My Portable Spirit Farm: Rise of the Humble Servant

Chapter 241: Choosing to Accompany

Chen Ping stepped into the alchemy chamber and sealed the heavy stone doors.

The Top-Grade third-tier Alchemy Furnace sat in the center of the room, a silent monolith. It was the absolute source of his confidence.

It was also his deepest secret.

To this day, he had never allowed his three disciples to even touch this cauldron.

Wasting no time, Chen Ping centered his breathing and calmed his surging Qi. With a flick of his wrist, he ignited the furnace fire, pouring the entirety of his focus into the crucible.

Fire Control. Adding herbs. Condensing the liquid. Gathering the pills. Gentle nurturing.

He executed every step with ruthless precision. His Divine Sense stretched taut, monitoring the microscopic changes within the roaring flames, refusing to allow even a fraction of a mistake.

Soon, the heavy, intoxicating scent of medicinal herbs saturated the Pill Hall.

For a full day and night, Chen Ping worked without a second of sleep.

He opened the furnace three times. He succeeded twice, and failed once.

When he lifted the heavy lid for the final time, six blinding pillars of spiritual light erupted toward the ceiling, carrying a fragrance so rich it made the air feel thick.

With quick eyes and deft hands, Chen Ping formed a hand seal, casting the pill-collecting technique. The glowing spheres shot from the furnace, landing perfectly into the jade bottles he had prepared.

There was a visceral satisfaction in alchemy that eclipsed almost everything else.

Just like now.

Chen Ping held two warm pill bottles in his palms. Inside the first rested eight flawless pills. They radiated a rich halo, pulsing with potent Qi, and each bore three distinct, swirling patterns.

Top-Grade Foundation Establishment Pills.

The second bottle contained the remaining two. They were slightly inferior, bearing only two clear patterns, making them High-grade Foundation Establishment Pills.

“Not bad,” Chen Ping murmured. “Eight Top-Grade pills.”

Holding the warm jade, he let out a long, heavy exhale, releasing the turbid breath that had been coiled tightly in his chest.

Securing these Top-Grade Foundation Establishment Pills meant the path was finally clear for his parents. As long as they cultivated to Qi Condensation Grand Perfection, they could consume these pills and attempt Foundation Establishment without fear of failure.

A suffocating weight lifted from his shoulders.

He quickly scrubbed the ash and medicinal residue from the Alchemy Furnace and his skin, changing into a crisp, clean robe.

Just as he finished, an undisguised, frantic aura slammed against the exterior of his cave dwelling. Bai Yuan.

Chen Ping pushed the doors open.

Seeing Chen Ping emerge exactly on schedule, the tightness in Bai Yuan’s jaw relaxed marginally. Still, the man didn’t speak a word. He merely raised a hand in a stiff gesture before transforming into a streak of light, tearing through the sky.

Chen Ping immediately followed via Sword Riding.

The two men cut through the clouds at blistering speed, heading straight for the core of the Qingyun Sect—the summit of Qingyun Peak.

The higher they ascended, the heavier and purer the ambient Qi became.

Finally, Bai Yuan dropped out of the sky, landing sharply before a secluded cave dwelling shrouded in a shimmering, heavy Restriction.

Chen Ping landed silently behind him. He cast his Divine Sense outward and couldn’t help but feel a flicker of shock.

The dwelling was built directly over a primary node of Qingyun Peak’s spiritual vein. It naturally siphoned the purest Qi from a High-grade third-tier spiritual vein.

But it went further than that. The perimeter was fortified by an excruciatingly complex Top-Grade third-tier Spirit Gathering Grand Array. It ruthlessly purified and compressed the already dense Qi, elevating the ambient energy to a level that infinitely approached—and perhaps briefly touched—the realm of a Top-Grade third-tier spiritual vein.

To attempt Foundation Establishment here was a dream.

Paired with a Foundation Establishment Pill, the odds of failing due to exhausted Qi were practically zero.

Chen Ping narrowed his eyes. With such a flawless setup, what could have possibly driven her into this state? Why did she refuse to start until I arrived? “Little sister, open the door!” Bai Yuan projected his voice through the Restriction, a tremor of tension bleeding into his tone. “I’ve brought Elder Chen Ping!”

Dead silence answered him.

Then, a hoarse, frayed voice leaked through the barrier. It dripped with exhaustion and venom.

“What are you doing here? My affairs are none of your concern. Get out!”

It was Bai Zhi’s voice, but stripped of all its former bright vitality. It sounded like a snapped string.

