Who Let Him Cultivate？

Chapter 38: The Farewell Scene Was Quite Moving

Lu Yang stood frozen, his mind short-circuiting as he tried to process a solution that violently assaulted both basic morality and common sense.

“It’s… good that the matter is resolved,” he finally managed to choke out, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Elder Ba beamed, clearly thrilled that his horrifying stroke of genius had saved the day. He clapped a heavy hand onto Lu Yang’s shoulder. “The little Medicine Kings are a mischievous bunch. You’ve worked hard these past few weeks. Take out your jade pendant.”

Lu Yang numbly complied. Elder Ba tapped the jade with a glowing finger. “The three hundred Contribution Points for the mission reward have been transferred.”

Effort yielded reward; his suffering had not been in vain. To a Foundation Establishment disciple like Lu Yang, three hundred Contribution Points was a staggering fortune.

But as the initial high faded, cold reality set in. Three hundred points sounded like a lot, but a quick mental calculation revealed a depressing truth: it wasn’t even enough to buy the little Medicine Kings’ dirty foot-water.

The Mission Hall’s exchange list was painfully clear. The Medicine King Elixir came in two tiers: standard and deluxe. Based on Lu Yang’s recent, traumatizing firsthand experience, the “standard version” was the herbs’ foot-washing water, while the “deluxe version” was their full-body bathwater.

“Go on, say your goodbyes to the little Medicine Kings,” Elder Ba urged, waving a hand toward the garden. “Opportunities to enter the Medicine Garden are exceedingly rare. Once you leave, you likely won’t ever have the chance to—”

The elder choked on his own words, abruptly remembering a glaring loophole. As long as Yun Zhi told Lu Yang to come here, Elder Ba would have to obediently swing the gates wide open. He certainly didn’t have the spine to intercept *her* orders.

Elder Ba cleared his throat, looking away. “Ahem. Anyway. Just go say goodbye.”

Lu Yang offered a flat “Oh,” acutely aware that the old man was leaving something unsaid.

Back in the dirt patches, the little Medicine Kings feigned a touching display of reluctance at the news of his departure.

“We’re all friends here,” the Ginseng Baby sniffled, plucking at itself. “Take this ancient ginseng root of mine as a token… Oh, wait, actually, this is far too valuable. I can’t bear to part with it. My old ginseng skin, then? No, peeling it hurts too much. Forget it. I don’t really have anything cheap enough to give you, so let’s just stick to a verbal goodbye.”

Lu Yang stared at it. When the Ginseng Baby had bid farewell to Layman Gu Yue years ago, it hadn’t coughed up a single leaf either.

“We are all Cultivators walking the long path,” the Three-Leaf Star Grass chimed in, its tone dripping with a poorly concealed desire to see him leave. “A month is but a fleeting moment. If you’re going, just go. Is there really a need for all this ceremony?”

“The sheer vitality coursing through my vines and leaves is far too potent,” the Kirin Immortality Herb explained sagely. During his time here, Lu Yang had learned its true form was a vibrant green vine. “If I gave you a cutting, your mortal flesh would undergo grotesque, agonizing mutations. For your own safety, I shall give you nothing.”

To be fair, the Kirin Immortality Herb wasn’t lying. For the entire month, the little Medicine Kings had been actively suppressing their ambient life force, terrified that Lu Yang might accidentally absorb too much and explode into a shower of gore. If they actually gave him a piece of their bodies, they’d have to slap dozens of sealing arrays on it just to make it safe to hold.

“Everyone is saying their heartfelt goodbyes,” the End-of-Ages Flower suddenly piped up, twisting its petals toward him. “So, aren’t you going to give *us* a parting gift?”

Lu Yang, deeply moved by the sheer audacity of the atmosphere, let a single, dramatic tear well up in his eye. “You’re right. I will miss you all so much. In fact, after some time passes, I will definitely ask Senior Sister Yun Zhi to come down here and visit everyone.”

The little Medicine Kings shrieked in unison and immediately began shooing him out of the garden.

The farewell scene was, indeed, incredibly moving—mostly in how fast it physically moved him out the door.

***

Even if it couldn’t buy a drop of Medicine King Elixir, three hundred Contribution Points was still a massive windfall for a mere Foundation Establishment Cultivator. Lu Yang practically vibrated with anticipation. He was going straight to the Mission Hall to buy something nice.

He couldn’t rely on his Eldest Senior Sister for handouts forever. A man had to stand on his own two feet and earn his keep.

“Hey! I was just about to head up to Heavenly Gate Peak to find you. Didn’t expect to bump into you here.”

Lu Yang turned to see Meng Jingzhou striding toward him, looking momentarily surprised to see him stepping out of the restricted Medicine Garden. But a second later, Meng Jingzhou shrugged, clearly remembering that Yun Zhi was Lu Yang’s direct Senior Sister. Nepotism explained everything.

Beside Meng Jingzhou stood a towering behemoth of a man squeezed into a scholar’s robe. He was a walking contradiction—radiating the polite, refined aura of a gentleman, yet possessing a physical mass that suggested he could casually crush a boulder into dust.

The giant scholar offered a crisp, perfectly executed bow. “Brother Lu, it has been far too long. If I am not mistaken, this is our first formal meeting.”

“Man Gu,” Lu Yang smiled, returning the bow. “When you chose to become a disciple under the Fourth Elder, you certainly took everyone by surprise.”

