My Years as a Menace in the Sect

After delivering his harsh words, the messenger led his men away, their footsteps clattering on the bluestone road, clearly intentional.

Wei Ping'an stood at the gate of the courtyard, his hands behind his back, his back straight, his face showing three parts disdain and seven parts composure, looking like a person who had seen the world.

Once the two people had completely disappeared around the corner, the smile on his lips vanished. He suddenly shrank back, let out a "yelp," and shook his clenched fist, which had been so tightly gripped that his fingernails had dug four white marks into his palm.

"Wow, he's got quite the presence." He leaned against the doorframe, glanced over the courtyard wall to make sure the person was really gone, then turned and crept under the old locust tree. "Xu Baocai, right? Doesn't sound like a good person."

It would be a lie to say he wasn't afraid. The other side had a large number of people and were senior members of the outer sect. He was just a handyman who had only been a disciple for half a month. If they really rushed in, cornered him in the courtyard, and beat him up, he would most likely be lying flat on his back.

But then he realized, fear or cowardice aside, who would dare steal his things? No way. Although the medicinal cuisine room was also a menial job, at least he could get some spirit rice porridge, and the work was easier than in the medicine testing hall, with countless eyes watching.

He didn't take it too seriously at first, but since they were blocking his door and making threats, if he backed down, how would he survive in Danfeng?

He dashed into his room, pulled a small cloth bag from under the bed, and laid out a row of bottles and jars. There were fine powders from Qingfeng San, dried and ground gall bladder powder, laxative powder, and more than a dozen other kinds, all of which he had secretly collected while testing medicines these past few days.

He squatted down and stuffed the items into his pocket one by one: the eye-blinding medicine into his left pocket, the laxative powder into his right pocket, and the chili powder, which he had smuggled from the kitchen, into his pocket as well. Finally, he took them out and wrapped them in oil paper again.

"No, no, if I leave it outside and it gets leaked and I get blinded first, that would be a huge loss." He muttered to himself as he wrapped it up tightly, even bringing it to his nose to smell it to make sure there was no odor before stuffing it into a hidden pocket inside his body. A person who values ​​their life must be thorough in their actions; harming others is acceptable, but harming oneself is not.

He took the pot off and inspected it. The rim was intact, the iron sheet was thick, and it made a dull, resonant sound when tapped. "It'll all be up to you then," he said solemnly, patting the pot. "You'd better hold on, don't let it explode. If it explodes, we're both done for." He chuckled to himself after saying that; a cast iron pot couldn't just explode like that.

Just as they were having a good time, Old Zheng's footsteps came from outside the courtyard. Wei Ping'an hurriedly stuffed the medicine powder under the mattress, grabbed a handful of angelica root from the side, squatted down and pretended to peel the roots, his movements were smooth and effortless.

Old Zheng walked in, glanced at him, and paused for a moment before speaking: "Has someone been here just now?"

Wei Ping'an's heart tightened, but his face remained unchanged: "Ah, a messenger came and said something about Xu Baocai's people, and told me to be careful."

"What did you say?"

"What else can we say but threaten them, saying the location of the medicinal cuisine kitchen isn't mine?"

He scoffed, "Let him say what he wants, it's not like I'm going to lose anything."

Old Zheng squatted down, poked at the angelica root he had spread on the ground with his finger, and looked up at him: "You think you can beat him?"

Wei Ping'an honestly shook his head: "I don't know, I've never fought one. I don't even know how to use a sword, I just swing it around randomly."

Old Zheng didn't reply. He stood up, took two steps towards the kitchen, then stopped. "Starting today, every morning you'll move the medicinal herbs from the front yard to the back yard, and then back again. No spiritual energy allowed, just your legs. Keep moving them until sunset."

Wei Ping'an looked up abruptly, completely bewildered: "Huh? Uncle-Master, why? I haven't finished testing the medicine yet."

"His lower body is too weak, he can't even stand up straight, and he'll be kicked away in the first move if a fight breaks out."

Old Zheng spoke in a flat tone, as if he were just saying the weather was bad, "Move for a month, and you'll be able to take on at least three more attacks. If you don't want to move, that's fine too, but if you get thrown out of the mountain gate, don't say you're from my Medicine Testing Hall." With that, he walked away with his hands behind his back.

Wei Ping'an squatted on the spot, his lips twitching. Moving medicinal herbs for a month? Moving them back and forth between the front and back yards? Isn't this just torturing people?

But he really didn't dare disobey. Old Man Zheng was indeed indifferent, but if he were kicked out, where would he find such a good job? Besides, the old man was right; his lower body was indeed weak. Last time he fought someone, he almost twisted his ankle just by dodging.

