Lu Yuan’s heart rate didn’t spike, though his fingertips felt a subtle warmth.
Remaining still, he stood up and carefully surveyed the entire wasteland.
It wasn’t just a single cluster; several shaded spots harbored the vine.
After memorizing the locations, he climbed back over the wall.
On his walk home, his expression remained entirely impassive.
At dinner, Lin Xiu sighed, mentioning that Old Chen’s son from the north side of town had been gored by a Bramble Boar on the low mountain.
He had been terrified out of his wits and had to pay a fortune for medicine.
“Those soul beast creatures are pushing further and further outward.” Lu Yuan listened quietly and finished his rice.
“Dad, Mom, tomorrow I want to head over to the wasteland south of town to look around and learn to identify some herbs.” Lu Qinghe frowned.
“What are you going there for?
That place is completely abandoned.” “Just to take a look.
It’s not far.” Lin Xiu didn’t object.
“Just make sure you come back before noon.” “Okay.” The next day, carrying a cracked clay bowl, a clean small wooden knife, and a few clean scraps of coarse cloth, Lu Yuan set off.
Locating the patch of Starlight Vine, he selected the tender stems and peeled them, revealing the pale green stem flesh beneath.
Using the dull side of the wooden knife, he slowly pressed down along the grain.
The juice yield was tiny, pale green, and slightly astringent.
He squeezed with meticulous patience, collecting nearly half a bowl of murky fluid.
Covering the bowl’s mouth with the coarse cloth, he set it down at the shaded base of the wall.
Having finished, he dusted off his hands and went home.
The rest of the day proceeded as usual.
Cultivating, eating, talking.
Only occasionally did his eyes stray toward the south.
Settling required a full night.
As dawn broke, Lu Yuan was already awake.
He stepped out quietly; the morning mist hadn’t dissipated, and the streets were completely deserted.
The clay bowl was right where he had left it.
Uncovering the cloth, he saw that the liquid had indeed separated.
The upper layer consisted of a pale green, slightly viscous clear fluid about a finger deep.
The bottom layer was murky sediment.
It worked.
He carefully tilted the clear liquid into a smaller, clean clay saucer—just a single mouthful.
The sediment was buried in the dirt.
Carrying the saucer of clear liquid home, he waited until his parents had left for work before sitting down in his room.
The liquid in the saucer looked thin, as if a single breath could blow it dry.
The knowledge base stated: *Extremely mild, with weak effects.* Yet, this was the very first substance containing soul-power-related energy that he had personally extracted from mere weeds.
Without hesitation, he raised the saucer and drank it down.
The liquid was slightly cool and astringent.
Upon swallowing, a faint trace of cool energy slid down into his stomach.
Soon after, a subtle warmth spread from his abdomen—gentle as warm water—slowly diffusing into his limbs for fifteen minutes before dissipating.
No discomfort whatsoever.
Lu Yuan evaluated the feeling in silence.
The effect was indeed weak; this tiny amount of energy wasn’t even enough to cover half a day of his father’s training consumption.
However, it confirmed two crucial points: the knowledge in his memory database was valid, and a low-cost path genuinely existed.
Starlight Vine wasn’t the final answer, merely a starting point.
It was a crude chisel, but it could carve a foothold into the iron wall of his resource dilemma.
The door creaked open.
Lu Qinghe walked in smelling of sweat and dust.
Spotting his son by the window, he let out a tired yet bright smile.
“Xiao Yuan, you’re up?
Today, that ‘vortex’ spun for a bit longer.” Lu Yuan turned around and nodded.
“Mm.
Dad, drink some water first.” He walked over to the stove to scoop water, his eyes flicking past the cleaned clay bowl stowed away in the corner.
The road ahead was long.
But his first step was firmly planted.
Over the next few days, Lu Yuan didn’t bring up Starlight Vine again.
That substance was too conspicuous, and he needed a more reliable approach.
Whenever his father returned from work, he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open.
Now that his soul power was active, his consumption had increased; relying solely on coarse rice and salted vegetables simply couldn’t replenish his energy.
One evening, Lu Qinghe sat on the doorstep, catching his breath.
Lu Yuan sat beside him, fiddling with a few grass stems in his hands.
“Dad, are you and the others so tired after work that you can barely lift your arms?” “Yeah,” Lu Qinghe grunted heavily.
Lu Yuan held out the stems.
“Do you recognize this?” “Ground Sinew Grass, it grows everywhere,” Lu Qinghe took a glance.
