My Years as a Menace in the Sect

For the first three days after defeating Xu Baocai, Wei Pingan lived like a rat that had stolen oil.

He appeared listless and spoke less, spending his days squatting in the yard peeling angelica and drying poria cocos, head down and silent, looking as if he had suffered a great injustice.

His mind didn't stop for a moment, reviewing the battle that day, which of Xu Baochai's moves were fast and which were fake, which of his own attacks he blocked well and which almost exposed his weaknesses; touching the pot on his back, he muttered to himself, "I didn't even leave a mark after more than a dozen sword strikes, what is this iron lump just?"

It gets even more lively at night.

The night before, he had a nightmare in which Xu Baocai's sword slashed through a pot, its cold light heading straight for his neck. He was so frightened that he screamed and jumped out of bed, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

After a while, I quickly took the pot off my body and hugged it to my chest, feeling it again and again. Only when the cold metal pressed against my chest did I slowly feel at ease.

"You'd better hang in there," he muttered softly to the edge of the pot, his fingertips tracing the faint white marks. "If you crack, I'll be done for. From now on, I'll wipe the ash off you every day and grease you with every meal, okay?"

As he spoke, he actually found a soft cloth and carefully wiped the pot three times, even cleaning the dust from the crevices and grooves.

As I was wiping, I suddenly noticed that the lines next to the sword marks seemed to have turned slightly black, as if ink had seeped in.

"Hmm?" He leaned closer to the window and looked in the moonlight, but the more he looked, the more uneasy he felt. "Could it have swallowed the sword energy?"

I quickly turned the pot upside down to check it, and when I tapped it, it still made a dull sound, just like before.

"No way, a cast iron pot can absorb sword energy? Wouldn't that make it sentient?"

After scratching his head and pondering for a long time without figuring it out, he simply put the pot back on his back and lay back on the bed. "Whatever, as long as it can block swords, that's fine. It would be even better if it really became a spirit, then I'll let you fight on your own from now on."

The first thing I did when I woke up the next day was to touch the pot on my back; it was warm, like I was holding a small heater.

He was secretly delighted, feeling that the pot was truly magical and that he had found a powerful patron.

On the surface, he still pretends to be taciturn, but behind the scenes he goes about his business.

That day, while squatting next to the earthenware jar and rummaging through things, I casually touched the packet of ginseng rootlets at the bottom of the jar. The oil paper packet was hard and felt thinner than when I first brought it back.

On a whim, I took out my bag and opened it. I had secretly pulled out the two smallest ones and put them on the windowsill to dry in the sun, thinking that they would be easier to grind into powder after drying, saving me the trouble of waiting seven days to air dry. But I had forgotten about it these past two days because I was busy with the fight.

When I looked at it today, I noticed that the ginseng rootlets had become lighter in color, turning from dark red to grayish-brown, and the medicinal smell had dissipated to almost nothing.

"Oh no!" Wei Ping'an slapped his thigh, his face scrunched up like a bun. "Uncle Liu said we can't expose it to the sun! How could I forget!"

He clutched the two discarded ginseng roots, his heart aching with heartache. These were blood ginseng roots! Two precious items sifted from the waste pile had been wasted by him.

Just as he was squatting on the ground regretting his actions, Old Man Zheng came out of the house, glanced at him, and then at the ginseng rootlets in his hand: "Blood ginseng must be dried in the shade after peeling; if it's dried in the sun, it loses its potency. Don't use your little bit of cleverness on medicinal herbs."

Wei Ping'an blushed and, like a thief caught red-handed, quickly hid the ginseng rootlets behind his back: "I... I was just trying to see if I could dry them..."

"Did it fail?"

"...Hmm." He slumped his head, looking like a wilted eggplant.

"It's not completely unusable even if it's ruined," Old Zheng squatted down and poked at the licorice slices he had spread on the ground with his fingers. "Mix it with the licorice slices and seal it for three days. The licorice can bring back some of the gas, preserving at most 30%. For the rest, take the whole ginseng root to Uncle Liu and ask him to teach you the proper processing method."

Wei Ping'an's eyes lit up immediately: "Really? You can still save 30%?" Even 30% is still better than throwing it all away.

He quickly found a clean small earthenware jar, laid licorice at the bottom, poured ginseng powder in the middle, covered it with another layer of licorice, sealed it tightly, and even stuck a piece of paper with a crooked checkmark drawn on it on the mouth of the jar.

