My Portable Spirit Farm: Rise of the Humble Servant

Elder Li leaned forward slightly, the lines on his face deepening as his tone turned grave.

“Junior Nephew Chen, are you absolutely certain you want the Whale Swallowing Technique? The Earth-rank mid-grade art that costs two thousand Contribution Points?”

“I am certain,” Chen Ping replied, his voice calm and steady.

Elder Li fell silent. His clear, aged eyes locked onto Chen Ping, scrutinizing him as if trying to peer into the depths of his soul.

The Scripture Pavilion descended into a heavy silence.

“Junior Brother!”

Elder Li’s voice dropped to a low rumble, carrying the weight of decades of experience.

“I have guarded this pavilion for forty-three years. I have handled more techniques and secret arts than I can count. This Whale Swallowing Technique… I strongly advise you to reconsider. Be cautious! Be very cautious!”

He paused, searching for the right words before deciding on blunt honesty.

“The technique is named ‘Whale Swallowing’ because it acts like a leviathan consuming the ocean. It forcibly expands the meridians to ingest and refine an amount of medicinal power or Qi that far exceeds the body’s natural limit—all in an instant. It sounds domineering, doesn’t it? It sounds like a shortcut to godhood.”

Chen Ping nodded silently.

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of Elder Li’s mouth as he slowly shook his head.

“It is a mirage! This technique may have had its uses in the ancient era, but history has long since proven it to be… useless. No, calling it useless is a compliment. It is a potent poison!”

He extended a withered finger and tapped the ebony tabletop for emphasis.

“Think about it. Forcibly tearing open your meridians to swallow a sea of pills—the process itself is a devastation. It leaves hidden injuries that are nearly impossible to heal.”

“But the true killer is the filth. Whether you swallow pills or raw Qi, they contain impurities, Pill Toxin, and violent, heterogeneous energies. In normal cultivation, you filter these out slowly. But with this technique? You are taking all that filth and compressing it—ten times, a hundred times over—and driving it deep into your foundation!”

Elder Li’s gaze sharpened, piercing toward Chen Ping.

“It is like hammering nails into your own roots. Do you know the consequences? At best, your meridians clog, your True Essence stagnates, and your cultivation path is severed forever. At worst? The Pill Toxin backlashes, your Dao Foundation crumbles, and you die a painful death, your Dao dissipating into nothingness!”

“Over the years, many brilliant geniuses have coveted the speed of this technique. They thought they were special. They thought they could climb to the heavens in a single step. And the result?”

Elder Li leaned back, his voice filled with sorrow.

“They either gave up halfway, crippled and broken… or the grass on their graves is already several zhang tall.”

“This technique sits on the shelf, priced at two thousand points yet untouched for years. It is not because it lacks power. It is because the harm far outweighs the benefit. It is a road that looks like a shortcut but leads straight off a cliff.”

The old man’s words carried immense weight, each syllable heavy with sincere warning.

He stared into Chen Ping’s eyes, hoping to see a flicker of hesitation, a crack in the young man’s resolve.

Chen Ping felt the weight of the elder’s goodwill.

Elder Li wasn’t lying. Every word was true. Under normal circumstances, the Whale Swallowing Technique was indeed a suicide pact.

If not for the Black Earth and the Jade Pendant space, Chen Ping wouldn’t touch this “useless” art with a ten-foot pole.

He bowed slightly, maintaining his respect, but his voice remained ironclad.

“Thank you, Elder Li, for your heartfelt words. I am deeply moved by your concern. I fully understand the terrifying drawbacks you have described.”

A glimmer of hope sparked in Elder Li’s eyes.

Chen Ping continued immediately, extinguishing it.

“However, my mind is made up. It must be this technique. I have my reasons, which are inconvenient to detail. I ask Senior Brother to grant this request.”

His voice was not loud, but it possessed the immovable solidity of a mountain.

The light in Elder Li’s eyes died.

He looked at Chen Ping for a long moment. His expression was a complex tapestry of regret, confusion, and finally, resignation.