“Worthless.” “Mm.” Lu Yuan pulled out two other varieties.
“Grey Leaf Vine, Three-Toothed Wormwood.” All of them were extremely common weeds around Maple Leaf Town.
Lu Qinghe looked confused.
Lu Yuan gathered the three herbs together.
“I figured out a crude method.
Boiling them together in a specific ratio creates a decoction that relieves fatigue and relaxes the body.
It can stave off exhaustion for roughly half an hour.” Lu Qinghe was stunned.
“What?” “It means you won’t feel as tired after drinking it,” Lu Yuan explained simply.
“I’ve tested the proportions; it’s non-toxic, just bitter.” “How did you figure that out?” “In that old literacy book I had before, the last few torn pages had drawings of leaves and some strange notes,” Lu Yuan lied without batting an eye.
“I made a few guesses and figured it described using these weeds together.
When you were exhausted a while back, I secretly gave it a try.” He paused.
“I tasted it myself first; I was fine.” The actual principle behind the formula originated from a obscure case study in his past-life memory database.
Several ordinary plants that exhibited zero soul power fluctuations could yield a synergistic soothing effect when boiled in precise proportions.
The principle was complex, but the final product was simple: a bowl of bitter water.
Lu Qinghe was half-skeptical.
“Is it really useful?” “It works,” Lu Yuan said with certainty.
“Though the effect isn’t strong—it only works for pure physical fatigue.” He looked at his father.
“Dad, why don’t you bring a small bamboo tube of it tomorrow to try?
Just say it’s a crude remedy you threw together yourself.
If you really feel a bit more relaxed, could you ask your coworkers if they’d be willing to trade something for it?” Lu Qinghe caught on.
His son wanted to use these unremarkable weeds to trade for supplies.
“Trade for what?” “Anything works,” Lu Yuan said.
“A Copper Soul Coin, a handful of coarse rice, or a few strips of dried meat.
But you must make it clear that I ‘guessed’ this recipe, so quantities are limited and I can’t supply much.” Lu Qinghe went silent.
He looked into his son’s calm eyes, which held none of a child’s innocence, only precise calculation.
“If it doesn’t work, wouldn’t we be tricking people?” “It works,” Lu Yuan emphasized again.
“Dad, you try it first.
If it doesn’t work, we’ll pretend I never brought it up.” Lu Qinghe gritted his teeth.
“Alright.” That night, Lu Yuan busied himself in the kitchen.
The three weeds had already been dried, and he measured the proportions by feel.
Simmered over a low fire, the liquid turned a murky dark brown, releasing a bitter aroma.
Once boiled, he filtered out the dregs and poured the liquid into an old bamboo cylinder.
It wasn’t much—just two or three mouthfuls.
The next day at dusk, Lu Qinghe returned.
His footsteps were noticeably lighter than usual.
He gulped down a large bowl of cold water, wiped his mouth, and a look of excitement lit up his dark face.
“It…
actually seems to work.” He kept his voice low.
“I drank two mouthfuls at noon.
When I was swinging the axe this afternoon, that deep, bone-weary exhaustion felt much lighter.
When we wrapped up, Old Chen was so tired he couldn’t straighten his back, but I could still walk all the way home.” The weight in Lu Yuan’s heart lifted.
The theory had been proven once again.
“Dad, did you tell anyone else?” “I did.” Lu Qinghe pulled an item from his shirt—a small strip of dark dried meat wrapped in a leaf.
“Old Chen gave me this.
He took a sip and said his body felt warmer and the soreness eased up.” The meat strip was small, but it was a rare taste of protein.
“Brother Li and the others asked about it too,” Lu Qinghe continued.
“I told them everything just as you instructed.
They wanted to try some and said they were willing to trade for it.” He licked his dry lips.
“Xiao Yuan, can we really trade this?” “We can,” Lu Yuan took the dried meat and handed it to his mother.
“Mom, keep this.” He then turned back to his father.
“Tomorrow, I’ll brew a bit more.
Whoever wants it can trade for it.
Copper Soul Coins are best, but food or daily supplies work too.
But don’t give out too much at once—just say I’m too young to gather many herbs.” He established the rule: one small bamboo tube exchanged for one Copper Soul Coin or equivalent food.
No bargaining.
A maximum of five tubes per day.
Control the supply to maintain scarcity.
Lu Qinghe didn’t fully grasp the business logic, but his son spoke with total conviction.
“Alright.” Their small business began quietly.