"Stay put and give me a surprise in three days." He muttered to the jar before carefully placing it in a cool, shady spot.

The remaining intact packet of ginseng was rewrapped in three layers of oiled paper and hidden in the earthenware jar, with two small stones placed at the bottom. He planned to go to Uncle Liu to process it on the first day of next month.

That afternoon, Zhou Yan came again, his gray robe neatly arranged, carrying a roll of something thicker than usual.

Wei Ping'an quickly handed over the organized book: "Senior Brother Zhou, the last record of the Sanhuang Powder has been organized. Please take a look."

Zhou Yan took the book and turned to the section on Sanhuang Powder, pausing with his fingertips: "This time it's written more clearly than last time."

"Last time, Uncle Zheng said my writing was too vague and made me rewrite it." Wei Ping'an smiled innocently, but he was secretly pleased with himself. He had revised the book three times and even figured out the punctuation. How could he not understand it?

Zhou Yan didn't say much, put the book into his sleeve, and then took out a roll from his bosom and threw it on the stone table. It was a few folded old papers with crumpled edges. When he unfolded it, there were pictures of herbal roots and stems on it, with the collection time, place of origin and processing method noted next to them.

"Make a copy of the old illustrated guide I found in the medicine storehouse and return it to me." Wei Ping'an's eyes lit up and he quickly took it. Angelica, Astragalus, Poria, Licorice, and one other ingredient, Adenophora, were ones he had never seen before.

As he flipped through the pile, he recognized the fine roots he hadn't been sure about when sorting through the waste materials a while back as ginseng. "Brother Zhou, is ginseng also a warming tonic?" he asked casually.

Zhou Yan glanced at him: "Adenophora stricta is used to treat qi deficiency, so it's often used by people with yin deficiency. Why are you asking about this?"

"I mixed in some thin whiskers while sorting scrap the other day. I wasn't sure what they were, but I found them in the encyclopedia."

After Zhou Yan left, he took the picture book back to his room, found a pen, and began to trace it stroke by stroke on a piece of paper. The drawing was crooked and looked like a radish, with the cross-section color painted in patches of dark and light. After finishing the drawing, he looked at it and became more and more disgusted with it. He still carefully wrote annotations on the side, folded it up, and pressed it on the corner of the table.

Two days later, Old Man Zheng opened the jar of licorice and ginseng powder. As soon as he lifted the seal, a faint sweet fragrance wafted out, much milder than the strong aroma of pure ginseng.

"Keep it. Turn it over every five days. If the color doesn't darken, keep it sealed." Wei Ping'an quickly picked it up and carefully placed it back in the deepest part of the cabinet.

Even if it only accounts for 30% of the drug's efficacy, the effects can be accumulated and used eventually.

A few days later, he began to seriously consider how to properly prepare the whole package of blood ginseng. He took out the booklet that Uncle Liu had given him and went through the steps in his mind again and again, waiting to find a day when Uncle Liu was free to visit him and ask for his advice.

Before he could go find Uncle Liu, he ran into something else.

That morning, he carried a sack to the scrap yard to scavenge discarded pill residue. Just as he turned the corner, he overheard two outer disciples chatting as they walked: "Are you signing up for the Pill Peak's miscellaneous tasks competition next month?"

"Breaking news! Winners get spirit stones and Qi-gathering powder, and the top three can even enter the pill storehouse to choose medicinal herbs! Why not take advantage of this?"

"You? You can't even hold your own at the first level of Qi Refining? You'll just get beaten up. I heard Xu Baochai has already signed up. He's been in seclusion recently, trying to break through to the second level. He's definitely going to take first place."

"Tch, even if we can't get first place, third place is better than nothing..."

The sound gradually faded into the distance.

Wei Ping'an, who was squatting by the wall, forgot to pick up the sack in his hand, and his eyes lit up instantly.

Spirit stones are undoubtedly a hard currency, and Qi Gathering Powder is an even better product, ten times stronger than the waste pill powder he made himself. Going into the pill warehouse to pick out medicinal herbs... those are genuine good medicinal herbs, not scraps picked from the waste pile!

