Spells Grinding: From Basic Sparks to Divine Arts

Chapter 254: Steward Chen’s Daily Life

Chen Ming was a man without spiritual roots.

Denied the path of cultivation, he was destined to remain a mere mortal. Yet, in the White Jade Market—a den of tigers and dragons—this mortal commanded a level of respect that even high-ranking cultivators dared not ignore.

The reason was simple: he was the Steward of the Qin Manor.

On this day, Chen Ming rose from his soft bedding with the ease of long practice. After a quick wash, he stepped into his role, his demeanor shifting from drowsy to disciplined.

As the steward, his primary mandate was to keep the estate running like a well-oiled machine. Even with the Family Head away in secluded cultivation for extended periods, Chen Ming ensured that nothing fell into disarray.

Moreover, ever since Immortal Feng had mastered the art of alchemy, the administrative burden—distributing monthly stipends, vetting new servants, and procuring daily resources—had fallen entirely on his shoulders.

In short, every trivial matter within the manor, great or small, was now under his personal supervision.

His first stop was a patrol of the grounds. He checked the gatekeepers, the footmen, the maids, and the errand boys, ensuring everyone was at their posts. Slacking off was not tolerated.

Next, the warehouse.

He meticulously inventoried the stocks: Spirit Rice, Demon Beast meat, spiritual vegetables. He checked for shortages, tallied the daily influx and outflow, and logged every figure into the ledger by hand.

With the logistics secured, he headed to the kitchen to oversee breakfast.

“Jin Yuan, is the Spirit Meal ready?” Chen Ming called out the moment he crossed the threshold.

The kitchen was a blur of activity. Three servants moved with nimble hands and quick feet, the air thick with the savory aroma wafting from a massive iron pot.

Hearing the steward’s voice, a young man with a long, horse-like face spun around, grinning.

“Steward Chen! Your timing is impeccable. The Spirit Meal just finished cooking.”

He popped the lid off a lacquered food box, revealing three exquisite dishes, a rich soup, and a large bowl of Spirit Rice that glistened like crushed white jade.

Chen Ming nodded, satisfied. “You’re on time today. Good. Get this to Immortal Feng immediately.”

“Right away!”

Jin Yuan secured the lid, grabbed the handle, and practically sprinted out of the kitchen.

Immortal Feng was a workaholic. At the first hint of dawn, he would vanish into the alchemy shop to begin his shifts, rarely returning to the manor during the day. Consequently, the servants had to hand-deliver all three daily meals to the shop.

Once Jin Yuan was gone, Chen Ming turned to the remaining two servants.

“Prepare the rest of the Spirit Meals. Chop chop.”

“Understood, Steward Chen.”

While the mortals in the manor ate the same type of food as Immortal Feng, the difference lay in the quantity.

Satisfied that the kitchen was under control, Chen Ming turned to leave. He intended to inspect the sanitation in the backyard, but before he could take two steps, the gatekeeper came rushing in, panting.

“Steward! Steward! We have a visitor!”

“A visitor?” Chen Ming frowned slightly. “Did they give a name?”

The gatekeeper handed over a calling card with both hands. “This Immortal Master calls himself Yu Heng. He’s requesting an audience with the Master.”

Chen Ming took the card. It was luxurious, edged in gold leaf—a sign of someone who didn’t worry about money.

“Lead the way.” Chen Ming tucked the card into his sleeve and strode toward the main gate.

With the Master away, it was his duty to handle guests diplomatically. Turning someone away without proper etiquette would only lose face for the Qin Sect.

At the entrance, Chen Ming found the visitor.

He was a young man, perhaps in his twenties, with striking, chiseled features. He carried himself with an air of noble elegance, a natural grace that separated him from the common rabble.

“Greetings, Immortal Master.”

Chen Ming bowed first, introducing himself smoothly. “I am the steward of the Qin Manor. May I ask what business brings you here today?”

The elegant youth cupped his hands in return, his manner polite. “Greetings, Steward. My name is Yu Heng. Some time ago, I had a fortuitous encounter with Senior Qin. Thanks to a cultivation technique he bestowed upon me, I was able to successfully step onto the path of immortality. I have come to the White Jade Market today specifically to pay my respects and offer my thanks.”

“I see,” Chen Ming replied, his tone respectful but regretful. “However, Immortal Master Yu, you have come at an unfortunate time. My Master is currently not in the manor.”

Yu Heng’s expression didn’t waver. “Do you know when Senior Qin might return? I will come back then to pay my respects.”

“As for that…” Chen Ming looked up, calculating the dates in his head. “The Master should return in about 20 days. If you could visit again then, I will ensure your arrival is reported.”

“Very well. I apologize for the trouble, Steward. I shall return later.”

Yu Heng bowed slightly, then turned and walked away, his movements light and unhurried.

“Farewell, Immortal Master,” Chen Ming called out, bowing deeply until the figure disappeared.

Although Chen Ming held a lofty position as the Qin Manor’s steward—a role that made many loose cultivators treat him with deference—he never let it go to his head.

There was a chasm between mortals and Immortals.

Chen Ming knew this deep in his bones. He was a fox walking in the shadow of a tiger; the fear he inspired belonged to the tiger, not him. He never used his status to bully cultivators or act arrogantly. He knew exactly who he was.

It was this precise understanding of the rules that had kept him employed while others might have been discarded.

After seeing off the guest, Chen Ming returned to his quarters.

He took out a fresh sheet of paper and logged the visit: Yu Heng. Reason: Gratitude for past guidance. Returning in 20 days.

Task complete, he sat down to eat his own breakfast.

His portion was meager—less than half a small bowl of Spirit Rice, a thin slice of spirit meat, and a single stalk of vegetable. It looked like something a child could finish in two bites.

But Chen Ming didn’t shovel it down. He picked up a few grains of rice at a time, chewing slowly and thoroughly.

He had no choice. His mortal constitution couldn’t handle the violent surge of spiritual Qi contained in the food. Even this small amount created an intense sensation of fullness. Eating too fast or too much would be like swallowing fire; it would damage his internal organs.

It took the time of one incense stick for him to finish the tiny meal. He exhaled a long breath, patting his stomach with immense satisfaction.

The taste was peerless—a delicacy no mortal in the secular world could ever dream of tasting.

He rested in his room for a short while to let the energy settle, then headed out.

It was time for the day’s procurement. He selected two sturdy servants and led them out the back gate.

But buying supplies was only half the job. He had a second, more critical mission.

Intelligence gathering.

After dispatching the servants to buy the necessary goods, Chen Ming made his way to a busy tavern. He ordered a pot of tea and sat there, blending into the background. He listened to the chatter of cultivators and merchants, sifting through the noise for nuggets of useful information.

This was a standing order from the Master: Keep your ears open. Never let us be blind to the news of the market.

He spent the entire morning in the bustle of the city.

By noon, Chen Ming returned to the manor. He immediately transcribed the useful rumors and news into his intelligence log.

He checked the kitchen again, reminding them to send the midday meal to the alchemy shop on time.

After eating his own lunch—another carefully measured portion—he supervised the maids as they swept the grounds, ensuring every fallen leaf and speck of dust was removed.

Once the hygiene inspection was passed, he went out again in the afternoon, this time to inspect the operations of the various shops owned by the Qin Sect.

Evening fell.

Immortal Feng returned to the manor, weary from a day of alchemy. Chen Ming greeted him, providing a concise summary of the day’s events and the intelligence gathered.

Only after Immortal Feng confirmed that everything was in order did Chen Ming retreat to his own room.

He washed up, climbed into his soft bed, and closed his eyes.

Thus, another ordinary day for Steward Chen passed.