I gain ten years' worth of cultivation every day, and even geniuses will only see my doorstep!

Qin Yuan walked along the ridge of the field. Ni Dan was gone. An old man squatted by the field, pulling weeds. His hands were slow but precise, pulling each weed from its root. He looked up and saw Qin Yuan, paused for a moment, and then wiped his hands on his trousers.

"Are you... the one who can cure illnesses?"

Qin Yuan nodded.

The old man knelt down and kowtowed. Qin Yuan helped him up; the old man's arms were very thin, the bones digging into his hands. "No need to kowtow. Where's Nidan?"

"He went to a rescue team. He hasn't been back for several years." The old man pointed eastward. "That way, it's very far. When he left, he said he was going to help others grow taro."

Qin Yuan walked around the taro field. A wooden sign stood by the field, with three characters carved in a knife—"Muddy Field." The characters were crooked and messy, like a child's handwriting. A man sat beside the sign, leaning against it, his eyes closed. His leg was missing a section below the knee; the cut was covered with skin and had already healed. A cane rested beside him, its wood polished to a shine.

Old locust tree.

Qin Yuan walked over and sat down next to him. Old Huai did not open his eyes.

"We've learned everything you taught us. Planting taro, building walls, digging ditches. You don't need to worry about it anymore."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear. Qin Yuan didn't speak. He looked at the taro in the field; the leaves swayed in the wind, their backs silvery-white, turning over and over like waves.

Old Huai opened his eyes, glanced at Qin Yuan, and then closed them again. He didn't ask Qin Yuan why he had come, whether he was leaving or not, or what his current status was. He simply sat there, basking in the sun.

Qin Yuan sat for a while, then stood up and patted Lao Huai on the shoulder. Lao Huai's shoulders were narrow, with protruding bones that were uncomfortable to the touch.

"I'm leaving."

"Um."

Qin Yuan walked quite a distance, then looked back and saw Old Huai still sitting beside the wooden sign. He didn't wave or nod, just sat there. The leaves of the taro field covered half of his body, revealing only his white hair, like withered grass covered in snow.

The rescue team's camp was much larger than before. When Qin Yuan left, there were only a dozen or so tents; now there were hundreds, gray, green, and brown, of varying ages. Some tents had patches on them, the patches a different color than the tents themselves, like plasters on clothing. People came and went; some carried supplies, some carried stretchers, and some squatted on the ground writing with sticks.

Li Qing squatted on the ground, her right index and middle fingers pressed together, tapping the ground. Her technique was exactly the same as Qin Yuan's—the angle of her fingers, the pressure she applied, and the rhythm of her spiritual energy output. No water sprayed out, but she listened, nodded, stood up, and patted the dirt off her knees.

She looked up and saw Qin Yuan.

"Didn't you go home?"

"Come and see."

Li Qing looked him up and down. He hadn't changed his clothes; he was still wearing the same ones he'd left in, the cuffs were frayed, and the collar was slightly askew. "Have you looked enough? If you have, then go back."

Qin Yuan didn't leave. He walked past Li Qing and into the camp. Muddy was in an open space on the east side of the camp, with seven or eight young people squatting in front of him, men and women, some wearing shoes and some barefoot, all staring at Muddy's hands.

Muddy held a small, purple-skinned taro in his hand. He held it up so everyone could see it.

"This variety is drought-resistant. It can survive three months of drought. When planting, the hole needs to be this deep." He gestured with his hand, measuring down from the ground with his fingers; it was exactly a hand's breadth. "Too deep, and the roots will rot. Too shallow, and it won't grow."

He didn't see Qin Yuan. Qin Yuan stood at the back of the crowd, silent.

After Mud Egg finished explaining, he let the students try it themselves. They squatted on the ground and dug holes; some were too deep, some too shallow, and Mud Egg corrected them one by one. Once he had corrected them all, he stood up, turned around, and saw Qin Yuan.

His face was expressionless. Not indifference, not surprise, but a calm that said, "I knew you would come." He pulled a taro from his pocket; it was purple-skinned and a size larger than the previous one.

"A new variety. More drought-resistant."

Qin Yuan took the taro and put it in his pocket. The taro was heavy, making his clothes droop down.

"In the years you've been gone, we've helped over four hundred worlds."

Qin Yuan nodded. "I know."

He spent the night at the camp. There was no bed in the tent; the ground was covered with a layer of dry grass, fresh and still smelling of sunshine. Lin Qing'er wasn't there; she had gone to another world, to help with a plague she'd heard was raging there. Qin Yuan lay on the dry grass; there was a hole in the ceiling through which he could see the stars. There weren't many stars, but they were very bright.

The next morning, Qin Yuan left alone. He didn't disturb anyone. His footsteps were drowned out by the sound of the tent canvas.

The council chamber of the Multiverse Council is very large, capable of holding three thousand people. Today, just over two thousand were present; those absent had requested leave. Qin Yuan sat in the last row of the audience, wearing a bamboo hat pulled low over his shoulders. No one recognized him.

The speaker was an old man with completely white hair, but not an old man of time. He was elected by the councilors, from a world that was neither too big nor too small, and known for its impartiality. He tapped his gavel; the sound was soft, but the entire council chamber fell silent.

"Issue number 347. Should funds be allocated to the relief group? Supporters speak."

The first to stand up was a representative from the Great World, dressed in a brocade robe, with a long beard, and a booming voice. "The aid mission has done what the parliament couldn't, and we support it. But without proper authorization, its words lack legitimacy. The aid mission doesn't belong to the parliament; allocating funds to it would violate the rules."

The second person to stand up was a representative from a small world, dressed in simple clothes, and speaking softly. "Are rules more important than people? The rescue team helped us; what's wrong with us repaying them?"

The argument began. Some said the rescue team was Qin Yuan's private army, while others said it was the only place in the myriad realms that actually did real work. Some slammed their fists on the table, while others smashed cups—the cups were new and wouldn't break; they bounced a few times on the ground and rolled to the corner.

The argument lasted for three days. On the fourth day, the speaker struck the gavel. "Vote."

1,132 votes were in favor of the appropriation, and 968 votes were against. The proposal passed. The Speaker struck the gavel again. "Additional condition: An oversight committee must be established to monitor the use of the funds."

In the last row of the audience section, Qin Yuan removed his straw hat and stood up. Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on his face. Someone recognized him, and the council chamber fell silent.

"An oversight committee is a good idea. But it shouldn't be made up of lawmakers. It should be made up of ordinary people from around the world who have been helped."

Silence. A long silence. The Speaker's gavel hung in mid-air, not falling. Then he brought it down.

"The proposal is approved."

The members of the oversight committee were selected from the worlds that had been rescued. Not elected, but nominated. Each world nominated one ordinary person—no cultivation, no official position, no special status. The Muddy World nominated Old Locust Tree. The Thirsty World nominated a woman whose child had been rescued by the rescue team. Other worlds nominated blacksmiths, farmers, fishermen, and weavers.