He turned to Meng Jingzhou. “Looking for me for a reason?”

“Can’t a brother seek out a brother just for the pleasure of his company?” Meng Jingzhou scoffed, feigning deep offense. “Come on. Let’s find a tea house, sit down, and talk business.”

This was a classic Meng family tactic. Their strict aristocratic upbringing dictated that all serious matters be discussed over food or drink. The logic was flawless: if the negotiations went well, the Meng family would generously cover the tab. If the deal went south, they split the check.

Meng Jingzhou led Lu Yang and Man Gu into a bustling, fragrant tea house.

“Gentlemen! What can I get for you?” the Tea Master asked, his hands moving with practiced, blurry speed as he wiped down the wooden table. “We serve every leaf under the heavens.”

Lu Yang narrowed his eyes. Once again, he couldn’t sense a single drop of spiritual energy from the staff. He leaned in and whispered, “Brother Man Gu, what cultivation level is this Tea Master? Can you read him?”

Man Gu leaned down, his deep voice barely a rumble. “Brother Lu, as far as I am aware, we newly recruited disciples are the absolute bottom of the food chain in this Sect. I am fairly certain even the chickens roaming the mountain paths have a higher cultivation base than we do.”

Oblivious to their existential dread, Meng Jingzhou slammed a hand on the table. “Bring us a pot of milk tea.”

The Tea Master paused, his eyes narrowing. For a tense second, he looked like he suspected Meng Jingzhou was a rival Sect spy sent to cause a scene.

“Oh, wait, my mistake,” Meng Jingzhou quickly corrected, waving his hands as he noticed the man’s darkening expression. “I meant, bring us a *basin* of milk tea. The savory kind. It’s a specialty from the frozen wastes of the far north, if I recall correctly.”

The Tea Master’s hostility vanished, replaced by a nod of professional respect. He understood exactly what was being ordered.

Minutes later, the Tea Master returned hauling a scalding, heavy iron charcoal brazier. He set it down with a heavy *thud*. Inside the wide iron basin sat a rich mound of fried rice, thick slabs of yellow butter, dried beef jerky, and curled milk skin. A steaming iron kettle of raw milk tea was placed beside it.

Lu Yang and Man Gu stared at the culinary contraption, utterly lost. They silently deferred to Meng Jingzhou.

With the practiced flair of a street-food vendor, Meng Jingzhou grabbed a wooden spatula and began slow-roasting the ingredients in the dry basin. The rich, heavy scent of melting butter and toasted grains hit the air. He stirred until the rice took on a golden hue, emitting a satisfying, crispy *crackle* against the iron.

Then, he grabbed the heavy kettle and tipped it over the basin.

*Shhh-hiss!*

The liquid hit the scorching iron with a violent sizzle. A thick, savory cloud of steam erupted upward, carrying the heavy, mouth-watering aroma of roasted beef, butter, and tea straight into their noses.

Lu Yang scooped a small bowl, blew on the surface, and took a tentative sip. He smacked his lips. It was salty, incredibly rich, and completely bizarre—yet undeniably delicious.

Man Gu took one polite sip, paused, and then unhinged his jaw, downing the entire boiling bowl in three massive, ox-like gulps.

“So,” Meng Jingzhou said, wiping his mouth. “Do you have a mission lined up right now?”

Lu Yang shook his head. “Just finished Elder Ba’s Medicine Garden request. Haven’t looked for the next one yet.”

“Good, because there aren’t many suitable for us anyway,” Meng Jingzhou leaned in, lowering his voice like a conspirator. “The Mission Hall’s board is practically empty for our level. I found it strange. If there aren’t enough missions for us, how did the previous generation of Senior Brothers and Sisters survive?”

“And?” Lu Yang prompted.

“So, I did some digging. Asked around the upper peaks and uncovered the Sect’s little inside secret.” Meng Jingzhou tapped the side of his nose.

“Which is?”

“You don’t *have* to take missions from the Mission Hall to earn Contribution Points. If you find and resolve a situation on your own, you can report the results directly to the Sect. Once they verify your claims and ensure the outcome is genuine, they’ll pay out the corresponding reward.”

Lu Yang blinked. “Wait. Do you even know where the Mission Hall gets its postings in the first place?”

“Of course I do,” Meng Jingzhou grinned, holding up three fingers. “They come from three main sources. First, the ‘Righteous Path Mutual Assistance Agreement’ between the Five Great Immortal Sects and the Great Xia Dynasty. If the mortal government runs into a supernatural crisis and lacks the manpower, they formally request our aid. But this is incredibly rare.”

“Why?”

“Because the Great Xia Dynasty has ruled for ten thousand years,” Man Gu rumbled softly, pouring himself another bowl of boiling tea. “For the imperial court to publicly beg a Sect for help is a massive loss of face. It’s a political nightmare.”

“Exactly,” Meng Jingzhou pointed at Man Gu. “Second source: Civilian petitions. People come directly to the Five Great Immortal Sects begging for justice, but we only step in if the Great Xia Dynasty has officially refused to handle it. Like that parrot-catching nonsense you did.”

Meng Jingzhou leaned back, a predatory gleam in his eye. “And then there’s the third source. Clues, rumors, and anomalies discovered by Dao Seeking Sect disciples while traveling the mortal realm. They bring the intel back, the Sect evaluates it, and posts it as a mission with a bounty.”

He slammed his empty bowl onto the table. “That third option, gentlemen, is our golden ticket.”