Chen Ping adapted quickly.
The heavy labor from five in the morning until three in the afternoon no longer threatened to crush him. Instead, it helped strengthen his muscles and bones.
For the first three days, his arms were so sore he could barely hold his rice bowl. But he gritted his teeth and persevered, integrating the breathing techniques of the Vitality Technique into every swing of the hammer and every exertion of force.
The steamed Spirit Rice and roasted Wild Boar meat from the Jade Pendant space provided potent nutrition, nourishing his weary body and accelerating the recovery of his Physical Strength.
On the fourth day, he smashed four cubic meters of crushed stone.
On the fifth day, just before the gong sounded to end work at three in the afternoon, his hammer split the last piece of stone. It rolled onto the finished pile.
Five cubic meters. No more, no less.
Foreman Li strolled over as usual. His dark, thin face showed no expression as he simply used a calloused finger to cross out the record representing Chen Ping on the wooden board he carried.
This meant today’s wages were secured.
After finishing work, Chen Ping received his first-ever payment.
A small gray cloth bag, heavy with one hundred copper coins.
The coins clinked lightly against each other, a sound both unfamiliar and weighty to Chen Ping. He weighed the bag in his hand; it felt substantial.
One hundred copper coins…
He remembered his life with his parents before… In the small town, a coarse grain steamed bun cost only one copper coin. This bag of money was enough for an ordinary family of three to eat their fill for seven or eight days.
The Immortal Sect did treat Regular Disciples far more generously than ordinary servants.
Chen Ping tucked the money bag close to his body. But the sect’s “generosity” depended on his doing far more work than an ordinary servant. He had earned it through sweat and strength.
As for Fatty Wang…
Chen Ping gnashed his teeth in silent fury.
That beast withheld their rations, used whips to extract their last ounce of strength, and treated them like livestock to be discarded at will. If not for the Spirit Rice and Wild Boar meat in the Jade Pendant space, he, Chen Ping, would have been nothing more than a corpse thrown into a mass grave within a few years.
He remembered this debt. Every single grudge was carved into his bones.
Life seemed to hold a little promise now. The more than four hours he had after work each day were his most precious time.
Beneath the rock wall behind his shack, he practiced the Vitality Technique without fail. The movements were still difficult, but each lift of his arms and twist of his waist let him feel a faint, steadily growing strength deep within his muscles.
Combined with the food from the space, he could clearly perceive the changes in his body; his Physical Strength was steadily climbing.
However, this brief period of peace was shattered one afternoon.
Chen Ping was swinging his hammer. Sweat dripped from his chin onto the scorching stones with a faint sizzle.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bloated figure sneak furtively into the entrance of the Stone Quarry.
It was Fatty Wang!
That coarse, fleshy face—Chen Ping could never mistake it.
Fatty Wang didn’t venture deep into the quarry pit. Instead, he headed straight for Foreman Li’s temporary resting shed.
The two conversed in low voices within the shed’s shadow. Fatty Wang wore his usual obsequious expression, mixed with a hint of barely concealed viciousness. Foreman Li listened expressionlessly, occasionally nodding slightly.
Chen Ping’s heart sank. A terrible foreboding seized him.
Sure enough, not long after, Foreman Li strolled over to the pile of stone material where Chen Ping was working. Without even glancing at the crushed stone Chen Ping had just finished processing, his raspy voice cut through the air.
“Chen Ping, stop smashing. Pack up your tools and report to the Spirit Mine District. They’re short-handed over there. Go this afternoon.”
Spirit Mine District!
The three words pierced Chen Ping’s ears like ice spikes. His hand gripping the hammer instantly tightened until his knuckles turned white.
The terrifying rumors about the Spirit Mine District that circulated on Servant Peak flooded his mind: descending deep underground into darkness, breathing air laden with dust and strange fumes…
Digging those stones said to contain “Immortal energy,” and then… then one’s body would slowly deteriorate, coughing blood, skin festering until finally dying silently in some mine tunnel, wrapped in a straw mat and tossed out like refuse.
It was said to be the assignment with the highest mortality rate for a Servant Disciple!
Chen Ping abruptly looked up at Foreman Li. The other man’s dull eyes held no emotion whatsoever—only a customary indifference.
Chen Ping’s gaze swept toward where Fatty Wang had been. The obese figure had already disappeared from the quarry exit.
It was Fatty Wang! Definitely that scum!
He hadn’t managed to beat Chen Ping to death on Servant Peak with whips before; now he had colluded with Foreman Li to send him into this death trap.
A savage urge to kill surged up from the depths of Chen Ping’s heart. He clenched his teeth so hard they almost cracked, and the hand gripping the hammer shook violently with the strain.
He wanted to charge forward and smash Foreman Li’s skull with this iron hammer, then rush up Servant Peak and chop Fatty Wang into mincemeat!
Two foremen with short clubs stood a little way behind Foreman Li, watching alertly. Their eyes had begun to stray toward Chen Ping, studying him.
Chen Ping took a deep breath and forcibly suppressed the rage threatening to incinerate his reason. He lowered his eyelids to conceal the turbulent ferocity in his eyes and replied in a low voice.
“…Yes, Manager.”
He silently set down the heavy iron hammer and picked up the steel chisel from the ground. His slow movements suggested deep reluctance—or that the sudden order had drained him of all strength.
Seeing this, any last trace of suspicion vanished from Foreman Li’s eyes; he simply assumed Chen Ping had been frightened out of his wits by the Spirit Mine District’s fearsome reputation.
He gestured toward a nearby foreman with his chin.
“Take him there.”
No explanation whatsoever. Not an inch of leeway given.
The path to the Spirit Mine District wound downward. The air grew cold and damp, carrying a faint smell of earth and metal.
The foreman brought Chen Ping before the entrance leading into an enormous mine tunnel, handing him over to a mine district Manager wearing a dark gray short jacket, a leather whip hanging at his waistband.
The entrance gaped blackly like a maw leading down into abyssal depths.
The guards at the entrance wore matching azure martial uniforms, with longswords at their waists and indifferent expressions. They were genuine sect disciples—“Immortals.”
Their gazes swept over Chen Ping and the accompanying foreman as if looking upon roadside stones, devoid of any warmth whatsoever.
“Newcomer. Chen Ping,” the accompanying foreman told the mine district Manager.
The mine district Manager was a lean middle-aged man with a long scar running down his face, his eyes sinister. He looked Chen Ping up and down, pausing especially upon his slender frame, the corners of his mouth twitching with a hint of barely perceptible scorn.
“The rules are simple. Go down into the mine and dig raw ore. Each person’s monthly quota is one hundred jin.”
The scarred Manager’s voice was hoarse.
“Collect your tools from that shed. Fail to meet the quota and we deduct Spirit Crystals, then keep deducting them next month. Fail for three months in a row, or die in there, and that’s your bad luck. Don’t think about slacking off or secretly keeping ore slag. If the guards catch you, they’ll beat you to death on the spot. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Chen Ping’s voice was flat, without inflection.
“Get inside then. Tunnel Bing-Seven.”
The scarred Manager waved his hand, shooing him away like a fly.