Chương 4: 1.4 Farm

Looking at the youth who seemed determined to stand against the entire world, Ning paused. He had a rather strong impression of the youth. Of course, that impression originated from the original 'Ji Ning'. From his memories, Ning recalled Xiao Fan, who belonged to the same group as him and had caused quite a stir during the spiritual root assessment ceremony. Yet, it wasn't Xiao Fan's exceptional talent that captivated everyone's attention; rather, it was his lack thereof.

Hailing from a family of cultivators, Xiao Fan possessed only a low-grade spiritual root. In contrast, his cousin, who underwent the same test, displayed high-grade spiritual roots. Throughout the ceremony, Xiao Fan became the subject of mockery, both from onlookers and even his own cousin. Even the original 'Ji Ning' couldn't escape the irrational contempt he held towards Xiao Fan at the time. And now, as Ning observed the fallen youth, he witnessed the absence of pity or concern from the crowd.

Instead, degrading murmurs filled the air: "So arrogant," "He needs a reality check," "How can a dragon father give birth to such a pig of a son?" All those classic xianxia insults... Immersed in the unfolding scene, Ning couldn't help but experience a sense of déjà vu. It was as if the cultivation novels he had devoured in his previous life were coming to life before his very eyes.

"Is this guy a protagonist?" Ning mumbled inwardly. Poor talent. Mocked by everyone. Bullied by his own family. Refusing to bow his head. Then came the classic line.

"Don't bully the young and poor." Ning's expression became increasingly peculiar.

"... His surname is also Xiao." His eyes unconsciously drifted toward Xiao Fan's hand.

"Please don't tell me he's wearing an old ring too."... He was. Ning stared at the old ring hanging from Xiao Fan's finger for several long seconds.

"... No way." Of course, that alone proved nothing. A ring was just a ring. Probably. It was simply that, in the cultivation novels he'd devoured back in his previous life, this was the standard package of a xianxia protagonist. More often than not, the ring housed the soul of some ancient expert who would teach the protagonist heaven-defying techniques, hand out miraculous treasures, and occasionally complain about how disappointing the current generation had become.

Ning suddenly had the overwhelming urge to walk over and ask, "Excuse me, Senior, are you awake in there?" If it was true, the trolling potential was high as heaven, but he wisely resisted the urge. Of course, this single incident alone wasn't sufficient evidence to confirm Xiao Fan's status as a protagonist. However, amidst the commotion, something crucial seemed to have slipped the minds of everyone present. Xiao Fan had emerged from seclusion. This fact carried profound implications.

After all, Ning himself, possessing a mid-grade spiritual root, had only just reached the first stage of Qi Condensation. Yet here stood Xiao Fan, with his low-grade spiritual root, achieving a similar level of cultivation speed. This indicated that Xiao Fan possessed a secret, something beyond mere talent, allowing him to cultivate at such an extraordinary pace. Yet what struck Ning even more was the crowd's reaction.

Xiao Fan had merely refused to pay a protection fee and answered back, yet the hostility directed at him bordered on irrational. It was as though they expected him to lower his head, admit he was worthless, and quietly accept being trampled.

"How absurd..." Ning murmured under his breath. Even so, he had no intention of stepping in. Ning wasn't driven by some heroic sense of justice, nor was he arrogant enough to overestimate his own abilities. He had only just stepped onto the path of cultivation. Unlike the young man standing at the center of the storm-who might very well be the protagonist of this world-he had neither strength nor anyone to rely on.

Charging into someone else's trouble now would accomplish nothing except giving himself another enemy. So, Ning simply walked away. No one paid him any attention, as if he were transparent, a fact that suited him just fine.

"If I hadn't transmigrated, would 'I' have acted similarly? If that's the case, then it's truly terrifying," Ning mused, casting a glance back at the ongoing events.... Lost in thought, Ning soon arrived at the General Affairs Hall. The building towered over the surrounding courtyards, its sweeping tiled roofs layered one above another.

Thick vermilion pillars supported broad eaves carved with clouds and soaring dragons, while the polished stone steps leading to the entrance had been worn smooth by generations of disciples. Compared to the rustic entrance plaza, this place finally looked like the headquarters of an immortal sect. A queue had already formed outside. Most were freshly accepted peripheral disciples waiting for their assignments.

