Wen Qingye returned to the thatched hut at the foot of North Mountain. Looking at the swollen, purple bruises on his wrist, he knew he had to find some ointment to apply so they would heal faster. Otherwise, there was no telling when they would get better.
The area around the thatched hut was a vast expanse of white, looking somewhat desolate but with a touch of verdant green. Wen Qingye began to walk around, hoping to find some medicinal herbs for his injuries.
Suddenly, a small plant caught Wen Qingye's eye. It was bluish-green with long leaves and a stem about two fingers thick. When Wen Qingye gripped it, he felt a gentle warmth spread through his limbs.
This was an excellent herb for treating external wounds. Wen Qingye carefully pushed aside the soil and gently took hold of the Yang Containing Grass by its roots.
"What are you doing?"
A crisp, clear voice suddenly reached Wen Qingye's ears, and he turned his head instinctively.
