Chapter 65 Completely Penniless

Zhou Changwang had not come here to take on a task. His pest control methods might have been passable in the spiritual fields at the foot of Changling Mountain, but within the Hall of Spiritual Plants, they were hardly worth mentioning. Inside the hall, there were more than a dozen spiritual plant masters, nearly a hundred apprentices, and many experienced spirit farmers—experts in exterminating pests were certainly not lacking.

His purpose was simply to check the task board for current needs, so he could choose one or two profitable spiritual crops suitable for his own cultivation. After all, he had very few spirit stones left. He could not let the five acres of spiritual fields behind his house go to waste, draining his reserves until nothing remained.

Combining his own abilities, Zhou Changwang quickly settled on a particular spiritual material: Gathering Spirit Grass. This herb was a key component in refining Spirit Restoration Pills. Each stalk sold for one low-grade spirit stone, and its growth cycle was short—just three months.

The only problem was its tremendous demand for spiritual energy. Only fields of at least mid-grade rank one could sustain its growth. It was also exceptionally delicate and prone to withering; the slightest wind, rain, or insect bite could turn its leaves yellow and kill the plant. Even veteran spirit farmers handled this crop with extreme care, tending to it daily. Yet, even so, a survival rate of thirty percent out of a hundred plants was considered good—many barely reached ten percent.

As such, few cultivators in the Hall of Spiritual Plants chose to grow it. However, since Gathering Spirit Grass was a primary ingredient for Spirit Restoration Pills and always in demand, its price remained high, which tempted Zhou Changwang.

His confidence stemmed from the spiritual farmer’s manual he possessed. The elderly farmer who authored it had, in his later years, specialized in cultivating this very grass, amassing considerable experience and maintaining a survival rate above seventy percent.

“If all goes well, I don’t even need seventy percent. If I can achieve a fifty percent survival rate, I’ll make a huge profit,” Zhou Changwang thought as he made his way to the seed shop inside the hall.

This shop was, in fact, the largest source of spiritual seeds in the entire Fengmingwu Market. Most seeds came from the hall’s own spiritual plant masters, though many were collected from other regions—some even originated from the Clear Source Sect.

There were two people in the shop: a middle-aged man, likely the manager, and a younger man whose expression was indifferent as he watched the comings and goings of apprentices and spirit farmers, his face displaying a hint of arrogance.

Zhou Changwang approached and asked plainly, “How much for Gathering Spirit Grass seeds?”

“One low-grade spirit stone for thirty seeds. You can select them yourself, but once you leave, we’re not responsible for any issues,” the young clerk said coolly before the manager could reply.

“That’s rather expensive. Can you give me a better price?”

As Zhou Changwang calculated the size and quality of his fields, he realized that each Gathering Spirit Grass seed needed to be spaced at least a meter apart to thrive. That meant he’d need at least three thousand seeds to fill his five acres—one hundred low-grade spirit stones, a significant investment.

“Expensive? In what way? Our prices have always been like this. It’s tough running the Hall’s seed shop, you know. Maybe look at your own circumstances—have you earned spirit stones over the years? Have you worked hard enough?” The clerk’s eyes were full of disdain and impatience.

“My earnings are none of your business. Manager, is this how your staff treat your customers?” Zhou Changwang was stunned—since when did customers get treated so poorly? Had he eaten their rice for free?

“Sorry, sorry, let me help you,” the manager hurried over with a smile, shooting a glare at the clerk. “You, go to the back.”

“Forget it. I can’t afford your seeds,” Zhou Changwang snorted.

“Please don’t go. Our seeds are the best in Fengmingwu Market, carefully selected with almost no dead or rotten seeds. Some even come from the Clear Source Sect and grow one or two tenths faster than ordinary seeds. You wouldn’t want to buy inferior seeds elsewhere just because of a moment’s displeasure, would you?”

On this point, Zhou Changwang agreed. He knew that seeds from the loose cultivator market were cheaper, but their quality was questionable—if half of a hundred seeds sprouted, that was considered good. Many dead seeds were mixed in, and those without a trained eye would suffer losses. Superior seeds also grew faster than ordinary ones.

“I do, in fact, need three thousand Gathering Spirit Grass seeds,” Zhou Changwang said after a brief hesitation.

“In that case, for every thousand seeds you buy, you can pick out thirty extra seeds. How does that sound?” the manager offered tentatively.

“Fifty extras,” Zhou Changwang countered immediately.

“Deal. Consider it a gesture of friendship,” the manager agreed, nodding as he fetched a dozen small pouches from the back. Each bag contained three hundred Gathering Spirit Grass seeds.

Zhou Changwang felt better, muttering to himself that he might have bargained for too few. But since the deal was made, he wouldn’t go back on his word. For three thousand seeds, he could select an extra one hundred fifty seeds—a savings of five spirit stones. Not bad.

He opened the bags, revealing seeds the size of broad beans, each plump and exuding a faint spiritual energy—the vitality of life itself. The stronger the spiritual energy, the healthier the seed; the weaker, the lower its survival rate. For example, the three Thunder Spirit Rice tree seeds he’d received from Chen Yushu had no spiritual energy at all, making them nearly impossible to cultivate.

Without hesitation, Zhou Changwang began selecting seeds one by one. After the time it took for an incense stick to burn, he had chosen all three thousand one hundred fifty seeds, and handed over one hundred low-grade spirit stones.

“Now, I’m truly broke,” Zhou Changwang thought as he left the Hall of Spiritual Plants, tallying his assets: one hundred fifty-five low-grade spirit stones, now down to fifty-five after this purchase.

But when he emerged from the Beast Tamer’s Guild, that number had dwindled even further—he had just spent thirty more spirit stones on three thousand catties of beast manure.

He felt no regret, though. Such investment was necessary in the beginning—without input, there could be no output. While his spiritual fields had enough spiritual energy on their own, being upper-grade rank one, the soil cultivation techniques he’d learned from the spiritual farmer’s manual, combined with the spiritual energy in beast manure, could further enhance the fields’ vitality by another one or two tenths.

When used together, the effects were more than just the sum of their parts; his spiritual plants would surely grow even faster.

With that, he hurried back to his courtyard. After waiting a few hours, the beast manure was delivered in batches. Following his instructions, the workers piled it in a corner of his backyard, ready for use.