Some chatted nervously among themselves, while others stood ramrod straight, trying their best to look composed despite their excitement. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. With nothing better to do, Ning's gaze wandered. It eventually settled on a massive calligraphy scroll hanging beside the entrance. The two characters upon it were simple. Yet every brushstroke seemed alive. The ink hadn't faded despite the passing years.

Instead, it pulsed with an indescribable vitality, as though the person who had written it had poured their very will into each stroke. Without realizing it, Ning found himself staring. The characters seemed to grow larger as the black ink rippled, every brushstroke gradually taking the shape of a sword. His surroundings faded as a pressure settled over his chest. There was only him and the sword in this world. A dull ache spread through his temples.

"You should not stare at it for a long time." The calm voice cut through the strange sensation like a bucket of cold water. Ning immediately tore his gaze away, drawing in a deep breath as he rubbed the dull ache behind his temples. The discomfort eased almost at once. His eyes drifted back toward the calligraphy, though this time he didn't dare look directly at it.

"... That scroll did this?" Three young disciples in fresh green robes approached. The one in front carried himself with composure. His features weren't especially striking, yet there was an easy steadiness about him that made people instinctively trust him.

"That scroll contains the lingering intent left behind by the sect founder," he explained with a faint smile.

"We're still too weak to comprehend it. Looking for too long only invites unnecessary suffering."

"So I wasn't imagining things." Ning let out a relieved sigh.

"For a second there, I thought I'd somehow offended a piece of calligraphy. I was ready to apologize." Ning had never expected wall décor to attack him. Cultivation really did broaden one's horizons. The broad-shouldered youth laughed outright.

"I've never heard anyone apologize to a calligraphy before." Ning looked at him seriously.

"You laugh now, but that's exactly what someone says before another calligraphy attacks them." This time, all three failed to hide their amusement. Even the girl, whose expression had remained cold until now, let the corner of her mouth twitch almost imperceptibly. The composed youth cupped his hands with a faint smile.

"My name is Wei Zhusang. It's a pleasure to meet a fellow disciple." Before Ning could return the greeting, the broad-shouldered youth stepped forward with an easy grin.

"Zhang Feng." He jerked a thumb toward the calligraphy scroll behind Ning.

"Don't mind that thing. The calligraphy around here only attacks people once." He tilted his head, pretending to think it over.

"... Usually." Ning glanced at the towering scroll before looking back at him.

"I don't find that particularly reassuring." Zhang Feng burst into laughter.

"Good! Means you've still got your sense of humor." The three of them turned toward the last member of their little group. The girl looked back at them expressionlessly. After a brief silence, she let out the faintest sigh, as though she'd already accepted there was no escaping this.

"Lang Rulang." Ning returned the greeting with an easy smile.

"I am Ji Ning." He gestured toward the calligraphy scroll with a helpless grin.

"Thanks for the rescue once again." Zhang Feng laughed.

"You are being too polite." It was only then that the three of them seemed to properly process his introduction. Zhang Feng's eyes widened.

"Hold on... you're Ji Ning?" Recognition? Ning's eyes narrowed.

"So you're the one with the five-element aptitude," Zhang Feng said, laughter in his voice.

"I'd been wondering who it was." Wei Zhusang nodded.

"At the test, I thought the elder must have been mistaken. Five elements is rare, more so than the high-grade spiritual root." Lang Rulang's voice cut in, cool but blunt.

"A pity yours is only mid-grade."

"Rulang! That's rude," Wei Zhusang said sharply, frowning at her. She frowned slightly.

"... Was I wrong?" Ning chuckled before Wei could answer.

"Not at all." He shrugged.

"If someone tells me the sky is blue, I can't exactly get offended because it's true." He smiled at Lang Rulang.

"Besides, Senior Sister Lang was only being honest. I'd much rather hear the truth than be comforted by polite lies." That completely dissolved the awkwardness. Even Lang Rulang's eyes softened by the slightest fraction, though she merely let out a quiet huff before looking away. Zhang Feng was the first to break the silence.