Bai Yuan flinched. A flash of profound helplessness and heartache crossed his rigid features, but he didn’t dare yell back. He only turned to Chen Ping with a look of quiet desperation.

Chen Ping frowned.

Her mental state wasn’t just poor—it was fractured.

To attempt the Foundation Establishment stage in this condition, to face the formless, lethal horrors of the Inner Demon tribulation with a broken mind, was nothing short of suicide.

He and Bai Yuan exchanged a grim look.

Chen Ping stepped past the older brother, stopping inches from the glowing Restriction. He kept his voice steady, anchoring it with a quiet authority.

“Bai Zhi. It’s me, Chen Ping. I told you that when you attempted Foundation Establishment, I would be here to help. I’m here.”

Silence fell over the mountain peak again.

Seconds ticked by. Just as Bai Yuan looked ready to violently shatter the barrier himself, the light of the Restriction pulsed. It parted with a soft hiss, leaving a gap barely wide enough for one person.

“Chen Ping…” Bai Zhi’s voice drifted out. It was still raspy, but the sharp hostility was gone, replaced by a tangled, heavy emotion. “Come in.”

Then, sharper: “Brother… you wait outside.”

Bai Yuan opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat. He let out a ragged sigh, stepping back and gesturing toward the gap. His eyes begged Chen Ping to fix this.

Taking a deep breath, Chen Ping stepped through the barrier.

The interior was not what he expected.

Rather than the cold, ascetic stone of a bitter cultivator’s tomb, the dwelling was warm. Soft pearl light washed over fine furniture, and clever refraction arrays caught rays of natural sunlight, painting the corners of the room in a gentle, amber glow.

It was built for peace.

But Chen Ping didn’t care about the decor. His eyes locked onto the white silhouette slumped against a jade couch.

Emaciated. That was the only word that registered in his mind.

The vibrant, full-cheeked girl with a trace of naive charm was gone.

The woman before him looked like a ghost draped in an oversized shroud. Her plain white robes hung off her hollow frame. The wrists protruding from her sleeves were so fragile they looked as though a strong gust of wind might snap them. Her cheeks were sunken, her skin an ashen, sickly pale entirely drained of blood.

She looked like a white orchid that had been starved of water, crumbling into dust.

Chen Ping’s chest tightened, a sharp, unfamiliar pang of pain twisting his gut.

What the hell did she experience? How did it come to this? He stood frozen a few paces away, staring at the withered shell of a woman, unable to find the words.

The cave was suffocatingly quiet, filled only by the shallow, ragged sound of her breathing.

Finally, Chen Ping forced his jaw to unclench. His voice dropped to a murmur, terrified that speaking too loudly might shatter her.

“I’m here.”

Just two words.

The white figure flinched. Slowly, agonizingly, she turned her head.

Her dull, unfocused eyes drifted over him. When they finally locked onto his face, recognizing that he was truly standing there, a dam broke behind her hollow gaze.

Grievance. Desperate dependency. Agonizing, unspeakable pain. And a frantic, clawing hope—the look of a drowning victim spotting driftwood.

Before Chen Ping could brace himself, she moved.

She scrambled off the jade couch, her legs nearly giving out, and launched herself at him. She collided with his chest, her thin, trembling arms wrapping fiercely around his waist. She buried her sunken face into his robes, clinging to him with terrifying strength.

Then, the weeping began.

It wasn’t a soft, delicate cry. It was an ugly, gut-wrenching wail of total collapse, built on months of suppressed despair. Hot tears soaked rapidly through the fabric of Chen Ping’s robes, scalding his skin.

Chen Ping went entirely rigid.

His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, fingers twitching, completely lost.

He had cultivated for over thirty years. He had butchered men, survived lethal traps, and waded through the blood of secret realms. His will was forged iron.

But this? Having a woman desperately weeping into his chest, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth? He had absolutely no idea what to do.

He could feel the terrifying thinness of her ribs against him. He could feel the violent tremors racking her frail body.

Slowly, his hovering hands lowered.

A bit clumsily, he rested his palms against her trembling, bony back.

He didn’t push her away. He didn’t offer empty platitudes or tell her it would be alright. Just as he had done all those years ago in the Hundred Herb Garden, he offered the only thing he could.

Silent companionship.

He stood like a pillar in the center of the room, letting her tears soak his chest, grounding her as the storm raged.

For a long time, the only sound within the cave was the echoing, broken sobs of a woman, and the quiet, steady breathing of the man holding her together.