultivation aids. They're incredibly valuable because everyone needs their products."
"And agriculture?" Jin prompted.
"We're the foundation," Zhou Tianyu said, his tone grudging but factual. "We grow the spirit rice that feeds the inner sect, the herbs that the alchemists refine, the spiritual vegetables that supplement cultivation. Without us, the sect starves."
"But we're also the lowest status," Lin Mei added. "Most agricultural disciples are here because our spiritual roots aren't good enough for combat or alchemy. We're outer disciples, which means we live outside the main compound, have limited access to resources, and are generally treated as slightly more useful than the furniture."
Jin thought about this. "Can we ever become inner disciples?"
"Theoretically." Lin Mei's tone suggested this was a distant hope at best. "If you reach Foundation Establishment, you're automatically promoted regardless of division. Or if you demonstrate exceptional skill in your field—like developing a new cultivation technique or producing unprecedented harvests—the elders might take notice."
"Neither of which happens more than once a generation," Zhou Tianyu added. "The realistic goal for most agricultural disciples is to reach the later stages of Qi Condensation, earn enough spirit stones to buy some comfort, and eventually retire to a position managing the next generation of dirt farmers."
The bitterness in his voice was palpable. Jin understood now why the handsome boy was so eager to transfer to the combat division—he saw agricultural work as a dead end, a waste of his potential, a sentence to lifelong mediocrity.
But Jin, looking at the meal before him, thinking of his brother's sacrifices and his family's hopes, couldn't bring himself to share that bitterness. Mediocrity would be a step up from where he'd come from. Even becoming a "dirt farmer" in a cultivation sect was better than being a mortal peasant struggling to survive on exhausted land.
He would make the most of whatever opportunities he was given. He had to.
—————
After dinner, Jin returned to the dormitory to begin his first true cultivation session.
He sat on his narrow bed, legs crossed awkwardly beneath him (the proper lotus position was beyond his flexibility), and closed his eyes. The jade slip was cool against his forehead as he accessed the Azure Harmonization Method once more.
The information flowed through his mind again, more coherent now that he knew what to expect. Breathing patterns. Energy circulation routes. Visualization techniques. All of it designed to draw ambient spiritual energy into the body, refine it through the dantian, and slowly, incrementally, begin the long process of cultivation.
And beneath it all, that strange efficiency tracker:
[Azure Harmonization Method - Current Efficiency: 17%]
Jin focused on the number, willing it to reveal more of its secrets. The breakdown appeared again:
[Breathing Pattern: Modified (Slightly Improved)][Energy Circulation Route: Partially Adjusted (Suboptimal)][Posture: Untrained (Suboptimal)][Mental State: Anxious (Suboptimal)][Physical Condition: Fatigued (Suboptimal)]
He frowned at the list. Yesterday, he'd managed to improve his efficiency from 15% to 17% by adjusting breathing and circulation. But now there were more factors—mental state, physical condition—that he hadn't even considered.
Jin tried to calm his mind, releasing the anxiety that had been his constant companion since leaving home. It was difficult—worry seemed baked into his very being—but he focused on his breath, on the simple rhythm of air entering and leaving his lungs.
[Mental State: Anxious → Distracted (Slightly Improved)]
The efficiency number flickered: 18%.
Physical condition was harder to address. His body ached from the day's labor, and that wasn't something he could simply will away. But he shifted his posture slightly, straightening his spine, relaxing his shoulders, trying to minimize the strain on his tired muscles.
[Posture: Untrained → Basic (Improved)]
19%.
Jin felt a surge of excitement, which immediately:
[Mental State: Distracted → Excited (Suboptimal)]
18%.
He forced himself to calm down again, returning to neutral focus.
[Mental State: Excited → Calm (Improved)]
20%.
Twenty percent. Still terribly low compared to what he assumed proper cultivators achieved, but a meaningful improvement from where he'd started. And more importantly, he was beginning to understand the system—to see how different factors influenced his efficiency, to learn what adjustments helped and what hindered.
He maintained his cultivation practice for an hour, drawing in tiny amounts of spiritual energy and cycling it through his meridians according to the method's instructions. The sensation was strange—like drinking water through the pores of his skin, feeling it pool in a point just below his navel before dispersing through invisible channels that he was only beginning to perceive.
When he finally opened his eyes, the dormitory had grown dark. The other disciples had returned from dinner and were preparing for sleep, their conversations muted in deference to the late hour. Old Shen caught Jin's eye and nodded with what might have been approval.
Jin lay back on his bed, exhausted in a way that went beyond physical fatigue. His first full day as a cultivator—as a member of the Dark Rose Sect—was ending. He thought of his brother, somewhere beyond the valley, probably still traveling back to whatever life awaited him now that his responsibility had been fulfilled.
I'll make you proud, Jin thought. I'll work hard, and I'll learn, and one day I'll be able to help our family. I promise.
He fell asleep with that promise echoing in his heart.
—————
One Week Later
The first week passed in a blur of exhaustion, frustration, and gradual improvement.
Jin rose each morning at fourth bell, no longer requiring Old Shen's watery wake-up calls (though the old man still found opportunities for pranks—Jin's shoes had migrated to strange locations three more times, his cultivation mat had been replaced with a remarkably flat stone one morning, and once he'd woken to find his blanket mysteriously tied in an elaborate knot around his ankles).
He learned to work his tools, the trick of pushing qi through the handles becoming second nature after countless attempts. His spirit hoe now bit into the soil with satisfying efficiency, and his circulation rake left proper energy patterns in its wake—not as elegant as Luo Qiang's, but functional. The purple weeds were gone from his field, replaced by the first tentative signs of new growth as his neglected spirit rice began to respond to regular care.
The spirit beetles remained a challenge. The pest ward was working—he'd managed to infuse water with enough qi to make basic offerings—but his technique was clumsy, and the protection it provided was weaker than it should be. He still found fresh damage each morning, circular holes in leaves and severed stems that represented lost harvest.
But he was learning. Every day brought new understanding, new skills, new small victories that added up to meaningful progress.
And his cultivation…
Jin sat in his usual position on his bed, having just completed his evening practice. The efficiency tracker glowed in his mind's eye:
[Azure Harmonization Method - Current Efficiency: 29%]
Twenty-nine percent. Nearly double where he'd started, and according to the whispered conversations he'd overheard between Lin Mei and Old Shen, significantly better than the typical new disciple achieved in their first week.
"Most start around 15% like you did," Lin Mei had said when he'd cautiously asked about normal cultivation speeds, "and improve to maybe 16% or 17% by the end of the first month. The method is standardized, so everyone uses the same techniques."
But Jin wasn't using exactly the same techniques. Each session, he experimented—adjusting his breathing by tiny increments, visualizing his energy circulation in slightly different patterns, finding optimal postures for his specific body. The efficiency tracker guided his efforts like a patient teacher, showing him immediately what worked and what didn't.
He still hadn't told anyone about the strange text in his mind. The secret felt precious, dangerous, too important to share before he understood its true nature. For now, he cultivated quietly, improved steadily, and kept his remarkable progress hidden behind his reputation as the clumsy, naive new disciple who could barely keep his shoes from disappearing.
The month evaluation loomed ahead. Jin didn't know exactly what it would entail, but he knew he would face it with every advantage he could gather.
For his brother. For his family. For the chance to become something more than what birth had made him.
He closed his eyes and began his cultivation practice anew.
—————
End of Chapter Two