My Portable Spirit Farm: Rise of the Humble Servant

Zzzzt!

A faint, almost transparent milky-white halo materialized over the Taiyi Sect disciple’s skin without warning.

Clang!

Bai Yue’s sword strike, sharp enough to decapitate a Qi Condensation Great Perfection cultivator, slammed into the halo. It felt like stabbing into viscous glue. The blade stopped dead, inching forward not a hairsbreadth.

The halo rippled softly, dissolving the kinetic force of the blow instantly.

The Taiyi Sect disciple flinched, eyes wide in terror, before realizing he was unharmed. A moment later, ecstasy replaced the fear. He puffed out his chest, his lewd grin widening into a grotesque mask of provocation.

“Haha! The restriction protects us! She can’t hurt us!”

He took a step forward, thrusting his pelvis out. “Little bitch, quite the temper! Go on, stab me again! Grandpa is standing right here. If you make me comfortable, maybe I’ll—”

“Tsk, tsk. As expected of the Qingyun Sect’s ‘Fairy of the Cold Moon.’ That figure… those curves…” Another voice chimed in from the side, dripping with malice. “Truly a top-tier beauty.”

“Torn clothes are better. It’s hot out here; let the boys cool off!” A third man jeered, his eyes roving over her exposed skin. “One of the four great beauties of the Yunli Kingdom… I never thought I’d feast my eyes like this today!”

“Don’t cover it up! Let us see! Hey, don’t you have a younger sister? Why don’t you bring her over to play with Grandpa sometime?”

Filthy words poured over her like venom.

Seeing the impregnable protection of the restriction, the other cultivators abandoned their last shreds of decency. Their gazes turned brazen, stripping her bare with their eyes. Some even stepped closer, leaning in to get a better look at the pale skin beneath her torn robes.

The darkness of human nature was unleashed in its purest form.

No one stepped forward to help. The few female cultivators present stood on the periphery, watching with cold indifference or veiled amusement, treating it as a spectacle.

Bai Yue’s hand trembled on the hilt of her sword.

Her body shook, rage boiling in her veins. Beneath the silver mask, her teeth bit into her lower lip until a thin line of crimson blood trickled down.

In her clear, cold eyes, flames of fury erupted—but beneath the anger lay a crushing sense of humiliation and helplessness.

She could slay powerful enemies. She could cut down beasts. But she could not silence these filthy mouths or block these violating stares.

She was a noble True Disciple, a proud genius. Now, she felt like a prisoner stripped naked for a public execution.

Tears welled up, unbidden and uncontrollable, sliding silently down her cheeks behind the cold silver mask.

She stood rigid, clutching her sword, a jade sculpture isolated in a storm of filth.

Suddenly, the crowd parted.

A figure walked steadily toward her.

It was Chen Ping.

His robes were stained with dried blood and dust, but they were intact. He walked with a calm, rhythmic pace, not even glancing at the lecherous cultivators surrounding her, as if they were nothing more than stones by the roadside.

He stopped in front of her. Without a word, he stripped off his outer robe—a standard, coarse cyan robe of an Outer Disciple, stained with the grime of battle.

He held it out.

The robe carried his body heat and the metallic scent of blood. It was not fragrant, nor was it refined.

“Put it on,” he said.

His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. He wasn’t angry, nor was he pitying. He spoke as if commenting on the weather.

Bai Yue jerked her head up. Through the eye slits of her mask, she looked at the man offering the clothes.

When she saw that face—smudged with dirt but possessing eyes as calm as a deep pool—her body shook violently.

It was him.

The Outer Disciple she had dismissed as having poor aptitude. The fool who didn’t know the immensity of heaven and earth.

The junior brother she had refused to protect, leaving him with the cold advice: “Each has their own fate.”

The Qi Condensation Level 3 trash she had laughed at internally.

A tsunami of shame crashed over her, drowning her instantly.

This shame was more agonizing than the lewd stares of the crowd. It was the shame of her own arrogance, her own blindness. She felt her cheeks burning hot beneath the mask. She didn’t dare to reach out. She didn’t dare to meet his gaze.

Chen Ping did not urge her. He did not withdraw his hand. He simply held the blood-stained robe there, waiting.

Bai Yue took a ragged breath, forcibly suppressing her chaotic emotions. With a trembling hand, she snatched the robe and wrapped it tightly around herself.

The oversized men’s robe covered her completely, shielding her from the prying eyes and the cold air.

She lowered her head, her voice barely a whisper.

“…Thank you.”

Chen Ping gave a slight nod. He didn’t respond. He turned around and walked to the edge of the platform, finding a relatively clean spot to sit cross-legged. He closed his eyes and began to regulate his breathing.

To him, this was nothing more than lifting a hand. The ugliness of these cultivators disgusted him, nothing more. He wanted quiet.

The obscene jeering paused briefly when Chen Ping intervened. A few disdainful sneers and whispers followed, but the brazen energy had been broken.

Bai Yue tightened the cyan robe around her body. The residual warmth gave her a strange sense of grounding. Her heart was a mess of conflicting emotions.

She walked silently to a spot not far from Chen Ping and sat down. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her Dao heart.

For the first time, she profoundly understood that the nobility of one’s character had nothing to do with the height of their cultivation.

A moment later.

Rumble…

A deep, dull thunder rolled from the edge of the abyss beyond the platform.

The cultivators scrambled to their feet, looking toward the sound.

The thick mist at the edge of the abyss churned violently. A massive staircase made of ancient bluestone, dozens of feet wide, slowly extended out of the void like a waking dragon.

Step by step, it rose, climbing upward into the cloud-shrouded mountain above, its end lost in the heavens.

The Mountain Climbing Ladder!

Its appearance announced the next trial without words.

Everyone understood. This was the path to the peak.

Yet, silence reigned. No one dared to take the first step. The pressure radiating from the stairs was palpable even from here.

Bai Yue took a deep breath, her eyes regaining their icy clarity.

People like her—True Disciples of powerful clans—did not enter this Secret Realm for Foundation Establishment Pills.

Foundation Establishment was trivial for her. With the power of the Bai family and her standing in the Qingyun Sect, she could obtain pills easily. She would never risk her life in a meat grinder for something so basic.

She was here for the opportunity at the summit. The biggest secret of the Distant Spirit Realm.

Legend had it that this realm had existed for ten thousand years. Countless cultivators had harvested herbs and found minor legacies, but the mysterious inheritance atop Lingyun Peak had never been claimed.

She knew the tests of the first three levels beforehand and had prepared means to pass them.

But the fourth level—this Mountain Climbing Ladder—had no shortcuts.

No one knew its specific mechanics. No one knew how high it went.

Because, until now, no cultivator had ever reached the top.

She, Bai Yue, the top genius of the Anli Kingdom’s Qi Condensation generation, had cultivated bitterly for this moment.

She came for the peak.

Bai Yue took one last, deep look at Chen Ping, who was still meditating. Then, she turned and walked toward the abyss.

She stepped onto the first stone slab.

She would be the first to climb.

This was the pride that belonged solely to her, Bai Yue.