Life as a Rogue Cultivator

Liu Xiaolou counted nervously, worry written all over his face. There were already more than twenty rogue cultivators working the fields. His heart sank. The manor usually only recruited twenty laborers each year, but now there were clearly more than that. Were there even any spots left?

Then a new thought struck him, and despite his unease, a flicker of hope crept in.

They brought in four extra this year. Why?

Could they have made an exception?

And if they made an exception… then adding one more like me, would that really be a problem?

Zang Baili was the head of the Zang clan and had reached the peak of the tenth layer of Qi Refinement. But because of his limited talent, he had no chance of advancing further and thus wasn't eligible for the inner sect. Still, the Zang clan had been a major force within the Zhanglong Sect for over two hundred years. Almost every generation had produced disciples who entered the inner sect, and three had even risen to the rank of elder.

You could say the Zang clan was a powerhouse among cultivators in western Xiang. Even across the broader Jing and Xiang region, they ranked easily within the top hundred. Compared to the Zhang family of Jinping Manor, they had far deeper roots.

Liu Xiaolou knew his chances of meeting Zang Baili were slim. And sure enough, it wasn't the master of the manor who received him, but the Zang family's steward at Ewe Ram Manor; a man in his fifties, massively overweight, face flushed red, who always stood with his hands on his hips. No one knew if it was just a habit or if his back had issues.

The steward had just returned from inspecting the spirit fields when he saw Liu Xiaolou near the entrance.

"You look kinda familiar. Have I seen you before?" he asked, planting his hands on his hips.

"This junior worked here three years ago," Liu Xiaolou quickly replied. "The steward is incredibly busy managing everything, so if he still remembers me, that's truly my good fortune."

The steward nodded thoughtfully, the fat on his neck jiggling as he moved. "Three years ago, huh? That sounds right. So how come you didn't show up the last two years?"

Liu Xiaolou froze for a moment, a bit lost trying to follow the steward's train of thought. He could only force a smile and say, "There are so few laborer spots at Ewe Ram Manor, and so many people applying. It's nearly impossible to grab the opportunity."

The steward let out an "Oh," the tone dropping at the end; it seemed like he'd accepted Liu Xiaolou's explanation. He followed up with another question. "Since you knew the chances were slim, why didn't you come earlier? Why show up late again this year?"

Liu Xiaolou had already prepared an excuse on the way and answered smoothly, "I came down from the mountain two days ago, but a sudden downpour hit while I was traveling. Flash floods washed out the road, which delayed me. I hope the steward will forgive the lateness."

"Which mountain?" the steward asked.

"Wulong Mountain, Qianzhu Ridge. I'm Liu Xiaolou."

The steward gave a slight nod toward the headman standing beside him, who was hunched over with a ledger in hand. The headman flipped it open, scanned a page, and confirmed, "Wulong Mountain, Qianzhu Ridge. Liu Xiaolou, rogue cultivator of the Sanxuan Sect. That's correct."

The ledger recorded all the registered rogue cultivators who had previously worked at Ewe Ram Manor and were approved by the Zang family. Only those listed were considered for recruitment. If someone wasn't in the book, who knew if they'd just run off with an entire harvest of spirit rice?

The steward stood there, hands on his hips, deep in thought. Whatever he was pondering, he didn't share. Liu Xiaolou blinked and waited anxiously for his decision. Finally, after a long pause, he got his answer.

"You can stay."

Liu Xiaolou lit up with joy and thanked him over and over, bowing as he watched the steward walk off, still with hands on his hips. Then he followed the headman to collect a sickle and a bamboo basket. Inside the basket were a few dry rations.

Spirit rice wasn't ordinary rice, and harvesting it wasn't regular farm work. The stalks were highly spiritual and could sense danger. When threatened, they'd retaliate, firing sharp needle-like barbs at the harvester. The stalks were also tough as iron. Regular farmers wouldn't stand a chance, which was why cultivators were needed for the job. Even the sickles were specially crafted. They didn't count as magical tools, but they were strong enough to withstand a light surge of true qi.