"I'll move it!" He gritted his teeth and stood up. "Consider it exercise! Saving my life is more important than anything else!"

That's what they said, but actually carrying it almost killed him. The sack of astragalus was half a person's height and incredibly heavy. The pot on his back pressed against the sack, making his shoulder blades ache.

It looks like only a few steps from the backyard to the frontyard, but after one trip, I had to lean against the wall and pant for ages. After one, two, three trips, by the fifth trip, my legs started shaking, sweat dripped down my chin, and my clothes were so wet I could wring water out of them.

Old Zheng sat under the old locust tree, flipping through a book without even looking up, like a revered Buddha. "Continue. The sun will set long ago."

He was suffering inside, wanting to rest but daring not to, so he could only grit his teeth and keep moving. He encouraged himself: one more trip means one more day to live, two trips mean one more challenge, three trips... three trips mean one more bowl of rice to eat at night.

I kept hypnotizing myself like this, moving from dawn to noon, and then from noon to sunset. By the twentieth or so turn, my legs were shaking like leaves, my feet were unsteady and I had to hold onto the wall to stand, my vision was getting a little blurry, and just as I was swaying, my legs gave way and I almost fell over.

"Uncle-Master...can I rest for a while? Just for the time it takes for an incense stick to burn..." His voice was hoarse.

Old Zheng glanced at him and said, "You can rest, but you'll make up for the 20 fewer trips today by making 10 less today."

Wei Ping'an almost choked on his breath. Taking a break means another ten trips; only a fool would rest! Gritting his teeth, he straightened his back, hoisted the sack onto his shoulder, and kept going. At worst, he'd faint from exhaustion; if he fainted, he wouldn't have to carry anything.

They carried the sacks until it was completely dark. When they finally put down the last sack, their legs gave way and they collapsed onto the kitchen doorstep. The cold metal of the pot on their backs finally cooled their backs, which had been burning hot all day.

Old Zheng walked over and placed half a bowl of warm water at his feet. Without saying a word, he turned and left. It took him a long time to pick up the bowl and drink it slowly. The warm water slid down his throat and felt incredibly soothing, making him feel much better.

"Don't be late for the front courtyard at Chenshi (7-9 AM) tomorrow." The old man's voice drifted over from afar.

The next day, he arrived at the front yard half an hour earlier than the day before. The fog was still so thick that he couldn't see anyone more than three steps away. He took a quick breather while Old Man Zheng wasn't around, carried the load three times and rested for half an hour at a time, carefully slacking off.

He was resting when he heard footsteps behind him. Startled, he picked up the sack and started walking forward, moving faster than someone who had been exhausted all night.

"Stop pretending," Old Zheng's voice sounded from behind, calm yet knowing. "Increase the quantity by 20% today."

Wei Ping'an's face turned green, but he stubbornly kept moving the sacks. Surprisingly, after a day of moving them, he found it much easier. His legs were still sore, but at least they weren't shaking anymore, and he wasn't swaying as he carried the sacks.

After moving things for seven or eight days, he visibly became stronger. His originally thin shoulders broadened a bit, and his legs gained strength. He could carry half a sack of medicinal herbs for half an incense stick's time without getting out of breath. That afternoon, Zhou Yan arrived, dressed in a gray robe with a gleaming token at his waist. As he entered the courtyard, he saw him carrying the sack out of the backyard and frowned slightly.

"Your lower body is too weak," he said, turning to leave. After a couple of steps, he stopped and tossed a small package over. "Bupleurum root. Identify the year. If you get it right, I'll bring you something better next time."

Wei Ping'an took the paper package and opened it to find several dried Bupleurum roots of varying thicknesses and lengths. He looked up to thank Zhou Yan, but Zhou Yan had already walked away. "That guy, he seems cold-hearted but he's actually quite nice," he muttered to himself as he carefully put away the Bupleurum roots. Just as he picked up the sack, he remembered Zhou Yan's words, "Your lower body is too weak," and he put even more effort into carrying it.

Two days later, Zhou Yan returned for the fifth time. He didn't bring any records or medicinal herbs. Instead, he carried a fist-sized black stone with a pitted surface and several light gray stripes. He placed it on the stone table with a thud.

"I picked this up while gathering herbs. It's golden inside when I crack it open. Can you help me see what it is?" Wei Ping'an picked it up and examined it for a long time. The stone was lighter than it looked, and there were fine pores on the surface. He couldn't scratch it with his fingernail. He shook it, but there was no sound. He smelled it, but there was no odor.

"Senior Brother Zhou, I only recognize medicinal herbs; I really don't know anything about stones."

He confessed honestly, "Take it back, grind it into powder, and smell it," Zhou Yan said. "Tell me the results." Then he left.

