When the disciples of Herb Peak straggled back to the gathering point, their results were as varied as their spirits. Most held a single, wilting stalk of Moonshade Grass. A few, like Feng Shui'er, had two or three. Zhao Ba and his cronies swaggered in with five each, their chests puffed out.
Then came Ye Xingliu.
He walked calmly to the collection table and began placing stalks on the polished wood. One. Two. Three. The disciples stared. He had given away two, yet he kept pulling more from a small pouch. Four. Five. Six.
Overseer Zhang's eyebrows crept towards his hairline. "Where did you—?"
Seven. Eight. Nine.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Zhao Ba's triumphant smirk had melted into a look of thunderous confusion.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
Twelve pristine stalks, their silver leaves practically glowing with vitality. It was a record for an outer disciple trial in living memory.
"Impossible!" Zhao Ba exploded, stepping forward and pointing a shaking finger. "He stole them! He must have taken them from the rest of us while we were fighting beasts!"
Ye Xingliu didn't flinch. He met the Overseer's gaze. "I found a large patch. There was enough to share."
"Lies!" Zhao Ba spat, his face purpling. "He's a thief and a cheat! Everyone knows he has no real talent, just some demonic trick!"
Overseer Zhang's eyes narrowed. He didn't necessarily believe Zhao Ba, but twelve stalks was unprecedented. It bred chaos. And in a sect, order was more important than truth. He needed to make an example, to quell the envy before it spread.
"Ye Xingliu," the Overseer said, his voice cold and final. "Your excessive harvest has disrupted the harmony of the trial and sown discord. Whether you stole or not, the result is the same. Your punishment: you will clean the Spirit Beast Pens for one month. Alone."
A wave of relieved snickers came from Zhao Ba's faction. Cleaning the pens was the most dreaded chore in the sect—a filthy, dangerous, and humiliating task.
Ye Xingliu simply bowed. "As the Overseer commands."
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The Spirit Beast Pens were located in a secluded, pungent valley behind Herb Peak. The air was a thick soup of musk, dung, and primal energy. Enormous cages and open enclosures housed everything from prism-feathered hawks to six-legged qilins. The moment Ye Xingliu arrived with his bucket and shovel, a chorus of growls, hoots, and disgruntled snorts greeted him.
His Life Sensing was immediately assaulted. It was like walking into a room where everyone was shouting at once. He saw the first pen: the Ironhide Boar enclosure. It was a sea of mud and waste, and in the center stood the patriarch of the herd—a beast the size of a small ox, with tusks like curved daggers and hide that looked like rough-hewn granite. It glared at him with small, intelligent eyes, snorting a cloud of steam.
Most disciples would have trembled. Ye Xingliu sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.
He didn't approach the boar. He simply started shoveling the far end of the pen, his movements calm and rhythmic. He didn't project fear or aggression. He just… was. Another creature in the environment, busy with its own task.
The Ironhide Boar watched him, its suspicious snorts slowly turning to grunts of curiosity.
After an hour of back-breaking work, Ye Xingliu took a break, pulling out a simple steamed bun. The Boar's snout twitched. Ye Xingliu looked at the bun, then at the massive beast. With a shrug, he broke the bun in half and tossed one piece towards it.
The Boar sniffed it, then devoured it in one gulp. It looked back at Ye Xingliu, its expression unmistakably: More?
Ye Xingliu laughed. "Sorry, that's all I have. But," he said, gesturing with his shovel, "if you let me finish cleaning your home, I'll see if I can find an apple tomorrow."
He wasn't sure if the boar understood the words, but it certainly understood the tone—one of simple, straightforward bartering. The boar gave a final, approving grunt and lay down in a cleaner patch of mud, keeping a watchful but no longer hostile eye on him.
As the days turned into a week, a routine developed. Ye Xingliu would arrive, and the Ironhide Boar—whom he'd mentally named 'Grunter'—would actually move out of his way. The other beasts, sensing the accord, became less aggressive. The work was still filthy, but it was no longer terrifying.
One evening, as he was finishing up, he leaned on his shovel and looked at Grunter. The massive boar ambled over and nudged his hand with its surprisingly warm, leathery snout.
"Thinking of a career change, boss?" Little Comet whispered from his pocket. "From wandering hero to… swineherd?"
Ye Xingliu scratched behind Grunter's ear, and the beast leaned into the touch with a contented rumble that shook the ground.
"Every creature has a rhythm, Little Comet," Ye Xingliu said softly. "Even the envious Zhao Ba. You just have to learn to listen." He looked at the contented boar, then at the compass in his pocket, which now read Mortal Awakening – 8%. Even here, in the filth and the punishment, he was moving forward.
"And sometimes," he added with a grin, "the road provides a very sturdy friend."
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