Chen Yang had been living as a laborer in the Verdant Wood Sect's medicine garden for over a month now.
Every day, before the first pale light crept across the horizon, while the sect still lay in silence and the echo of the morning bell still faded from the distant peaks, he was already up from his hard wooden bed.
He dressed quietly, picked up his worn-smooth wooden bucket and hoe, and set off through the cool morning dew toward the medicine fields that stretched across dozens of acres.
The work was no different from the farmwork he had done all his life — only here, instead of ordinary rice and wheat, the fields were planted with all manner of rare spirit herbs brimming with spiritual essence.
The air was perpetually laced with a mingling of bitter and sweet herbal fragrance, and with every breath, faint traces of Spiritual Energy seemed to seep into his lungs.
One small comfort was that his lifelong familiarity with soil and crops had given him a natural intuition for the ways of plants.
In barely half a month, he had committed to memory the appearance, preferences, and cultivation secrets of nearly a hundred varieties of medicinal herbs in the garden.
Even Steward Wang — who had always held his head high and paid little mind to laborers — had paused during his rounds when he saw the Bloodclot Grass Chen Yang had grafted thriving with remarkable vitality, visibly outpacing the rest. In an unprecedented gesture, he gave a slight nod.
"Didn't expect you'd actually have a knack for farming," Steward Wang said that day, his voice flat and unreadable.
Chen Yang simply kept his head down and continued tending to the plants, offering no reply.
His mind was clear as still water: in a cultivation sect, no matter how well a laborer performed, he could never shed his coarse cloth garments or escape his position of dependence on others.
What tormented him most was his longing for Zhao Yanran.
Though they were in the same sect, he rarely caught a glimpse of her.
On the rare occasions he spotted her from afar, she was always surrounded by three dashing senior brothers, her silk robes shimmering with light, making her look like an immortal — a world apart from him, covered in dust and mud.
Once, while delivering medicinal herbs to the inner disciple quarters — a courtyard of white jade floors and swirling Spiritual Energy — he happened to see Zhao Yanran and Senior Brother Yang emerge side by side from a vermilion gate.
Senior Brother Yang's arm rested naturally around her slender waist as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. She covered her lips with a laugh, her eyes dancing with a coquettish charm Chen Yang had never seen before.
In that moment, his chest felt as though it had been struck by a heavy blow, a sharp pain flaring suddenly. He quickly bowed his head and pressed himself to the side of the path.
Zhao Yanran's gaze seemed to sweep briefly in his direction, and her smile faltered for an instant — but before she could make any gesture, Senior Brother Yang had already turned her away. From start to finish, not a single glance was spared for him.
In the dead of night, Chen Yang would often lie awake, turning the warm jade token over and over in his hands.
That jade token had once been a token of betrothal; now it felt like a brand searing into his chest.
His hunger for power had never burned so fiercely — a desperate desire to break free from this lowly station, to stop watching helplessly as the woman he had once wed in ceremony became another man's cultivation partner.
On this particular morning, the mist had yet to lift when Steward Wang instructed Chen Yang to head into the back mountains to gather several varieties of wild medicinal herbs for grafting in the garden.
Those herbs had unusual growing habits and favored remote locations.
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Chen Yang took up his herb basket and tools and set off alone down the winding path into the back mountains.
The back mountains of the Verdant Wood Sect were vast, ridge upon ridge of peaks. Beyond the well-trodden herb-gathering areas lay deep, wild ravines where demon beasts roamed and few people ever ventured.
In search of those rare herbs — which preferred shade and moisture and grew along cliff faces — he pressed deeper and deeper without realizing it.
The surroundings grew ever more still. All he could hear was the rustle of fallen leaves beneath his feet and the occasional muffled howl of some unknown beast in the distance.
Just as he was fully focused on climbing a steep slope slick with wet moss, a muffled cry of pain from a woman rang out below.
Aiya!
Chen Yang stopped at once and looked toward the sound. A dozen or so paces away, a young woman in blue robes had fallen to the ground, both hands gripping her ankle, her face twisted in pain.
"Miss, did you twist your ankle?" Chen Yang set down his herb basket and hurried over.
The woman looked up at the sound of his voice, revealing a delicate but pale face.