In the evening, he squatted in the corner scraping stones. The dusty powder he scraped off smelled terrible when he brought it to his nose. Old Zheng passed by, glanced at the powder in the oil paper, and casually said, "Just throw away the ordinary iron ore." He then tossed it into the corner.

When Zhou Yan came again, he told him the truth. Zhou Yan wasn't surprised and just nodded, "I understand."

He paused and added, "Those with a smell are easy to recognize, but those without a smell are the real problem." Wei Ping'an kept this in mind.

Life went on. While he was picking up the medicinal herbs, he deliberately went to find Uncle Liu. Uncle Liu took out an old booklet and told him to copy it himself. The booklet contained seven methods for removing the fishy smell, with the blood ginseng root listed last.

He squatted at the entrance of the medicine storehouse for half a day, copying the papers, then walked back with the papers in his pocket. He studied the papers for a long time, then only picked out the two smallest ones and placed them on the windowsill in the shade, turning them over only once every half day, treating them with the utmost care, as if they were his ancestors.

As Wei Ping'an was muttering to himself while looking at the ginseng rootlets, he heard footsteps outside the courtyard gate. The sound was more chaotic than usual, indicating that there were more than one person. Wei Ping'an's heart tightened, and he put down the ginseng rootlets and went outside.

The courtyard gate was pushed open, and a young man dressed in white, with a long sword at his waist, walked in first. A piece of white jade dangled from the dark brown scabbard, swaying gently as he moved. The man was handsome, with a hint of arrogance in his brows, and his slightly raised chin and condescending gaze swept over the crowd.

No need to ask, this is Xu Baochai. He was followed by three people, including the one with the narrow face.

The courtyard suddenly became crowded.

Wei Ping'an stood on the steps, took half a step back, and quietly placed his hand on the edge of the pot behind him.

He smiled and said, "This must be Senior Brother Xu? What a rare guest! What brings you to our shabby place?"

Xu Baochai stood in the middle of the courtyard and looked him up and down: "Wei Ping'an, I won't beat around the bush with you. You can't hold onto the position in the medicinal cuisine room."

"Oh? How come you can't hold onto it? It's not like I snatched it from the sect."

Xu Baocai scoffed: "When did it become your place as a novice country bumpkin to pick and choose among the menial jobs at Danfeng? If you know what's good for you, just volunteer to go to the mine. I won't make things difficult for you."

Wei Ping'an's smile faded. He didn't respond, but instead said slowly, "Senior Brother Xu, we're all just sect servants, none of us are more noble than one another. If you want me to leave, fine, but show me some real skills. Anyone can talk the talk, right?"

Xu Baochai's eyes flashed sharply: "You want to fight me?" "It's not that I want to, it's that Senior Brother Xu forced me to."

Wei Pingan shrugged. "You can't just tell me to leave and I'll just leave, can you? That would be too embarrassing for me."

Xu Baochai stared at him for a couple of moments, then suddenly laughed: "Good, you've got guts. The day after tomorrow morning, in the open space behind the medicinal cuisine room. Come and have a match. If you lose, you'll have to report to the mine yourself. If I lose, the medicinal cuisine room will be yours, and I'll never bother you again."

Wei Ping'an quickly did the math in his head. He had two days to prepare, and he knew the location well, so it would be convenient for him to make a run for it.

The stakes are fair; losing means going to the mine, which is better than being blocked at the door every day.

"Okay," he nodded, "I'll go the day after tomorrow morning."

Xu Baocai was taken aback by his quick agreement and then sneered, "You've got guts. Don't be late the day after tomorrow." He turned and took two steps, then stopped and glanced back at the pot on his back. "If you're scared, it's not too late to admit defeat now, so you don't embarrass yourself on stage later."

Wei Ping'an chuckled, "It's still uncertain who will lose face. Senior Brother Xu, you'd better be careful not to strain your back." Xu Baocai snorted and strode away.

The courtyard fell silent again, and Wei Ping'an's smile vanished instantly. His legs went weak, and he had to hold onto the door frame to steady himself. His palms were sweaty.

He didn't leave the house for the next day and a half. He dared not stop moving the medicinal herbs, as Old Man Zheng was watching him, and every extra minute of practice counted. He also increased the time he spent meditating and practicing his qi at night, and the qi in his dantian became more and more condensed.

The powder was repackaged into two smaller packets: one for irritating the eyes, one for choking, and one for causing tears. These were hidden in different pockets, and the action of repeatedly retrieving the powder was practiced until the powder could be accurately retrieved even with the eyes closed.

He also took out the short sword and tried to sharpen it. The one provided by the medicine testing hall was so thin that the edge was curled. He tried to sharpen it for a long time but couldn't get it to be very sharp. He sighed and gave up.