"Haha! Well said, Brother Ning." He gave Ning's shoulder a friendly pat.

"Looks like the four of us are in the same boat after all. New disciples, peripheral rank." Ning smiled before glancing between the three of them.

"Since all of you come from cultivation families..." he began, his tone carrying genuine curiosity.

"Mind helping someone who's completely new to all this?" Wei Zhusang nodded readily.

"What would you like to know?"

"What exactly does being a peripheral disciple mean?"

"The sect assigns every peripheral disciple a duty," Wei explained patiently.

"Spirit fields, kitchens, medicine gardens, patrols, beast pens... wherever manpower is needed. Most of the work isn't glamorous, but every assignment contributes to the sect."

"And your performance is recorded," Lang Rulang added matter-of-factly.

"If you distinguish yourself, promotion to the outer sect becomes much easier." Ning nodded thoughtfully.

"So becoming an outer disciple depends on merit?"

"In part." Wei smiled.

"Cultivation matters more." Lang Rulang picked up where he left off.

"The minimum requirement is the Fourth Stage of Qi Condensation." Ning raised an eyebrow.

"... Only the fourth?" In all the cultivation novels he'd devoured, the early realms were usually skipped over in the blink of an eye. The protagonist would meditate for a night, stumble across a heaven-defying treasure, or swallow some miraculous pill, and suddenly everyone below the fifth or sixth realm became background characters. The three stared at him.

"..." Ning cleared his throat.

"I mean... that suddenly sounds much higher now that I've actually thought about it." It was easy to forget that those stories followed monsters. For ordinary cultivators, the fourth stage of Qi Condensation was anything but "only." Zhang Feng burst into laughter.

"For disciples with low-grade spiritual roots, it might as well be a mountain." He patted his chest proudly.

"But we're luckier than most. The three of us all have mid-grade spiritual roots. Our families wouldn't have sent us here otherwise." Lang Rulang glanced at Ning.

"You'll be fine. You have the same spiritual root as us." Ning quickly realized she wasn't trying to encourage him. She simply believed that was an objective fact.

"Interesting..." Ning's thoughts drifted. A five-element affinity may be rare, but it isn't enough to inspire jealousy. Their spiritual roots are on the same level as mine, while their backgrounds far surpass my own. To them, I'm unusual, but not threatening. As they continued waiting, the conversation gradually became more relaxed.

Wei Zhusang shared stories about life within the sect, Zhang Feng eagerly interrupted every few sentences with exaggerated tales that Wei insisted were "only half true," while Lang Rulang occasionally corrected the details with ruthless precision. Listening to the three banter back and forth, Ning found himself smiling more than once. Perhaps cultivation families weren't all filled with arrogant young masters after all. Eventually, a disciple emerged from inside the hall and called a name.

Wei Zhusang was the first to enter. A short while later came Zhang Feng. Then Lang Rulang. One by one, they disappeared through the doorway until Ning was the only one left waiting. Before long, another voice echoed from within.

"Ji Ning. Go into the fifth room." Ning took a steadying breath before walking inside. Having already been assaulted by a calligraphy scroll today, he had no intention of underestimating anything inside the General Affairs Hall, so he quickly found his assigned room. The room was surprisingly simple. An elderly man sat quietly behind a long wooden desk, a stack of jade slips arranged neatly before him.

His aura wasn't intentionally oppressive, yet standing before someone so far above him in cultivation, Ning instinctively felt a faint pressure settle over his shoulders. He immediately cupped his hands.

"This disciple greets Elder." The elder gave a small nod before picking up the jade slip containing Ning's assessment.

"Ji Ning. Mid-grade spiritual root. Five-element affinity." The elder nodded faintly.

"Good foundation. You will begin in spiritual farming. You take this jade slip and go to sector 3, near the Fushan River." Ning bowed.

"Yes, Elder." As he straightened, his thoughts drifted. So much for sword fights and demon hunts. I've transmigrated into a xianxia world… only to start as a glorified gardener. Oh well, at least there will be hoes.... A/N: Obviously, not that kind of hoes... Thanks for reading~