My Portable Spirit Farm: Rise of the Humble Servant

Chapter 158: Officially Taking Disciples

When Chen Ping returned to the Green Mountain Cave Dwelling, trailing three ragged, skeletal children behind him, he naturally drew the attention of his clan. His father, Chen Dashan; his mother, Mrs. Lin; and his two existing disciples all stopped to look.

The only exception was Yuan Jingtian. That talisman maniac was so engrossed in his craft he probably wouldn’t have noticed if the sky collapsed, let alone his master returning.

“Ping’er, this is…?” Chen Dashan frowned, eyeing the children who kept their heads bowed low, trembling like leaves.

“Father, Mother,” Chen Ping replied, his voice flat. “I visited the marketplace and bought three young slaves. They’ll handle the grunt work in the Pill Hall—processing herbs, cleaning furnaces, that sort of thing.”

He omitted the part about their alchemy talent. To him, their status was what mattered: they were property.

The curiosity on his parents’ faces instantly evaporated, replaced by a dull indifference.

Over time, they had come to understand the rules of this world. Cruelty was the norm. Human trafficking? It happened frequently enough in the mortal world, let alone here.

The awkward tension dissipated. They had initially feared Chen Ping had dragged home a brood of illegitimate children. Slaves were much simpler.

The two disciples merely glanced at the trio before losing interest. Their own clans bought servants all the time. It was hardly worth noting.

“Mm, you arrange it then,” Chen Dashan nodded, asking no more.

Mrs. Lin turned back to the Spirit Fields, fussing over a few Spirit Peach saplings. Ever since Chen Ping had brought some fruit home, she had become obsessed with the taste. To ensure a steady supply, she had even sent the disciples out to buy saplings a few days prior.

Chen Ping billeted the three children in a simple stone chamber near his own dwelling.

He tossed them each a set of clean robes, dry rations, fresh water, and a Storage Bag.

“This is your home now,” Chen Ping said, his voice devoid of warmth. “Wang Lijing, Wang Liqian, Xiao Feng. Remember your names. Starting tomorrow, you will stand outside my Pill Hall at the start of the Mao Hour.”

The three children dropped to their knees, foreheads touching the cold stone.

“Yes, Master.”

Chen Ping threw down a few jade slips. “These contain basic characters and meridian diagrams. Learn to read. Memorize the pathways. I will test you in three days.”

He turned and left without a backward glance.

As the stone door rumbled shut, the three children looked at each other. The terror of the unknown still lingered in their eyes, but beneath it, a tiny, disbelief-filled spark ignited.

No mines?

No heavy labor?

They were… allowed to study?

The next morning, as the sky turned the color of bruised iron (Mao Hour, 5 AM).

Three small figures stood rigid in the clearing outside the Pill Hall. They barely dared to breathe, terrified of disturbing the silence.

Chen Ping pushed the door open. A waft of medicinal fragrance and charcoal smoke drifted out. He swept a cold gaze over them.

“Enter.”

Inside, Chen Ping wasted no time on pleasantries. He began the induction immediately.

“The Dao of Alchemy begins with identification. This,” he held up a withered herb, “is ten-year-old ‘Green Mugwort Grass.’ Its nature is slightly cold, its sap bitter. It is a primary ingredient for the Heart-Clearing Powder. Observe the root—the best quality stems possess a circle of pale white patterns…”

His voice was clinical, stripping the mysticism away to reveal the science.

“Fire Control is the foundation. Driving the Alchemical Fire is not a feat of brute force. It requires Divine Sense.”

He snapped his fingers. A small, stable tongue of flame erupted from his fingertip.

“Use your Divine Sense to guide the flow. Perceive the subtle circulation of spiritual power within the fire…”

He broke down the opening chapter of the True Fire Alchemy Scripture, feeding it to them piece by piece.

No profound philosophies. Just the tedious, repetitive grinding of basics.

“Identify these ten herbs. State their properties.”

“Use your Divine Sense to maintain this flame at the size of a candle for fifteen minutes. Do not let it waver.”

“Sense the fire element within this Fire Pattern Stone. Extract a single thread.”

The children studied with the desperation of the drowning clutching at driftwood.

They knew what they were. Slaves. They knew the alternative was death in a pitch-black mine or a beating in a labor camp. This—this repetitive, exhausting training—was heaven.

Wang Lijing was intense. His focus was razor-sharp, trying to brute-force the memorization, though his eagerness sometimes made his Divine Sense erratic.

Wang Liqian was different. She was timid, flinching at loud noises, but her control was delicate. She had an innate sensitivity to heat and herbal essence.

And Xiao Feng… he was silent. He practiced with a grim determination. If he failed, he pursed his lips and started over. His eyes held a stillness and resilience that did not belong on the face of a child.

Whenever Chen Ping pointed out their mistakes, all three would kneel in terror to admit their fault, then work even harder.

Chen Ping observed them dispassionately. He felt no paternal affection. He needed tools. He needed an assembly line to process the low-level tasks so he could focus on high-value production.

He gave them an opportunity, not warmth.

But a good craftsman maintains his tools.

He fed them well. He clothed them. And every month, he dispensed three Top Grade Marrow Cleansing Pills to each of them.

To the outside world, this was a fortune. To Chen Ping, it was a rounding error to ensure his investments reached Qi Condensation Level 3 quickly.

Time flowed like water. One year passed.

The landscape of Green Mountain quietly transformed.

The 60 acres of Spirit Fields were now lush with common auxiliary herbs. Chen Ping didn’t bother with main ingredients—the growth cycles were too long for short-term gains. But by growing the fillers, he cut his trips to the marketplace in half.

The Pill Hall’s furnaces roared daily.

The biggest change, however, was in the stone chamber.

Good food, safety, and potent pills had worked wonders. The children had shot up like bamboo after a spring rain.

The Wang twins lost their sallow, sickly look.

Xiao Feng was no longer skeletal. His silence had matured into a steady resolve.

And their cultivation…

Fueled by the Top Grade Marrow Cleansing Pills and the high-grade cultivation manuals they had learned from their fallen families, all three had successfully broken through to Qi Condensation Level 3.

But that wasn’t the surprise.