"With your physique, it would break if you went up there," he poked the blade. "At crucial moments, you'll have to rely on my pot." He took the pot off, wiped it shiny with a cloth, and then found two soft cloths to pad the straps. He even swung it a couple of times; it felt heavy and easy to handle.

He woke up before dawn on the appointed day. He put on a clean, short-sleeved shirt, strapped the pot securely to his back, carefully packed the medicine powder, and tucked the short sword into his waistband. He looked at his reflection in the water vat. Hmm, a spirited young man, except his face was a bit pale, which startled him.

He had passed by the open space behind the medicinal cuisine kitchen twice before; it was an abandoned herb-grinding yard, the ground compacted and surrounded by weeds. The sky was still dark and foggy, but as soon as he approached, he heard voices inside; the other person had arrived earlier.

Xu Baochai held his longsword, half-drawn from its sheath, with his henchmen and two onlookers standing beside him. When they saw Wei Ping'an approaching, their gazes swept over him.

The narrow-faced man scoffed, "You actually dared to come? I thought you'd run away long ago." Wei Ping'an ignored him and walked to the edge of the open space, stopping to stand. "I'm here. Let's begin."

Xu Baochai sized him up, noticing the broken short sword at his waist and the black pot on his back, and frowned: "You're going to fight me with this sword?"

"What else? I'll only play this one."

Xu Baocai reduced his strength slightly: "I'll give you three moves. So you won't say I'm bullying a newbie."

Wei Ping'an's eyes lit up: "Really? You mean it?" He drew his sword and charged forward, sweeping it horizontally, but Xu Baocai easily dodged it. The second sword slashed down vertically, but it was also dodged. The third sword thrust forward, but the tip of the sword didn't even touch the hem of Xu Baocai's clothes.

After three moves, Xu Baochai stood motionless in place: "My turn."

The sword tip cut through the wind. Wei Ping'an couldn't dodge; his opponent was too fast. Instinctively, he arched his back, the surface of the pot colliding with the sword tip—clang! Sparks flew everywhere.

The longsword struck the edge of the black iron pot solidly, causing him to stagger forward half a step and feel a numbness in his back, but he was not injured. Xu Baochai, however, was pushed back a step by the recoil, his wrist numb, and he looked down to see a white mark on the blade. The onlookers were stunned.

"All you do is hide behind the pot?"

Wei Ping'an straightened up and chuckled: "As long as it can block, that's fine. When it comes to fighting, as long as you win, who cares what they use?"

Xu Baochai's face darkened as he attacked again, his sword flashing, each move faster than the last. Wei Ping'an had only one method: if he couldn't dodge, he would use the pot to block.

The clanging and banging sounds continued, and sparks flew everywhere. He was so shaken that his hands went numb and his arms were almost too heavy to lift, but he gritted his teeth and persevered.

After a dozen or so moves, Xu Baocai's sword speed slowed down. He looked at the undamaged black pot with a complicated expression, panting. He couldn't cut the pot, and if he kept cutting, his sword would be ruined.

The two faced off, neither making the first move. The onlookers also fell silent. In the end, Xu Baochai was the first to sheathe his sword.

"You win."

Wei Ping'an was taken aback: "Huh? You won?"

"I can't cut that pot of yours. Weapons can't break your defense, so continuing to fight is a waste of energy. I lose, the medicinal kitchen is yours." He paused, "Don't always rely on the pot in the future. I've seen you move things much more steadily than before. Practice your moves a bit more, and you can withstand ten of my moves without the pot." After saying that, he turned and left decisively.

Everyone had left, leaving only Wei Ping'an in the open space. He squatted down with a thud, hands on his knees, panting heavily. Blood dripped from his hands and fingers, and his arms trembled like a leaf. It took him a long time to slowly stand up, pick up his short sword and sheath it. He touched the edge of the pot and found several white marks, but thankfully it wasn't cracked.

When Wei Ping'an returned to the drug testing hall, Old Man Zheng was already there. Seeing him come in, he glanced at the wound on his hand and then at the pot: "You won?" Wei Ping'an straightened his back, a little smug: "I won! Xu Baocai admitted defeat himself."

Old Zheng, expressionless, said, "Add ten more batches of herbs today."

Wei Ping'an's smile froze: "Huh?! More? I'm already injured!"

"It's a hand injury, not a leg injury. You're not allowed to eat until you finish moving everything." The old man turned and went inside.

He squatted down with a mournful expression and hoisted the sack onto his shoulder, but his steps were steadyer than before. No one saw a faint warmth flash across the lines of the pot's rim.

The dozen or so sword energies he had just received transformed into a barely perceptible warmth, slowly seeping into the depths of his meridians.