Seeing Chen Yang in laborer's clothing, she first startled, then gave a rueful smile and nodded. "Thank you for your concern, Senior Brother. I stepped wrong and twisted my ankle — it hurts terribly."
"I know a bit of folk massage and first aid. If you don't mind, I can take a look." Chen Yang crouched down, keeping a respectful distance.
Sprains and injuries had been common during his days of farmwork, and he had learned a few techniques from the village doctor back home.
The woman hesitated a short while, then nodded. "I'd be grateful, Senior Brother."
Only then did Chen Yang carefully remove her shoe and stocking. The ankle was already red, swollen, and hot to the touch.
With practiced hands, he pressed and probed the area, gently moving the joint.
The woman bit down hard on her lower lip, cold sweat beading on her brow, but she made no sound of complaint.
"Fortunately the bone is fine — it's only a sprained tendon." Chen Yang exhaled with slight relief. He took a few fresh herbs from his basket, chewed them into a poultice, applied it to the injury, then tore a strip from the hem of his garment and carefully bandaged the ankle.
"Thank you so much, Senior Brother," the woman said, testing her weight. The pain had indeed lessened considerably. "May I ask your name? Which peak are you from? Yiyi is deeply grateful."
Chen Yang shook his head. "I'm not a disciple — just a laborer in the medicine garden. My name is Chen Yang."
A flash of surprise crossed the woman's eyes, followed by a gentle smile. "A laborer who knows how to treat injuries with herbs? Senior Brother Chen Yang, you are quite unexpected. My name is Liu Yiyi. I was originally a courtesan at Spring Crimson House in Qingyun County, down the mountain."
Now it was Chen Yang's turn to be taken aback.
Looking more closely, though she wore plain clothes and no makeup, there was indeed a certain charm about her brows and eyes that set her apart from ordinary women.
Liu Yiyi seemed to read his thoughts and spoke calmly. "You needn't be surprised, Senior Brother Chen Yang. I sold my arts at Spring Crimson House, hoping to meet a good man who would buy out my contract. But fate had other plans — I contracted a venereal disease."
Chen Yang's heart sank at the words. In the pleasure quarters, that illness was practically a death sentence.
"The madam, seeing me too ill to be of use, abandoned me at the Nameless Burial Grounds to die on my own." Liu Yiyi continued, a trace of bitterness flickering in her eyes. "But it seems my life wasn't meant to end there. An Elder of the Verdant Wood Sect happened to pass by and saved me with a spirit medicine. Not only did he cure the illness, he brought me back to the sect and gave me a position as a laborer in the medicine garden at Butterfly Valley, so I'd have a place to live."
Chen Yang sighed with feeling. "So Miss Liu has also been through such hardships."
"Now I tend the medicine garden in Butterfly Valley. Though I'm still a laborer, I no longer have to force a smile for others. The days are peaceful, spent among flowers and plants — a hundred times better than that place of pleasure." A genuine warmth shone through Liu Yiyi's smile. "Senior Brother Chen Yang helped me today, and Yiyi is truly grateful. If you don't mind the remoteness, you're welcome to come to Butterfly Valley when you gather herbs in the future. Few people go there, and yet many rare medicinal herbs grow in that valley — they may well be of use to you."
Chen Yang was just about to express his thanks when voices calling out from the distant forest reached his ears, as if someone were searching for a person.
Liu Yiyi quickly rose to her feet. "It must be my companions from the valley coming to look for me. Senior Brother Chen Yang, remember — Butterfly Valley is at the Western Mountain Foothills. Follow the stream upward, and at the valley entrance you'll find three ancient gnarled pine trees; they're easy to spot. Just mention my name when you arrive."
With that, she gave a bow. Though she still walked with a slight limp, she moved far better than before, and soon disappeared around a bend in the mountain path, swallowed by the lush green trees.
Chen Yang stood alone where he was, gazing in the direction she had gone for a long while without moving.
A mountain breeze drifted past, carrying the bitter-sweet fragrance of the freshly gathered herbs in his basket.
He had never imagined that this chance act of kindness might open a window to the unknown for him — a laborer trapped within the medicine garden.
Butterfly Valley.
Liu Yiyi.
He repeated the names silently in his heart, and a nameless premonition spread through him like ripples on still water.
That deep, secluded valley, and that woman who shared a kindred sorrow — perhaps they held within them the very chance that could change his fate.