Chapter 15: Took Three or Five More Dou

The cluster of rice stalks suddenly bent outward in all directions, clearly trying to avoid him. He quickly traced a circle with his hand and finally managed to grab five or six of them. He could feel a strong resistance in his palm, as if they were trying to break free. “Just accept your fate,” Liu Xiaolou growled to himself, then brought his sickle down with a hard swipe. Two of the stalks suddenly bent forward, and their awns jabbed straight into his wrist. Most of the impact was blocked by the leather bracer, which only left a few shallow scratches, but a couple struck the back of his hand directly. Even with his cultivation at the third layer of Qi Refinement, the pain made him flinch. There wasn’t any bleeding, but it still hurt like hell. “Die already...” Liu Xiaolou gritted his teeth, ignored the pain, and poured his true qi into the sickle. He gave it a sharp pull inward and cut the rice stalks clean off, then tossed them into the basket on his back. Sensing a serious threat, the surrounding spiritual rice turned hostile and began to strike at him. One by one, the stalks bent backward, building up power, then launched themselves at Liu Xiaolou like whips. In an instant, he was being jabbed all over his lower body. Many of the awns pierced right through his clothes and pricked his skin, then got stuck in the fabric as they pulled back. The Three Mysteries Sutra emphasized balance between yin and yang, cultivating both the internal and external. Compared to other cultivators at his level, Liu Xiaolou’s skin was noticeably tougher and more resilient, so he wasn’t worried about getting pierced. But the pain was still real. After cutting down a few more handfuls, he had to jump back to catch his breath. After working nonstop for over half an hour, he'd cleared a patch of rice about one fen of the land. The stalks, now stripped of their heads, slumped over lifelessly, done for. Taking advantage of a break, Liu Xiaolou looked up at the surrounding hills. After watching for a bit, he was sure that the headman had already left. There was no one else around either. The dense forest between sections also blocked the view of the other hired cultivators, so nobody had noticed what he was doing. This fragrant tendon was soft yet incredibly tough; tight-woven and dense, almost like a magical artifact. It was only about three feet long, but that was more than enough. It would help him save some effort. With a flick of his wrist, Liu Xiaolou snapped the end of the fragrant tendon out from his hand and into the rice field. It slipped around the base of three or five stalks, wrapping tightly several times until they were securely bound. The rice stalks immediately began to thrash and shake violently, their awns stabbing in Liu Xiaolou’s direction. Unfortunately for them, they were a bit too far away. Their awns couldn't reach him and all that struggling was for nothing. Liu Xiaolou channeled his true qi into the fragrant tendon and yanked it hard. The stalks were torn from the ground in an instant and flung onto the edge of the field. Using this method, harvesting the spiritual rice became much easier. He no longer had to put up with being stabbed by those vicious awns. Crouching at the edge of the field, Liu Xiaolou kept swinging the fragrant tendon again and again, injecting it with true qi and ripping out clumps of rice by the roots. In less than an hour, he had cleared the entire plot. Once uprooted, the rice stalks began to wither at the roots. The heads curled and writhed faintly on the ground, but the fierce resistance they’d shown earlier was gone. Picking the rice grains now was much easier. spiritual rice didn’t yield much. Each stalk held only about ten grains, each one wrapped in a thick gray husk. He gathered the harvest from one mu and three fen of land into a pile, then summoned a gust of wind with his true qi to blow away the loose chaff. Pulling out a burlap sack from his basket, he filled it up, gave it a heft, and guessed the weight to be around forty jin. The exact number would have to wait until it was weighed properly. Pushing on, Liu Xiaolou managed to clear three more fields before dark, harvesting roughly two hundred pounds of spiritual rice in total. He ate a couple of pieces of dry rations by the clear waters of Goose Creek, then sat down to recover his true qi  for half an hour. After that, he made his way to the fifth plot. He stuck a few torches into the ridge of the field and carried on working into the night by torchlight. After working nonstop all day, Liu Xiaolou managed to clear fifteen or sixteen mu of spiritual fields, harvesting several hundred jin of spiritualual rice. He split the rice evenly into five sacks. One he buried in a hidden spot for safekeeping. The other four he loaded onto a shoulder pole he’d made himself, then set off toward the make to make his delivery. At the manor’s granary, the place was lit up with glowing lanterns and torches. Laborers stood in line, waiting to hand over their harvests. When it was Liu Xiaolou’s turn, he walked in carrying his load. The base of the walls was piled high with bulging burlap sacks, and spilled grains were scattered across the floor. The headman and the bookkeeper sat by a large bamboo basket, checking the deliveries and keeping records. Liu Xiaolou stepped forward and poured the spiritual rice from his sack into the basket. He didn’t stop when the grains reached the rim; he kept going, piling it higher into a small peak before pulling back. That was the rule. The headman reached in, grabbed a handful of rice, and inspected it. He gave a satisfied nod, then stirred the grains a few times with his hand. Not finding any grit or debris, he suddenly lifted his foot and kicked the basket hard. A bunch of the rice at the top spilled out, rolling across the floor. The kick was practiced and precise, and brought the mound of rice perfectly level with the rim of the basket....almost like it had been measured. “Fifty jin!” he shouted. A granary worker came forward, emptied the basket into a burlap sack, and stacked it neatly in the corner. Then came the next basket. And the next kick. Another “fifty jin.” Six baskets in all. For the remainder, they brought out a small scoop to weigh what was left: thirteen jin. The bookkeeper’s abacus rattled like a storm as he did the math out loud. Finally, he gave the total with a final slap of his hand. “313 jin (156.5 kg), 6 liang (187.5 g) and 6 qian  (18.75 g). We’ll round off the 6 qian.” He jotted the number into the ledger, gave Liu Xiaolou a glance, and handed it over for him to confirm and sign off. Liu Xiaolou checked the numbers. The sack he’d hidden earlier was just under 80 jin. The full harvest period for the spiritualual fields lasted only nine days. Once that window passed, the rice heads would wither, and the spiritualual grains inside would begin to rapidly leak their energy. What remained would lose most of its spiritualual value, sometimes even rot beyond use; not even suitable as regular food. So the harvest period was always a race against time. In the final days, even the headman, the bookkeeper, and members of the Zang clan rolled up their sleeves and joined in, scrambling to bring in the crop. The entire manor  buzzed with urgency. But Liu Xiaolou had the fragrant tendon, which saved him a lot of effort. By the day before the deadline, he had already finished almost all of his share; only plot of 3 mu 7 fen of spiritualual field remained. That day, he started noticing people moving through the woods nearby. He knew right away: these were cultivators who had already finished their own work and were now scouting around. Some of them were higher-level, or had techniques better suited to harvesting, so they had wrapped up early. With time to spare, they now prowled the edges of others’ plots, looking for opportunities. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before someone emerged from the forest, smiling as he approached Liu Xiaolou.“Hey there, little brother. Want some help? " he asked. "Just ten jin of rice per mu. What do you say?” “No thanks,” Liu Xiaolou said, rejecting the offer on the spot. “Last day, you know. If you don’t finish, the penalty won’t be light, ha.” “This is my last field,” Liu Xiaolou replied calmly. “I’ll get it done. Maybe try somewhere else.” The man chuckled, gave a small shake of his head, and slipped back into the forest.