Once everything was ready, Liu Xiaolou followed the headman as they walked along the outer edge of the spirit fields. By now, the rogue cultivators working in the fields were already in full swing. Some were dutifully harvesting with sickles, while others used their personal magical tools to cut the stalks. There were even those skilled in the five elements techniques; one setting fire to the stalks with flickering flames, another blasting them with icy blades or torrents of water. Every method imaginable was on display. The entire field was alive with motion: blades flashing, water and fire swirling like dragons. It was a dazzling, chaotic sight.

But instead of heading down into the fields, the headman led him around them, taking a longer path down the northern slope of the valley and leaving the main farmland behind.

After walking about two li along a narrow mountain trail, Liu Xiaolou couldn't help but speak up. "Excuse me, headman... where exactly are we going?"

"Just follow me," the headman said.

"I see."

They rounded another small hill, and the view suddenly opened up. Below them stretched a mountain valley, winding like a ribbon through the peaks; this was the western valley of Ewe Ram Mountain.

What had once been dense forest now had patches of rice fields carved out among the trees and brush. Some plots were just half a mu*, others one or two, maybe three. Scattered throughout the woods, big and small, they broke up the greenery. Just like above, a number of cultivators were hard at work in the fields. A quick glance showed at least twenty people.

At that moment, Liu Xiaolou finally understood why Ewe Ram Manor had recruited more workers than usual this year. They'd opened up new farmland. The original number of laborers just wasn't enough anymore.

"There's a spirit spring vein over here too?" he asked in surprise.

The headman shot him a sideways glance. "Don't ask too much. Just do your job." He pointed down toward the valley. "See that patch of woods? That's the old sandalwood grove... on the left! By the big rock at the foot of the hill! You see it? Good. Follow the grove to the right, up to Goose Creek. Stick to the creek heading south. See that shallow ditch?"

"You mean the one full of wildflowers?"

"That's right. Wild chrysanthemums. From this ditch onward, all 38 plots of spirit fields inside are yours. We counted, big and small together, they total seventy-eight mu and seven fen. You showed up two days late, so you've got seven days left. Think you can finish in time?"

"No problem," Liu Xiaolou answered without hesitation.

"Same rules as always; thirty jin (15 kg) of rice per mu, husks on. Whatever's left, you keep."

Liu Xiaolou hesitated. "These spirit fields—"

The headman cut him off. "They yield more than enough. What you should be worrying about is whether you can finish in time. Miss the right harvest window, and the loss is something you can't afford."

Liu Xiaolou nodded. "Don't worry, I understand the rules."

He had seven days to harvest the fields he'd been assigned. That meant delivering 2,361 jin of spirit rice, still in the husk. The manor would also be selecting premium spiritual grains for replanting. For every 100 jin short, he'd owe one spirit stone in compensation. If he didn't have spirit stones, he'd have to pay 200 taels of silver instead.

In truth, 100 jin of spirit rice, once consumed and refined into true qi, was nowhere near as valuable as a full spirit stone. Maybe half, at best. So when it came time to make up the difference, no one in their right mind would use spirit stones. They almost always paid in silver.

The Zang family at Ewe Ram Manor knew that most rogue cultivators couldn't cough up spirit stones anyway, which is why silver was an accepted substitute. Whether this was truly compensation, or just a veiled form of selling the rice to the manor, depended on who you asked.

There was no time to waste. Liu Xiaolou hurried down the mountain and soon arrived at the fields assigned to him. He started at the northernmost plot, the one on the left-hand side.

This particular field was around one mu and three fen. Liu Xiaolou took a few pieces of cowhide from his bamboo basket and tied them around his wrists and ankles for basic protection... just enough to stop the barbed stalks from piercing his skin. Then he stepped into the muddy field, grabbed his sickle, and with his left hand, reached for the rice stalks.

…..

*(mǔ) is a traditional unit of land area (~666.7 square meters or ~0.165 acres)

*(fēn) 1/10 of a mǔ