The oppressive atmosphere deep within the mine was suffocating, silently enveloping every corner of the tunnels.

The flickering light of dim torches danced on the rock walls, illuminating faces that were numb and dull.

Chen Ping blended in among them, mechanically raising and lowering his pickaxe.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Each strike only chipped away fingernail-sized fragments of rock.

The hard rock walls were disheartening, and the tremendous recoil sent waves of numbness through Chen Ping’s arms, nearly robbing them of all sensation.

Sweat, mixed with thick dust, carved muddy streaks across his face and neck.

One month.

Just one month.

Chen Ping took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

His body had undergone a terrifying change.

The physical strength he had once cultivated through training was gradually fading away under the ravages of the Ore Toxin.

Now, swinging the pickaxe had become laborious. The soreness in his arms was no longer mere fatigue, but a heavy sense of weakness.

A feeling of tightness in his chest followed him like a shadow; even when resting in the shack, it felt like a cold, damp stone was constantly pressing down on him.

His skin, once firm and healthy from labor and practicing the Vitality Technique, now bore a layer of ashen pallor.

Upon closer inspection, even the blood vessels beneath his skin seemed to have lost their vibrant color, taking on a dull, decaying hue.

Occasional fits of violent coughing would make his vision darken, forcing him to lean against the cold rock wall to steady himself.

The six hundred pounds of physical strength he once possessed…

Now…

He probably struggled to muster even four hundred pounds.

The Ore Toxin was like maggots feasting on bone, silently eroding his very foundation.

Death had never felt so tangibly suspended above his head.

Six months? Perhaps even less.

He would die.

He had this premonition.

But he didn’t want to die.

With the Jade Pendant space, Chen Ping couldn’t bear to die just like that.

For the past month, he hadn’t slacked off for a single moment.

During the day, in Tunnel Bing-Seven, he worked like a silent ox, focusing solely on swinging the pickaxe, chiseling, and moving broken rock.

The pickaxe wore down severely. The skin between his thumb and forefinger had long since been rubbed raw, calloused over, and then rubbed raw again.

Chen Ping became the most inconspicuous among them—covered in grime, his eyes weary.

During brief rest periods, he no longer just sat panting in a corner.

He would shift his position, seemingly casually moving closer to those old miners who whispered among themselves.

He would offer a little bit of the jerky he had saved up and made in his space—a rare luxury underground.

His questions were cautious, carrying the confusion of a newcomer and the despair for a bleak future.

He repeatedly sought confirmation on one thing: whether Purifying Grass truly had that effect.

And under what conditions Purifying Grass seeds could actually sprout!

“Purifying Grass… is it really that effective?”

“Seeds? Planting them yourself? Can that work?”

Information came to him like broken shards of pottery, which he painstakingly gathered piece by piece.

Purifying Grass was a spiritual herb formulated by the sect’s Medicine Hall specifically for Ore Toxin. One mature plant could neutralize most of the toxin and even strengthen one’s physique.

But its price was exorbitant—five Spirit Stones.

This price… he confirmed it was indeed that much.

As for seeds, they were relatively much cheaper—one Spirit Stone per seed.

Regarding their source, everyone pointed to one of several “Immortals” stationed near the mine entrance—a short, thin Immortal with shrewd and calculating eyes.

It was said that miners had tried buying seeds to cultivate themselves before, but none succeeded.

Spiritual herbs required spiritual soil and sustained nourishment from Qi. Ordinary soil was utterly useless; the seeds would ultimately just become nutrients for the earth.

The short, thin cultivator selling seeds seemed more like an indirect form of exploitation.

A bit like tricking fools.

Finally, payday arrived.

In a small shed near the mine exit, the Manager flipped through a thick ledger.

Behind Chen Ping’s name was recorded the weight of ore he had mined in one month: two hundred thirteen pounds.

Exceeding the quota of one hundred pounds meant the excess was converted proportionally.

“Bing-Seven Tunnel. Chen Ping.”

The Manager spoke without looking up, his voice flat and emotionless.

“Ore: one hundred pounds. Standard met! Two Spirit Stones. Excess: one hundred thirteen pounds. Converted: one Spirit Stone. Total: three Spirit Stones.”

Three fingernail-sized crystals with a faint blue luster were tossed onto the dusty wooden table before Chen Ping.

This was everything he had earned—a month’s worth of blood and sweat, paid for by his body being eroded by toxic gas.

Without a moment’s hesitation, his rough hand immediately clenched them tightly in his palm. The sharp edges pressed against his calloused skin.

Three Spirit Stones. One could be exchanged for ten ordinary gold coins—enough for an average family to live on for several years.

But here, gold coins couldn’t buy life.

He didn’t return to the shack but headed straight toward the area near the mine entrance.

Several cultivators in gray-blue robes stood or sat around, watching miners come and go with indifferent expressions.

Chen Ping’s gaze locked onto that short, thin figure.

He was leaning against a large rock, idly playing with a small piece of ore while scanning the miners with his eyes.

Today was payday; he’d have business again!

Chen Ping took a deep breath, suppressing the tightness in his chest. He tried to appear humble, yet desperate enough.

He stopped a few steps away from the short cultivator and bowed slightly, his voice hoarse.

“Immortal Master…”

The short cultivator lifted an eyelid slightly and glanced at him but said nothing.

“This lowly one… wishes to purchase Purifying Grass seeds.”

Chen Ping’s voice carried panting breaths and urgency.

“I’ve heard… Immortal Master has them here.”

Only then did the short cultivator look directly at Chen Ping. His eyes swept over Chen Ping’s ashen complexion and gaunt frame. The corner of his mouth seemed to twitch—whether in mockery or understanding was unclear.

“Purifying Grass seeds?”

His voice was somewhat shrill.

“One Spirit Stone per seed. They won’t grow in ordinary soil. Are you sure about this?”

“This lowly one… understands.”

Chen Ping lowered his head and gingerly picked out one Spirit Stone from his tightly clenched palm. He held it out respectfully with both hands.

“Please grant this lowly one one seed! I wish to try!”

The short cultivator took the Spirit Stone. He rubbed it between his fingers as if sensing its faint Qi before leisurely rummaging through an inconspicuous small gray pouch at his waist.

After a moment’s search…

He pinched out a seed slightly larger than a sesame seed—dark brown with strange dull patterns on its surface—and casually tossed it onto Chen Ping’s outstretched palm.

The seed felt light as air; it barely had any weight at all.

Yet Chen Ping’s heart gave a violent leap! Suppressing his excitement fiercely…

He took out another Spirit Stone!

“Immortal Master… this lowly one… wishes to buy two more.”

His voice trembled with desperation born from staking everything on this gamble.

A flicker of genuine surprise passed through the short cultivator’s eyes before turning into amusement, as if watching an entertaining spectacle unfold before him.

Once again, he produced two identical seeds which he tossed toward Chen Ping while pocketing all three Spirit Stones without another glance—as if completing some trivial transaction.

“Suit yourself then… better give up hope now rather than later… don’t blame me if they don’t grow…”

He muttered under his breath before returning his attention back toward playing with that piece of ore.

Chen Ping tightly clenched those three seeds within his palm, as if grasping three faint glimmers of hope.

Turning around quickly, he walked away briskly, feeling his heart pounding fiercely inside his chest cavity.

Three Spirit Stones—all his worldly possessions combined—exchanged for three slender threads representing a slim chance of survival.

No matter how many gold coins there might be elsewhere…

Here, facing the Ore Toxin, they were nothing more than worthless scrap metal.

Only these Purifying Grass seeds, planted within the Jade Pendant space upon the Black Earth, held any sliver of hope for survival.