But his excitement lasted only three seconds before he wilted again. Fighting on stage is too dangerous. Xu Baochai has already signed up and has been training for several years, while he has only been training for a short time. Last time he fought Xu Baochai one-on-one, he was almost killed. There are many more experts in the small competition, and there might even be some at the third level of Qi Refining.

Squatting against the wall, he was torn between two conflicting thoughts: on one hand, there were the gleaming spirit stones and fine medicinal herbs, and on the other, the risk of being beaten black and blue. Greed and fear of death were battling fiercely in his mind.

He gritted his teeth and said fiercely, "No, I can't back down. Fortune favors the bold! As long as I have the pot, at least I won't be killed. If I lose, I can just admit defeat; it's not shameful." Having figured it out, he quickly picked up the sack and turned to find Old Man Zheng to ask about registration.

Old Zheng was flipping through a booklet in the room when he heard him stammering out his words without even looking up: "The Danfeng miscellaneous servant competition is held every year, and you can also apply through the medicine testing hall. If you win, you get something; if you lose, you're bedridden for a month. Think it through before you talk to me."

"I've thought it through!" Wei Ping'an straightened his back. "I'm going!" Anyway, if he loses, he won't lose any spirit stones; at most, he'll get a beating. If he wins, he'll make a fortune. This deal is worthwhile.

Old Zheng then looked up at him and said, "Your dantian qi is strong enough, but you don't know how to use it. Fighting isn't just about taking a beating; you have to know how to channel your qi to the blade. Right now, your qi is stuck in your flesh and can't come out. If you encounter someone who really knows how to fight, you'll still suffer."

After returning home, he flipped to the second half of the Qi Induction Manual: "The Qi Induction Technique has three levels. The Qi can circulate throughout the body and extend outwards by about a foot. It is a rudimentary form of self-defense that uses Qi to control objects."

"Release it about a foot outwards..." He stroked his chin, pondering, "Am I just one step away from being able to release it outwards now that I'm at the peak of the second level?"

That night, I sat cross-legged on the bed and tried to guide the Qi to my palms. The Qi went down my arm and into my palms, but it was blocked by a membrane. It stopped at the surface of my skin, and my palms swelled up and became hot, but I couldn't get the Qi out.

I tried it more than ten times, but the result was the same every time. I was so anxious that I scratched my head and tried blowing air into my palm and shaking my hand, but nothing worked.

"What happened? Is it clogged?" he muttered, patting the pot on his back. "You should at least help me out. You're always so eager to conserve the medicine, but you let me down at this crucial moment?"

The pot remained completely still without any reaction.

The next day, he tried again facing the candle. He sat cross-legged opposite the candle, held his breath in his palms until his face turned red, but the flame didn't even flicker.

Just as he was feeling down, Old Man Zheng called him over. He stood with his hands behind his back at the entrance of the woodshed, where a pile of dark ironwood, as black as iron blocks, was stacked inside.

"Starting today, chop wood every day. While chopping, use your spiritual energy to power your arms until you can't lift them anymore."

Wei Ping'an stared wide-eyed at the pile of ebony. "Why is Uncle-Master chopping this?"

"Your dantian is too full and your meridians are too narrow. The qi gets blocked in your palms because the meridians in your hands haven't been opened up. After chopping for a month, the meridians will open up and the qi will naturally be able to go out." He complained in his heart but didn't dare to slow down with his hands. He picked up the axe, gathered his qi, and chopped down on the black ironwood. With a dull thud, the axe bounced back, leaving only a white mark on the wood.

"Damn, it's so hard!" He shook his hand, wincing in pain.

Old Zheng glanced at it, then turned and left.

On the first day, I chopped for half an hour and only managed to break two small pieces. My palms were blistered and my arms ached so much I couldn't lift them.

When he got back to his room that night, he rubbed his arm against the pot until he was grimacing, but the pot was still warm against his back as if comforting him.

He sighed, buried his face in his knees to rest for a while, then sat up straight again: "No, I can't complain! Once I finish chopping wood, my meridians will open and I'll be able to release my Qi. Then I can win spirit stones in the small competition! Come on, Wei Ping'an, you can do it!" He encouraged himself and gritted his teeth to practice breathing exercises for half an hour before lying down.

I chopped like that for three days. The blisters on my hands burst and calluses formed. My arms went from being unable to lift them to being able to chop more than a dozen times in one go. The marks on the ebony wood also changed from white marks to shallow grooves.

