Volume One Chapter One The Bronze Censer

“Steward Zhang, these grains are for next spring’s planting—you can't take them all!”

Inside a thatched hut, a frail boy clung tightly to a cloth bag, refusing to let go.

“Enough nonsense. You farm the Yang family’s land; paying grain tribute is only right! Your spring grain shortage is none of my concern!” Steward Zhang’s face was bloated with fat, his eyes bulging like copper bells. Suddenly, he kicked the boy square in the face.

His build was burly and he practiced martial arts regularly; the kick was powerful. Blood filled the boy’s mouth, and he rolled several times across the ground before stopping.

Steward Zhang glanced at him coldly, then, as if nothing had happened, hoisted the newly seized grain onto his shoulder, humming a tune as he walked away.

“Eighteen Touches, Eighteen Touches—touch the peach, touch the apricot—”

The boy struggled to his feet, watching the man’s retreating figure, his thin body trembling slightly.

His eyes, red with rage, fixed on a stone in the corner.

A loud thud.

The November wind rattled the wooden door, causing it to shake, and for a moment, Steward Zhang’s footsteps seemed to pause.

Time stood still, until, a moment later, the footsteps resumed, fading away.

Inside, the boy weakly tossed aside the brick in his hand. In the end, he dared not act.

Years of malnutrition had left him frail; he could never win a fight against someone like that. If he tried, he might be beaten to death then and there.

“Father, Mother, I did my best.” The boy’s pale lips moved as he slowly sat in the corner.

His name was Ji Die. His family had lived in Wenhe Village for generations, farming for a living.

His father died of illness soon after Ji Die was born, leaving his mother to raise him alone until he turned five.

But she, too, succumbed to a chill when he was five, leaving him utterly alone.

From then on, he was the only one left in the family…

The wealthy Yang Squire nearby, seeing him as easy prey, took advantage, buying up the family’s meager land at a pitiful price.

He then rented the land back to Ji Die each year, collecting commission.

Over the years, the commission increased yearly; now, Ji Die had to hand over all his grain just to pay it.

It was clear they meant for him to have no way out…

He was exhausted, uncertain of what to do next; he might starve, for now his grain was gone.

Yet, he remembered his mother, in her dying moments, gripping his hand, her breath faint as she urged him to live well.

Ji Die staggered to his feet.

“Mother said, as long as you live, there is hope. Ji Die, survive…”

He did not know what the purpose of survival was.

Perhaps it was that deep-seated resentment and indignation against those heartless landlords that sustained him!

He wanted to destroy those bastards who oppressed him!

But the Yang family kept many martial artists, and it was rumored they had ties to cultivators. He, just fourteen and malnourished, was powerless against them.

Ji Die wiped the blood from his mouth, but only smeared it further across his face.

His stomach rumbled emptily.

He looked around; the house was bare, no possessions left.

Even tables and chairs had been sold for money over the years; it was truly bare walls.

Suddenly, a pleasant voice came from the doorway.

“Brother Ji, are you busy today? Can you take me to catch crabs?”

Ji Die turned to look, his gaze settling on a seven- or eight-year-old girl in straw sandals.

Her full name was Li Pingping, from his village.

Ever since she saw him catch a large crab, she’d idolized him, often tagging along behind.

During the off-season, Ji Die often took her to the creek outside the village to catch crabs.

But now, he was too troubled to care about such leisure; he turned his back to her.

“No time.”

“Oh…” Pingping stood at the door, not pestering him as usual, but turned and ran off.

Ji Die shook his head, ignoring her, and glanced at the corner.

There sat an overturned stove with two handles, about the size of a rice pot.

It was the only thing left in the house that might be worth something. According to family lore, Ji Die’s grandfather dug it out of the earth.

It was pitch black, possibly bronze, used to store rice, but now, with starvation looming, Ji Die couldn’t afford sentiment—he walked over, intending to take it to the town for money.

But as his blood-stained hand lifted the stove, a flash of light erupted from the black vessel.

The blood vanished from its surface, and the stove turned into a stream of light, rushing into Ji Die’s body.

What’s going on? Am I seeing things?

Ji Die was bewildered. He rubbed his eyes, confirming his hands were empty—the stove had truly disappeared.

“Where’s my stove?”

As if responding to his call, the bronze stove reappeared in his hands.

Ji Die was even more baffled. Watching this scene beyond his comprehension, he tentatively spoke,

“Store away!”

The bronze stove instantly vanished.

“Come out,” Ji Die commanded.

As expected, the stove materialized in his hands.

“Could this be a magical treasure used by immortals?”

Seeing such wonders, Ji Die hugged the stove tightly, abandoning any thought of selling it, eager to study its uses.

Perhaps it might turn his fortunes around!

Just then, hurried footsteps sounded outside.

“Brother Ji, take this… Sell it at the town’s pharmacy; it should fetch a few coins. And here’s a bun—eat it…”

The little girl who’d left earlier rushed back, opening her pale hand.

She placed a wild ginseng root, as thick as a finger, and a steaming bun into the bronze stove in his hands.

Ji Die paused, gazing at the warm bun and ginseng, his voice choked.

“Pingping, I can’t accept…”

But before he could finish, the girl ran off, laughing.

“Brother Ji, you’re always the best in Pingping’s eyes! You can catch such big crabs. Be strong, okay? Life will get better…”

Hearing her innocent voice, Ji Die sniffed, his eyes misting.

Orphaned young, he’d learned all too well the warmth and coldness of human relationships. He knew that offering help when things are good is easy, but lending a hand in hardship is rare.

Now, at his lowest point, someone cared for him. That feeling was indescribable…

Suddenly, the stove in his hands flashed with a blue light. The ginseng, previously finger-thick, swelled several times in size. Its once shriveled flesh became plump, with rootlets sprouting, utterly transformed.

“What’s happening? How did my ginseng change like this…” Ji Die was astounded, his words stumbling.

The value of ginseng grows with its age—the older, the plumper, and more valuable.

The previous ginseng was only a few years old, shriveled and malnourished, worth a few coins at best.

But now, the aroma alone was refreshing, and Ji Die had never seen such a specimen—it was surely worth a fortune!

With it, he no longer had to fear starvation!

But why had it changed so suddenly…

Ji Die’s gaze slowly turned to the stove in his arms. He quickly shut the door and began to examine it.

He’d suspected it was a magical treasure; now he was even more certain.

After all, the wild ginseng had changed only after being placed in the stove!

“Could this stove enhance the quality of medicinal herbs?”

With this thought, Ji Die placed the ginseng back into the stove, watching intently, afraid to miss any detail.

But his eyes grew sore, and this time, nothing happened.

“Is it that each herb can only be enhanced once, or only one enhancement in total? If it’s the latter, then…”

Ji Die ate the bun Pingping had given him, filling his stomach a little. After pondering a while, he decided to take the wild ginseng to the town for a trial sale.

Before setting out, he washed his face, wiping away the blood.

With a thought, he stored the stove within himself. Then, carrying the ginseng, he left the village and made his way toward the town a few miles away.