By the fourth day, Xiao Feng had developed a routine.
He woke before sunrise.
Fetched water from the spring.
Prepared breakfast while the Little Fairy Doctor sorted the herbs gathered the previous afternoon.
Neither of them had discussed it.
The work simply divided itself naturally.
When she finished arranging the medicine cabinet, she glanced toward the table.
“You learned quickly.”
“I don’t like being hungry.”
“I was talking about the herbs.”
“So was I.”
She shook her head with a helpless smile.
After breakfast, they headed toward a different part of the mountain.
The path was narrower than before.
Few people came this way.
“The herbs here are more valuable?”
Xiao Feng asked.
“They’re rarer.”
“And more dangerous to collect.”
She pointed toward a patch of pale blue flowers growing along a rocky slope.
“Blue Frost Grass.”
“It only grows where the morning mist stays longest.”
Xiao Feng looked around.
“There isn’t much.”
“Exactly.”
“Taking all of it would be foolish.”
He looked at her.
“You only harvest part of it.”
She nodded approvingly.
“If the roots survive, it grows back.”
“If not…”
“We’ll have one good harvest and nothing next year.”
As they worked, Xiao Feng couldn’t help comparing her methods to those of many cultivators in his previous life.
Most people searched for treasures with one goal.
Take everything.
Leave nothing behind.
The Little Fairy Doctor did the opposite.
She always left enough for the plants to recover.
It wasn’t sentiment.
It was experience.
She understood something many treasure hunters ignored.
Nature could only keep giving if it was allowed to heal.
Near noon, voices echoed from below the ridge.
Several villagers climbed toward them carrying an elderly man on a wooden stretcher.
The moment they spotted the Little Fairy Doctor, relief spread across their faces.
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One of them was breathing heavily.
“Please help him.”
She immediately put down her basket.
“What happened?”
“He collapsed while cutting firewood.”
She knelt beside the old man.
His breathing was shallow.
His face had become unnaturally pale.
She checked his pulse.
Then gently pressed against his chest.
“No poison.”
“No external injuries.”
She looked at Xiao Feng.
“Water.”
Before she finished speaking, the waterskin was already in his hand.
The villagers stepped back, leaving enough room for her to work.
She crushed several herbs together.
Mixed them with warm water.
Then carefully helped the old man swallow the medicine.
Several anxious minutes passed.
Finally, the old man coughed.
Color slowly returned to his face.
“He’ll be alright?”
A young woman asked nervously.
The Little Fairy Doctor nodded.
“He exhausted himself.”
“He needs rest.”
“And less pride.”
The old man opened one eye.
“I only cut…
half the mountain.”
“You almost let the mountain bury you.”
Even Xiao Feng chuckled.
When everything was over, the villagers produced a small cloth pouch.
Inside were only a few silver coins.
“This is all we have.”
The Little Fairy Doctor looked at it for a moment.
Then accepted only two coins.
The villagers looked surprised.
“This is enough.”
“But—”
“The herbs didn’t cost much.”
“The rest should buy him proper food.”
After they disappeared, Xiao Feng finally asked,
“Was that really enough?”
“For today?”
“No.”
“For the medicine?”
She smiled faintly.
“It covered the herbs.”
“And your time?”
“My time is mine to give.”
They continued walking through the forest.
After a while, Xiao Feng spoke again.
“Do you know why everyone trusts you?”
“I’ve lived here for years.”
“That’s part of it.”
She looked at him curiously.
“The bigger reason is that no one believes you’ll refuse to help.”
She fell silent.
A breeze stirred the leaves overhead.
Finally, she answered quietly,
“If someone comes all the way here asking for help…”
“They usually don’t have another choice.”
That evening, they returned with fewer herbs than usual.
Intentionally.
The Little Fairy Doctor preferred quality over quantity.
As the sun dipped below the mountains, Xiao Feng sat outside the cabin practicing the Ancient Azure Soul Scripture.
His spiritual sense had become noticeably steadier over the past few days.
Instead of expanding recklessly, he learned to control it with greater precision.
He could now distinguish the movement of birds from small magical beasts hundreds of meters away without wasting spiritual energy.
It wasn’t a breakthrough.
But it was progress.
Exactly the kind he preferred.
Steady.
Quiet.
Unnoticed.
As darkness settled over the valley, he opened the diary.
After thinking for a while, he finally smiled and dipped the brush into ink.
“Sometimes, strength isn’t measured by how many lives you can take.”
“Sometimes it’s measured by how many people instinctively walk toward you when they’re afraid.”
He paused before continuing.
“I think I finally understand why this little mountain cabin is always full of footsteps.”
He closed the diary.
For once, there was nothing about the future.
Just an honest observation