On the sixth day, as the setting sun slanted into the woodshed, he took a deep breath, letting the energy from his dantian flow down his arm. It was much smoother than before when he passed his wrist. Gathering his strength, he swung the axe down hard. Crack! The crisp sound was completely different from the muffled thuds of before. The entire piece of ebony wood split neatly in two along the grain, the cut surface smooth and flat as if it had been measured with a ruler.

He stood there dumbfounded for a while, holding the axe, before he finally reacted: "It's...it's done?!" He threw down the axe, picked up the two halves of the wood, and examined them from all angles. The cut surfaces were neat and clean; it really had been split open! A little bit of the energy from that last strike had flowed out along the axe blade. Although it wasn't much, it had definitely been released outwards!

He was so excited that he jumped up and down twice, almost hitting the roof beam. His arms and hands no longer ached, and he felt full of energy.

Once I've mastered the skill of condensing my inner energy onto my sword, I won't have to rely solely on the pot to block Xu Baochai's attacks anymore.

That evening, I tried to channel my energy to my fingertips. My fingertips felt slightly warm and a very faint energy emanated from them. Although it dissipated with a breath, it was indeed being released. I tested it by sweeping the energy across the candle flame, and the flame flickered three times.

Just as he was feeling smug, he heard familiar footsteps outside the courtyard gate. He got up and went out to see that narrow-faced, scarred-chinned man again, arms crossed and looking arrogant: "Wei Ping'an, Brother Xu asked me to pass on a message. He knows you signed up for the mini-competition and wants you to practice hard. He won't go easy on you. Don't be too embarrassed to come off the stage after just three moves."

Wei Ping'an, who had just unlocked a new skill and was in high spirits, stiffened his neck upon hearing this: "Go back and tell your brother Xu to practice hard so he doesn't lose to me and make me look bad."

The man with the narrow face and scarred chin scoffed, clearly not believing it, and left after saying that being stubborn was useless and that they would meet again on the stage.

After everyone had walked away, Wei Ping'an hissed and shook his still a little sore arm.

I went back and took out that bag of blood ginseng again. I originally wanted to wait until it was fully processed before using it, but now it seems I have to take a little bit first to help me pass the level. Otherwise, if I haven't reached the third level by the time the competition starts, I'll really get beaten up.

Go find Old Man Zheng and ask if the blood ginseng rootlets can be swallowed directly. Old Man Zheng was drinking porridge and put down his bowl: "Yes. But you don't know the difference; swallowing too much will cause nosebleeds, and swallowing too little is useless. Pinch off a piece about the size of your little fingernail, grind it up, mix it with water, and drink it. After drinking, watch your reaction; if anything seems wrong, speak up quickly."

That evening, I carefully pinched off a tiny bit of the raw ginseng root, smaller than my little fingernail, ground it into powder, mixed it with half a bowl of warm water, and drank it in small sips. I sat cross-legged, concentrating intently on the movements inside my body.

After waiting for half an hour, the Qi in my Dantian gradually increased a little. It wasn't a sudden surge, but rather a gentle push from behind, warm and comfortable, without any discomfort, nosebleed, or dizziness.

I opened my eyes, picked up the book, and wrote it down stroke by stroke: Blood ginseng root, half a fingernail's worth of water, taken orally, the qi circulation was slightly faster and there were no unusual sensations.

I didn't dare eat too much, taking it only every two days and reducing the dosage each time.

A few days later, Uncle Liu came to visit in person, carrying a small cloth bag. He put it on the stone table, making a soft rustling sound.

"This is the starter for processing blood ginseng rootlets," Uncle Liu said, opening the cloth bag. Inside was a grayish-brown powder that smelled a bit pungent. "Mix it with the blood ginseng rootlets, seal it, and let it air dry for three days. Otherwise, it will lose its aroma after processing and end up like that pile you ruined in the sun." Wei An'an quickly went over to smell it and sneezed.

"The ratio is 10 parts ginseng root to 1 part powder. Don't add too much, or the medicinal properties will become mixed." They started preparing it that day, found a clean earthenware jar, mixed the ingredients according to the ratio, spread them evenly, sealed the mouth of the jar, and attached a piece of paper with the date and ratio written on it.

