All day long, Chen Ping shuttled back and forth between the hillside and the Pigsty.

Cutting grass, carrying grass, cutting more grass, carrying more grass…

The heavy basket bent his back, and the rough straps chafed his shoulders until they were raw and bloody. Sweat dripped into the open wounds, bringing a stinging, heart-piercing pain.

The few burly men responsible for chopping the grass sat in a shady spot nearby, occasionally shouting to urge him to move faster.

At Wu Hour (11am-1pm), the Foreman arrived carrying a bucket.

One bowl per person of murky, foul-smelling Gruel.

Chen Ping practically snatched it, not caring about the scalding heat. He gulped it down in a few desperate mouthfuls.

The meager food didn’t even make a splash in his stomach; instead, the hunger burned even more fiercely.

In the afternoon, he was assigned to clean out a manure pit in the corner.

It was a huge, deep pit filled with black-green viscous filth. Maggots wriggled within, and the stench was so overwhelming it was almost suffocating.

He and two other Laborers used long-handled wooden ladles to scoop out the filth one ladleful at a time, dumping it into a nearby manure cart.

The heavy wooden ladle, the splattering filth, and the pervasive stench made him dizzy and nauseous.

Just as he gritted his teeth against the urge to vomit, mechanically repeating the scooping motion, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Two attendants were dragging a roll of tattered straw matting from the other side of the pit.

A corner of the matting came loose, revealing a bluish-gray foot caked in grime.

“Bad luck! Another one dead!”

One of the attendants cursed irritably, his face devoid of emotion, as if he were dragging a bundle of firewood.

“Old illness acting up again? If you can’t hold on, reincarnate sooner and save space,” the other replied casually.

The two walked to the edge of the manure pit and swung their arms. The roll of matting traced an arc through the air.

Plop!

It landed heavily in the thick black-green filth, splattering large amounts of muck.

The matting loosened a bit. One could vaguely see it wrapped around an emaciated body, face down.

The corpse was quickly swallowed by the filth, leaving only a few strands of grayish-white hair floating on the surface before they, too, sank.

Like discarding a useless rag.

Chen Ping’s hand gripping the ladle tightened violently, his knuckles turning white. The churning in his stomach froze solid under an icy chill.

That casually discarded corpse was like a heavy stone smashing against his chest.

He recognized those few strands of grayish-white hair.

It was Old Zhang, a laborer from another corner of the shack area who had arrived many years before him. Usually silent and stooped like a shrimp, he suffered from coughing fits that sounded like he was trying to hack up his lungs.

Chen Ping had seen him struggling to chop wood just yesterday.

Gone, just like that?

Tossed into the manure pit like garbage?

An indescribable chill shot up from the soles of his feet straight to the crown of his head.

Chen Ping stared fixedly at the filthy surface as it gradually returned to calm, with only bubbles rising now.

If not for the Jade Pendant…

If not for that tiny, weak sprout last night…

Would his final outcome be just like Old Zhang’s?

To breathe his last in some unknown deep night, then be rolled up in a straw mat and tossed into this filthy pit to become nourishment for the land?

No one would remember his name. No one would care whether he lived or died.

The only trace of his existence would be an empty straw sleeping spot in the shack and one more nameless corpse in the manure pit.

Fear, like a winter wind, froze his heart.

His chest tightened until he felt suffocated.

“Daydreaming! Get to work!”

The Foreman’s scolding voice lashed at his ear like a whip.

Chen Ping snapped back to reality with a start. He quickly lowered his head and forcefully plunged the ladle into the filth again.

He clenched his jaw tight, cheeks bulging, forcing himself to continue working.

But now, every swing of his arm felt exceptionally heavy.

Finally, night fell.

Chen Ping dragged his legs, heavy as lead, back toward the shack area step by painful step.

Every part of his body hurt without exception.

Where the basket straps had chafed his shoulders raw, scabs mixed with sweat stuck to his tattered clothes; pulling the fabric away brought stabbing pain.

His hands were covered in small cuts and blood marks from the grass stems. His back and waist were so sore he couldn’t straighten up; every breath tugged at the muscles under his ribs.

But worse than the pain was the bone-deep exhaustion. He was too tired even for hunger pangs—just an emptied-out weakness remained.

He didn’t return to his shack immediately. Instead, he found a secluded corner behind a pile of rocks away from the others.

He sat down, panting heavily.

He needed to check. He needed to see that hope again.

He looked around to ensure no one was watching. Then, clutching the Jade Pendant through his clothes, he focused his mind.

HUM!

The world twisted.

The fresh, vital scent of soil rushed into his nose, instantly washing away the phantom stench of the manure pit that still clung to his senses.

He opened his eyes.

The milky white light was as gentle as ever. The black earth remained quiet and peaceful.

And there, in the center…

Chen Ping’s eyes widened. His breathing stopped.

That tiny green tip from last night had vanished.

Replacing it was a tender green seedling about half the height of a chopstick!

It had two slender, emerald-green leaves that stretched out comfortably, swaying gently even without a breeze. They exuded a faint, glowing vitality that seemed to illuminate the entire space.

It grew!

It really grew! And it grew so fast!

In just one day and one night, it had achieved what would take normal Spirit Grain ten days or even half a month to reach!

Chen Ping crawled over, his trembling hands hovering around the seedling, afraid to touch it lest he break this fragile miracle.

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision.

This wasn’t just a stalk of Spirit Grain.

This was his life. This was his ladder out of the hellish Servant Peak. This was his defiance against the fate of rotting in a manure pit like Old Zhang.

He wiped his eyes fiercely, a savage grin breaking through the grime on his face.

“Grow,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. “Grow fast… I’m waiting for you.”

He stayed for only a moment longer, soaking in the sight of the green seedling, letting its vitality fill the hollow emptiness in his chest.

Then, before the headache could set in, he willed himself out.

HUM!

He was back in the cold, dark corner of the servant quarters.

But this time, when he stood up, his spine was a little straighter. The darkness didn’t seem so terrifying anymore.

Because he carried a sun in his pocket.