Chen Ping carefully calculated his next move.

The Cold Star Grass was a rare treasure, and Bai Zhi guarded it with an intensity that bordered on obsession. She rarely left its side.

As the primary ingredient for the Marrow Cleansing Pill—a true elixir of the Immortals—every single stalk was meticulously cataloged. If even one leaf went missing, the Immortal Masters would know instantly.

A direct theft was suicide. He needed a subtler path.

Perhaps the water? he mused.

The grass required “Cold Spring Water” for irrigation. He wondered which Laborer was tasked with fetching it from the freezing depths of the pool. If he could find a way to intercept that water, he might find his opening.

For several days, Chen Ping moved like a ghost through his chores, his mind churning with countermeasures. Then, on the fortieth morning of his tenure in the spirit herb garden, fate intervened.

A commotion erupted in the eastern garden just as Chen Ping stepped out of his stone hut.

Bai Zhi stood by her patch of Cold Star Grass. Though her expression remained a mask of icy detachment, her brow was pinched with worry. Wang Fa and two other Laborers stood a few paces back, looking like cornered animals.

Chen Ping approached the group. Seeing him, Wang Fa’s eyes lit up as if he had spotted a savior. He hurried over and hissed in a low voice.

“Manager Chen, thank goodness you’re here. Something is wrong with Manager Bai’s plants. One of the Cold Star Grass stalks is yellowing at the tips. She’s beside herself.”

Chen Ping looked past him.

Bai Zhi was kneeling, her slender fingers reaching out to gingerly brush the faint yellow spots marring the silver-speckled leaves. She looked grave and focused, her beauty radiating even under the harsh morning sun.

But Chen Ping wasn’t looking at her face. He was looking at the plant.

The surrounding stalks were vibrant, their tips shimmering with starlight. This one, however, was dull and lackluster. The yellow rot stood out like a festering wound against the emerald green.

Bai Zhi stood up, her gaze sweeping over the laborers like a blade of frost.

“Who watered this yesterday?”

A middle-aged Laborer stepped forward, his entire body trembling. “It… it was this humble one.”

“How much did you use? What was the temperature?” Bai Zhi pressed.

“R-replying to Manager Bai… exactly half a ladle, just as you ordered! The water was icy to the touch, fresh from the cold pool. I would never dare to be careless!”

The man’s face was ashen. If the herb died, his life would likely be the forfeit.

Bai Zhi ignored his pleading. she squatted again, inspecting the soil for waterlogging or signs of pests. She found nothing.

“No signs of rot or insects…” she murmured, a rare flash of anxiety flickering in her cool eyes.

The Immortals demanded perfection. If she failed here, the consequences would be unthinkable.

Chen Ping’s heart stirred. A passage from the Compendium of Hundred Herbs flashed through his mind:

Cold Star Grass: Solitary and frigid. It loathes the proximity of Yang-positive energy. If fiery spirit herbs are near, their invisible essence will disturb the grass, causing the tips to wither and yellow.

He looked beyond the earthen ridge that separated the plots. Just a few zhang away lay the western field—the area under his own care.

There, a patch of Red Sun Flowers was reaching full maturity. Their crimson leaves glowed with a vibrant, warm aura that shimmered in the heat haze.

Chen Ping stepped forward and cupped his hands. “Manager Bai, may I offer a suggestion?”

Bai Zhi looked up, her piercing gaze landing on him.

Chen Ping pointed toward his field. “Cold Star Grass is solitary and cold. That patch of Red Sun Flowers is nearing its peak; its fiery energy is overflowing. Even with the ridge between them, the interference is likely too much for the closest plant to bear.”

Bai Zhi followed his finger. She looked at the vibrant red flowers, then back at the dying herb.

A flicker of realization crossed her face, followed by a deeper scowl. She knew he was right, but the solution was difficult.

“We cannot move the Red Sun Flowers without the Immortal Master’s permission,” she said, her voice tight.

“Moving them isn’t necessary,” Chen Ping countered calmly. “We can build a temporary barrier. If we use damp, cold moss-mud to thicken this side of the ridge, it should insulate the field from the heat.”

He paused, then added, “Simultaneously, we should give this specific plant a dose of Cold Jade Powder to bolster its vitality against the external influence.”

Cold Jade Powder was a specialized fertilizer kept strictly for Bai Zhi’s use.

Bai Zhi remained silent, her eyes scrutinizing Chen Ping with a new intensity. “You understand herbal medicine?”

“I wouldn’t dare claim such a thing,” Chen Ping replied with practiced humility. “I simply spend my nights memorizing the Compendium of Hundred Herbs. It is mere rote learning.”

Bai Zhi nodded slowly. A glimmer of approval—tiny, but present—shone in her eyes. Chen Ping noted it with a quiet satisfaction; his persona as a diligent student was paying off.

“Do as he says,” she commanded. “Wang Fa! Take men to the Back Mountain. Fetch fresh moss and cold mud from the pool floor. Build that wall immediately.”

She turned to the trembling water-bearer. “You! Fetch a pinch of Cold Jade Powder from my quarters. Dissolve it in half a bowl of spring water and apply it only to this plant. Be precise.”

“Yes, Manager Bai!” The men scrambled away, looking as though they had just been granted a stay of execution.

Bai Zhi looked at Chen Ping. Her tone was still flat, but the edge of aloofness had softened. “Thank you for the reminder.”

“It is my duty,” Chen Ping responded evenly.

As he returned to his own duties, he kept a sharp eye on her. He saw Bai Zhi reach out, her fingertips glowing with a faint, almost imperceptible white light. She brushed the wilted leaves, her eyes closed in concentration.

An Immortal technique!

Chen Ping’s heart gave a violent jolt. Bai Zhi was no mere servant. She was, at the very least, a Registered Disciple. Only they were granted access to the sect’s techniques.

By evening, the moss-mud wall was complete, radiating a damp chill. The Cold Jade Powder had been applied, and the plant’s dull leaves had already begun to regain a faint luster.

The crisis had passed. Bai Zhi’s brow finally relaxed.

Chen Ping returned to his stone hut and barred the door. As was his habit, he checked his sleeves and pockets for any “harvest” from the day. He expected nothing.

But as he pulled off his outer garment, a small, slender object fluttered out from his inner lapel and fell to the floor.

It was a single, silver-spotted leaf—a remnant that had broken off from the sick Cold Star Grass during the commotion.

Chen Ping smiled.

Through a series of calculated “coincidences,” it had fallen into his sleeve. And by “coincidence,” he had found it.

He picked it up. The leaf was barely the length of a finger, its tip yellowed and curled, but the body was a deep, healthy green. It was icy to the touch, sending a jolt of pure, chilling energy through his fingertips.

Without a second’s hesitation, Chen Ping vanished.

He reappeared inside the Jade Pendant space and knelt before the Black Earth. With trembling fingers, he planted the tiny, withered leaf into the center of the fertile soil.

He watched the solitary leaf standing in the dark earth, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Can a single leaf survive in this soil?

If it could, his path to power had just been cut short by years.