There were no changes for the first two days, but on the morning of the fourth day, when I opened the jar, a different smell wafted out. The powder seemed a bit damp and darker in color, and the surface of a few ginseng roots had a very thin layer of oily sheen.

On the seventh day, when I opened it again, the color had changed from dark red to deep purplish-red and shiny. I took it out and laid it flat on the windowsill to dry in the shade, avoiding the sunlight. I turned it over every half day. When I turned it over, the ginseng rootlets felt soft to the touch.

By the ninth day, it was completely air-dried. I picked one up and brought it to my nose to smell it. It didn't have the pungent smell of raw ginseng; instead, it had a calm and sweet fragrance. When I broke off a small section, the cross-section showed a uniform, deep purple texture with fine lines.

He hurried to find Old Man Zheng to take a look. He pinched a small piece, rubbed it, and smelled it: "It's been processed well and can be used." After returning, he put the processed blood ginseng root into a special small earthenware jar, sealed it tightly with cloth, attached a new label, and put it in the innermost layer of the cabinet.

That night, while practicing martial arts, I took a piece the size of a fingernail, crushed it, mixed it with water, and drank it to see how much difference there was between the processed and the raw form.

Half an hour later, the medicinal effects slowly spread, and the gentle yet powerful force pushed the Qi in the Dantian into the depths of the meridians, gradually opening up the tiny meridians that Qi could not reach before, causing a tingling and numb sensation.

The barrier at the third level of Qi Induction is like a half-open door at the narrowest point of the meridians. It couldn't be pushed open before, but now it's being slowly opened by the medicinal power. There's no rush to force it; it's just being gently nurtured like this.

He practiced his skills, tested medicines, and chopped firewood every day, taking a little bit of ginseng every two days. The Qi in his Dantian became more and more condensed, his meridians became wider and wider, and the Qi in his palms also became more and more condensed.

As the day drew closer to the competition, every night I would mutter to the pot, "Old buddy, you're about to step into the ring, you better put in the effort and don't let me down at the crucial moment. If you win, I'll rub you with oil ten times, if you lose... I won't blame you, you can just lie in bed for a few days."

That night, he meditated as usual, and after taking a small amount of ginseng root extract, the medicinal effects were absorbed and his qi flowed exceptionally smoothly.

After completing the three circles, a sudden buzzing sound came from the dantian. The barrier that had been stuck for so long seemed to have been softened by warm water and opened up with a gentle push. A huge flow of air surged through the gap and connected the last section of the meridian.

A jolt ran through my body, and the pot on my back felt slightly hot. A warm sensation spread along my spine, easing the swelling and pain from the rushing energy. I calmed my mind and guided my Qi to slowly complete a full cycle along the newly opened meridians.

The Qi flows freely throughout the body, and the three levels of Qi guidance are complete.

Slowly opening his eyes and exhaling a breath of stale air, he felt refreshed and clear-headed. The rustling of leaves in the wind, the chirping of crickets in the corner, and even the voices of the Danfeng disciples in the distance could be clearly heard.

"Your spiritual sense has increased too?" He touched his ear in surprise.

Just as they were enjoying themselves, they suddenly heard two people talking outside the courtyard wall. It was Old Man Zheng and Uncle Liu walking slowly along the path. Their voices were not loud, and they would never have been able to hear them before, but now they could be heard clearly.

"This kid is improving quickly. His blood ginseng preparation is quite professional, it's got some of his ancestors' skills."

"Yes, that pot is starting to awaken too. The ancient medicine-melting inscription wasn't passed down in vain."

"It's time to stir things up in Danfeng, this stagnant pool. I'm just worried about Steward Sun..."

"He can't cause any trouble. Let him run wild for now, we'll talk about the small competition later." The footsteps gradually faded into the distance.

Wei Ping'an stood in the room, stunned, for a long time. Ancestors? What did his ancestors do? What did it mean that the pot had woken up? What was the origin of the ancient medicinal pattern? What was Steward Sun's connection to this? He was full of questions, but no one could answer them for him.

He walked to the window and watched the two figures walk away, then looked down and touched the pot on his back. The iron pot was cold and its patterns were deep, as if it held countless secrets. He had only known before that this pot could store medicinal power and block swords, but now he realized that the pot's origins were much greater than he had imagined, and even its ancestors seemed to have been more than just ordinary farmers.