Purple Mansion · Life Primordial Spirit Stele (Wood)

Haha, I've discovered that the brothers reading this book are truly sharp; you can clearly sense every rise and fall in the plot.

However, Baili would like to make a special note here: the commotion when the Purple Mansion was born was a bit grand, but if you think about it from another perspective, no matter what the Purple Mansion looks like, its essence is merely a "field." It serves simply as a platform for "planting crops," which is the core of this book; it will never spiral into boundless, nonsensical power fantasies. Baili solemnly guarantees that the farmland is something to be cultivated, and the protagonist's strength in Purple Mansion will grow bit by bit.

I hope everyone continues to vote and support!

It was astonished to discover that in this boundless void of gray mist, a floating island of gray rock had appeared.

This floating island was composed of a vast quantity of incredibly hard gray stone. The terrain of the island was mountainous and undulating, measuring exactly one mile in circumference, with many abrupt, sharp stone forests beneath it.

There was nothing but gray rock on the island; it was barren and devoid of any life. Beyond the island, the surroundings remained a heart-palpitating expanse of endless gray mist and vast void.

It was overjoyed and immediately drifted toward the island. The feeling was like a sailor who had been adrift in the endless ocean for a long, long time, suddenly encountering an island where they could rest their feet—ecstatic, it rushed toward it with all its might.

It drifted onto the island and stepped onto the ground; a sense of profound stability immediately welled up in its heart. It danced upon the surface in joy, savoring the comfort. This place felt like a home; it no longer had to drift aimlessly through the void like a rootless duckweed.

In the center of the island stood a primitive, ancient stone stele about ten feet high and three feet wide. It seemed as if this stele had existed since the moment the island was formed, integrated seamlessly with the entire landmass. This stele was surrounded by a circular halo of light, extending nearly ten feet in radius, much like a large bubble of water.

For some reason, this stele gave it a feeling of immense safety.

With a stir in its heart, it drifted over, easily passing through the halo bubble, and saw what was inscribed on the stele.

It saw lines of patterns on the stele, resembling natural cracks, yet also appearing like carved characters. The script was archaic and vigorous, the meaning profound and obscure. Strangely, however, it understood the meaning of the characters at a single glance.

Reading from top to bottom, left to right, the inscription on the stele read:

Purple Mansion · Life Primordial Spirit Stele (Wood)

Mansion Master: Ye Qin

Mansion Domain: One mile in circumference, perfect and flawless.

Mansion Attribute: Wood

Mansion Master Five Elements Spiritual Roots: Metal 20, Wood 20, Water 20, Fire 20, Earth 20.

Mansion Master Lifespan: Initial lifespan of exactly 81 years. Added lifespan: 0 years. Lifespan consumed: 15 years, 1 month, 29 days. Remaining lifespan: 65 years, 11 months, 1 day.

Mansion Master Fortune: Heavenly Secret

Mansion Master Fate: Calamity

It "caressed" the patterns on the stele, its heart trembling. Countless roars echoed in its mind, and a tide of memories surged into its consciousness. It finally remembered everything from the past.

Ye Qin!

Was it not Ye Qin?

It seemed it had been picking herbs on a mountain peak, ate a gray egg it had pilfered from an eagle's nest, and then arrived in this endless void. How bizarre—how could it appear in such a place?

What exactly was this floating island called the Purple Mansion?

And how could one leave this place?

Could it be that it was dreaming? This dream was surely a bit too long.

As it thought this, fatigue set in, and a wave of intense drowsiness washed over it, causing it to drift off into a deep, hazy sleep.

Ye Qin felt incredibly stifled! It was as if he were imprisoned by something, unable to catch his breath.

"Ah~!"

He truly could not hold it in any longer. He struggled with all his might, exerting every ounce of strength, and slammed his right fist forward, striking a solid wall. With a crack, his fist punched a hole the size of a fist through the barrier...

A gust of fresh air, carrying the chill of the wind, immediately rushed in.

He breathed in greedily, taking deep gulps.

"I was suffocated to death!"

Ye Qin forcefully broke apart the object wrapping his body and crawled out.

At the mountain peak, the sky remained pitch black.

The dim moonlight faintly illuminated the summit, barely enough to see the surrounding situation clearly.

The scene before him left him stunned. Beneath a giant rock, there was a cocoon the size of a fifteen-year-old boy, made of withered grass, firewood, ash, and clumps of dirt and stone—it looked extremely bizarre.

He had just broken a hole in this sturdy grass cocoon and crawled out from within.

He had been wrapped up by this strange thing?

No wonder he felt so stifled; it had taken a great deal of effort to break through.

He seemed to have just had a bizarre dream, dreaming that he had arrived in a strange void and was on a floating island.

Ye Qin sniffed his body; his short shirt was covered in sticky mud and withered grass, and his whole body reeked of a strange, sweaty odor. He pulled off the grass stuck to his face and hair, then hurriedly rummaged through his large herb basket to find a water skin, pouring it over himself from head to toe to wash his face and body clean.

The cool water made his small frame shiver, waking him up completely and bringing back the memory of everything that had happened tonight with absolute clarity.

First, eating the eagle egg, being poisoned by an unknown toxin, his stomach twisting in agony, then having a bizarre dream—the endless void, the gray mist, the dangerous Purple Lightning, the floating island, the Life Primordial Spirit Stele—he remembered every detail of the dream clearly. Then, waking up and crawling out of the cocoon.

Ye Qin touched his stomach. Regardless of anything else, at least the deadly poison was no longer acting up; his life should be out of danger. As for that strange dream, he could not comprehend it and decided not to dwell on it any further. There was no need to make himself restless over a dream.

The sky remained pitch black, and the cold wind on the cliff was biting.

Ye Qin crawled beneath the giant boulder, spread out the grass again, curled his body up, and fell into a deep sleep.

The next day, as the sky brightened, the sun began to rise.

Ye Qin looked at the pile of herbs before him with a troubled expression.

When he woke up in the morning and cleared out his large herb basket to lay the medicinal materials out to dry, he discovered that the rare little green herb was missing.

He vaguely remembered that when his stomach hurt last night, he seemed to have grabbed a herb from the basket. However, he could no longer recall which herb he had taken. He figured he must have eaten that little green herb, which was how he had neutralized the poison.

He could not help but feel a secret pang of regret.

That little green herb was likely worth at least one Silver Leaf, equivalent to three or four days' worth of herb gathering.

Fortunately, however, the rest of the herbs were fine.

Ye Qin carefully tallied the value of these herbs again and found they were worth about three or four Silver Leaves, meaning he had already completed three-fifths to four-fifths of this month's herb gathering quota. It seemed he would be able to finish his quota normally this month, perhaps even with a little to spare. With the remaining time, he would no longer need to risk his life gathering herbs in such treacherous places.

He did not go out to gather herbs that morning. Instead, he found an open, flat rock on the mountaintop, poured out all his medicinal materials, and laid them under the sun to dry. Most of these herbs had already withered; drying them would prevent mold and spoilage, making them easier to store and much lighter in weight.

While drying and watching over the herbs, Ye Qin did not remain idle.

He sat down in the shadow of a rock and pulled from his bosom the thin manual of mental cultivation techniques, the Sitting-in-Forgetfulness Sutra, which he had obtained from the Herb Gathering Hall back when he was a Herb Gathering Apprentice, and began to read it with great interest. Ye Qin had already made it a habit to read through the incantations once every day before proceeding with his meditative practice.

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