Everyone has their own fate, he thought. Good advice cannot save a ghost hellbent on dying.

In his years guarding the pavilion, he had seen too many arrogant youths who only learned to turn back after crashing headlong into the southern wall until they were bloodied. Some never got the chance to turn back at all.

This Junior Brother Chen, it seemed, was just another one of them.

“So be it. So be it.”

Elder Li shook his head and said no more.

He turned and walked slowly toward a heavy wooden shelf behind him, covered in glowing Restriction patterns.

The shelf towered over him. Standing on his tiptoes, he reached into a dusty corner on the highest tier and retrieved a dull, nondescript black jade box.

The box bore no markings and felt cold and heavy in his hand.

“The Whale Swallowing Technique inheritance jade slip is inside.”

Elder Li placed the black box on the desk. His fingers flew through a series of Hand Seals, firing beams of spiritual light into the box’s restrictions. With a faint hum of dissipating energy, the lid slid open silently.

A single jade slip lay within.

“Drip your blood onto it to bind it, then use your Divine Sense to read. This technique is overbearing. When practicing, remember to act within your limits. If you feel even the slightest irregularity, stop immediately!”

Elder Li offered one final, heavy reminder.

He took Chen Ping’s identity token, deducted the two thousand Contribution Points, and let the jade slip float into Chen Ping’s hand.

Chen Ping remained expressionless as he swept the item into his Jade Pendant space. He bowed deeply once more.

“Thank you, Senior Brother. I take my leave.”

Elder Li watched Chen Ping’s retreating back for a long time. Finally, he sighed again and picked up his yellowed ancient book.

But for a long while, he couldn’t read a single word.

Another young man walking toward the abyss?

He could only hope this Junior Brother Chen would wake up before he destroyed himself completely.

Back at the Green Mountain Cave Dwelling.

Inside the quiet cultivation room, Chen Ping sat cross-legged on a prayer mat. He didn’t rush to examine the new technique immediately.

“If the theory is truly feasible… this changes everything.”

He murmured to himself, a rare flutter of anticipation in his chest.

The path Zhao Yuanqi had described—using pure, supreme-grade pills as fuel and the Whale Swallowing Technique as the furnace to forcibly drive growth and compensate for a shallow foundation—was revolutionary.

Theoretically, it offered a lifeline not just for Waste Spirit Root cultivators, but for anyone trapped by poor aptitude or a bottleneck.

If Chen Ping could prove this method worked, and if it were ever leaked, it would shatter the established order of the cultivation world.

How many desperate cultivators, watching their lifespans dwindle, would go mad for this?

How many resource-starved sect disciples and rogue cultivators would see it as their only salvation?

However, behind this theoretical miracle lay a despairing chasm that made it impossible for the masses.

Supreme-grade pills.

In the cultivation world, a “High-grade” pill was already a luxury. A “Supreme-grade” pill—one with 99% purity—was a legend. It was something found by luck, not made on demand.

Even Grandmaster Alchemists considered it a good day if they produced a High-grade pill. A Supreme-grade one? That was the heavens smiling upon you.

A single Supreme-grade True Essence Pill could fetch nearly a thousand Spirit Stones at auction. It was a treasure to be hoarded, not consumed like daily rice.

The cost of fueling the Whale Swallowing Technique with such pills would bankrupt even a large clan. It wasn’t just a matter of money; it was a matter of supply. The pills simply didn’t exist in such quantities.

For 99.9% of cultivators, Zhao Yuanqi’s theory was nothing more than a flower in a mirror or the moon in the water—beautiful, but untouchable.

“But I am different,” Chen Ping whispered, his eyes burning with intensity.

He possessed the Black Earth.

In his private dimension, he didn’t need luck. He didn’t need the heavens’ favor.

The True Essence Grass in his space was already thriving, its medicinal potency climbing steadily.

Given enough time, he would nurture that grass until it evolved into a True Essence Spirit Tree.

At that point, mass-producing Supreme-grade True Essence Pills wouldn’t be a miracle. It would be a manufacturing process.