Days slipped by amidst the repetitive labor in the Hundred Herb Garden and the meticulous care of the spatial herb fields.

In the blink of an eye, Chen Ping had already been lying low in the Hundred Herb Garden for three months.

The limits of his body were now clearly laid out before him.

Sixty-five sets of the Vitality Technique.

No matter how hard he gritted his teeth and persevered, no matter how he adjusted his breathing, the movements of the sixty-sixth set simply could not be performed fluidly.

Forcing it caused his entire skeleton to groan under the strain, and a muscle-tearing pain instantly washed over him. Once, after a particularly forceful attempt, he even coughed up traces of blood.

He understood. This was the end of Mortal martial arts, the absolute limit this body could bear.

To make matters worse, the effect of the Dew Condensing Grass leaves had completely vanished.

At first, he consumed one leaf per week. The medicinal efficacy sank in like a clay ox entering the sea, vanishing without a ripple.

Refusing to believe it was hopeless, he risked swallowing an entire mature Dew Condensing Grass plant.

The result far exceeded his expectations. The violent medicinal power rampaged wildly within his body; his internal organs felt as if they had been struck by a sledgehammer, burning and aching as if about to split apart.

That time, he lay in bed for three full days before barely managing to suppress the agony that nearly tore him apart. He was left deeply shaken.

From then on, he never dared to casually attempt overdosing on any spirit herb again.

The tempering of his body seemed to have reached a dead end.

However, the changes within the Jade Pendant space were heartening.

The ten seedlings had long since grown to maturity, continuously tillering new side shoots. Chen Ping strictly followed the rhythm of Division Propagation, gingerly separating each seedling with its own independent root system.

Now, the planned circular area in the middle of the space was densely planted with one hundred and nine Dew Condensing Grass plants—lush green with thick, fleshy leaves. They grew quietly, though they were of little use to him now.

The progress with the Cold Star Grass was relatively more promising.

Those eight initial buds, stripped off with their faint rootlets, had grown very well after several precious waterings from the Cold Pool. They had also produced buds again.

Chen Ping transplanted them evenly, along with the mother plant, to the “shady” area near the periphery of the space, close to the barrier.

After successful Division Propagation, this area now neatly held eighty-one Cold Star Grass plants, emitting a faint, elusive coolness.

Looking at this herb field taking initial shape within the space, Chen Ping knew the time had come.

The Dew Condensing Grass had lost its effect on him; continuing to cultivate it only occupied precious Black Earth. Exchanging them for Spirit Stones to obtain a chance to test his Spirit Root was now his most urgent need.

The only problem was the channel.

How could he safely offload such a quantity of spirit herbs and exchange them for Spirit Stones?

He discreetly inquired with several familiar regular laborers under his charge, but they all shook their heads blankly. Servant Disciples simply couldn’t access that level of commerce.

Hope could only be pinned on one person—Registered Disciple Bai Zhi.

To get closer to Bai Zhi, Chen Ping put in some effort.

He found Wang Fa, the oldest regular laborer in the Hundred Herb Garden. Wang Fa saw through people and matters in the garden clearly.

“Manager Bai,” Wang Fa said, rubbing his hands as he recalled. “She looks cold and speaks little, but she’s fair in her work and hasn’t made things difficult for us laborers. As for preferences… she seems quite fond of sweets. Several times I’ve seen her take out a small piece of pastry during breaks and eat it with relish. That pastry looked sickeningly sweet.”

Chen Ping’s heart stirred. This could be an opening.

Using the convenience of his position as a minor Manager, he had someone bring back a recipe book for making pastries from the mortal world. His stone hut, with its small stove, became an experimental ground.

Flour, sugar, oil, eggs… these ordinary ingredients were tested repeatedly in his hands.

The first few attempts resulted in pastries either burnt or hard as rocks. But he possessed tenacity. Consulting the recipe book, he adjusted the heat and proportions again and again.

Gradually, what wafted from the steamer was no longer a burnt smell, but a sweet fragrance.

Fluffy steamed cakes, crispy sesame biscuits, sweet and sticky red bean buns… Though they couldn’t compare to true spirit food, in this austere place like the Hundred Herb Garden, they were already rare delicacies.

He began bringing some of his homemade pastries daily to share with the regular laborers under his charge who tended the herb fields.

The sweet pastries quickly won over these men who toiled all day long. Whenever Chen Ping opened his food box and the aroma drifted out, it always attracted delighted glances and sounds of satisfied chewing.

This fragrance naturally drifted to Bai Zhi’s nose during her inspections as well.

Chen Ping keenly noticed that when Bai Zhi passed by, her gaze would inadvertently sweep over the food box in his hand. Though her expression remained unchanged, her steps would slow slightly.

The fish was testing the bait.

“Manager Bai? Freshly made red bean bun. Care to try one?” Chen Ping proactively greeted her during one inspection, his tone natural and casual, as if simply sharing with a coworker.

Bai Zhi’s steps halted. Her gaze fell on the plump buns steaming in the food box. Her throat seemed to move almost imperceptibly before she resumed her cool demeanor.

“No need. You all enjoy them,” she said before continuing on her way.

Chen Ping wasn’t bothered. He still brought pastries daily to share with his subordinates.

A few days later, he called out to Bai Zhi again during her inspection.

“Tried steamed cake today; it turned out fairly fluffy. Manager Bai, would you like to try?”

Perhaps it was because that sweet aroma of steamed cake was truly enticing; perhaps it was because Chen Ping’s persistent yet not overly deliberate sharing attitude put people at ease…

Bai Zhi hesitated for a moment and actually walked over, picking up a piece from the food box.

She took a small bite very lightly and chewed carefully. Chen Ping saw her slightly lowered eyelashes as she focused on the taste on her tongue. After a moment, she swallowed and said nothing, but gave a slight nod before turning to leave.

That nod counted as acknowledgment.

With a first time came a second and third time. Bai Zhi gradually stopped refusing Chen Ping’s invitations and would occasionally pause on her own when Chen Ping distributed pastries.

Chen Ping maintained proper boundaries—not overly familiar—keeping it natural, like colleagues sharing food.

Back and forth like this, the icy barrier between them seemed to thin somewhat, and occasionally they could exchange a few idle words about the weather or the herb field conditions.

After becoming somewhat more familiar, Chen Ping seized a moment when Bai Zhi had just finished an osmanthus cake and seemed relatively relaxed.

“Manager Bai,” he asked casually, “for spirit herbs from our garden here, aside from submitting them to the Sect… if there were any surplus… I wonder if there are ways outside to exchange them for things?”

He asked vaguely, his eyes holding the curiosity typical of Servant Disciples about “the outside world.”

Bai Zhi was wiping crumbs from her fingertips with a handkerchief. Hearing this, her movements paused slightly.

She looked up at Chen Ping. Her gaze remained clear and bright. Perhaps due to the favor of the pastries, or perhaps thinking Chen Ping was just a lowly Servant Disciple who couldn’t stir up trouble even if he knew the channels, she spoke plainly.

“North. Leave the Servant Peak, head north about fifty li. There’s a small valley. On every first and fifteenth day of the lunar month, some Registered Disciples and even some Outer Disciples gather there, exchanging sundries for daily use. All sorts of miscellaneous things.”

She paused briefly, then added, “The rules there are simple, but it’s also mixed company. Be careful.”

With that, she said no more and left.

Though brief, this information was like a lighthouse lit in the darkness for Chen Ping.

Fifty li north. A small valley. The first and fifteenth days. A small-scale Marketplace.

The opportunity had arrived.