Lin Fan did not sleep.
He sat on a cold, flat stone in his hidden courtyard, his back pressed against the kitchen wall, and simply... watched.
He watched the [Vigorous Cabbage]. The "6 hours remaining" timer was a phantom clock, ticking down in his mind. Every so often, he would see the cabbage's leaves shiver, not from a breeze - the courtyard was too sheltered for that - but from an internal, vital energy. It was absorbing the First-Light Dew, growing at a rate that defied all mortal agriculture.
His mind, however, was racing far faster than the cabbage.
500 energy.
The new goal was daunting. At the old rate of one energy point per day, it would take him nearly a year and a half. But the First-Light Dew had changed the equation. The cabbage was now... different. Perhaps it would give more?
And what about the 1% chance for a 'Spiritual Trace'? That was one in a hundred. He would need to grow a hundred cabbages. But he only had one. In fact, he now realized with a jolt of panic, he had zero seeds. He had used his last, pathetic, mundane seed to grow this very stalk.
His thoughts were a frantic storm of hope and logistics.
The pre-dawn gong echoed from the Outer Court peak, a deep, resonating BONG that vibrated in his very bones. It was the signal for all Handyman Disciples. Duty called.
A spike of anxiety hit him. The timer on the cabbage... it still had an hour left. He couldn't be here. He couldn't abandon his post at the archive. Not even for a miracle.
He looked at the cabbage, then at the single path leading out of his courtyard. For ten years, he had never been late. He was Lin Fan, the reliable, invisible archive keeper. That's why he was left alone. To be noticed was to be scrutinized, and scrutiny led to trouble.
But to leave... to leave this...
He made his decision. He carefully placed his largest, cleanest dusting cloth over the cabbage, hiding its unnatural vibrancy from any prying eyes, or a stray, curious bird.
"Be right back," he whispered to the plant, feeling foolish. He then splashed cold water on his face from a rain barrel, straightened his gray servant's robes, and slipped out of the courtyard, merging into the pre-dawn shadows.
He was three minutes late to the archive.
"Three minutes."
Lin Fan flinched. He had been trying to slide the heavy wooden bar of the archive door as quietly as possible, but a figure was already standing there in the gloom, arms crossed.
It was Steward Pang.
Pang was a man who had also failed the Spiritual Root Test... twenty years ago. He was now the Handyman Foreman, a position that gave him authority over nothing important, but absolute power over the other "mundanes." He was a man pickled in his own resentment, and his greatest joy was ensuring everyone else was as miserable as he was.
"Three minutes, Lin Fan," Pang repeated, his voice oily. "That is three minutes of the sect's time you have stolen. Are you becoming arrogant, archive keeper? Do you think the scrolls will dust themselves?"
"No, Steward Pang," Lin Fan said, bowing his head to the requisite forty-five degrees. "The rain barrel was... muddy. I had to wait for it to settle. It will not happen again."
Pang sneered, his eyes roving over Lin Fan, looking for any other sign of weakness. "Muddy. Right. See that it doesn't. And I'm reassigning the lye soap rations. Your... archive... doesn't require as much as the latrine cleaners. You'll get half."
"Yes, Steward Pang."
"Now get to work. I want the entire 'Mortal Wars' (East) section dusted by noon. I'll be checking."
"Yes, Steward Pang."
Pang sniffed, gave one last, lingering look of suspicion, and then walked away, his footsteps echoing with self-importance.
Lin Fan let out a slow, quiet breath. The small-minded tyranny of Steward Pang had been a constant source of his despair. But today... today, it felt different. It was still annoying, still demeaning, but it felt small.
He had a secret. He had a [Bronze Spirit-Water Can].
He entered the archive. The smell of dust, mildew, and decaying bamboo instantly filled his lungs. For the first time, he noticed how truly dead the air was. There was no vitality here. No energy.
He went to his station and picked up his mundane tools: a feather duster and a dry cloth. As he began his work on the 'Mortal Wars' (East) shelf, he had a thought.
The system panel for the watering can had read: It has begun to resonate with the world's ambient qi.
The can was a tool. He was the user. The system was 'The Handyman's Upgrade System.' He had 'nurtured' the cabbage. Could he... nurture this?
He looked at the ancient, leather-bound scroll in his hand. He dusted it not as a chore, but with the same meticulous care he had shown his Cabbage Stalk. He focused his will. He tried to nurture the scroll, to wish it well, to restore its vitality.
He dusted for ten minutes.
Nothing.
No ding. No energy point. No new panel appearing over the scroll.
He paused, a brief flicker of disappointment rising. But it made sense. The system wasn't a magic-for-all. It was tied to his tool. The [Bronze Spirit-Water Can] was a gardening tool. His path, it seemed, was not in dusting scrolls.
His path was in the soil.
He smiled, a small, genuine smile that was lost in the dusty darkness. He was not a 'Scroll-Keeper System' protagonist. He was a 'Gardening System' protagonist.
He accepted this. He finished the 'Mortal Wars' (East) section with a new, brisk efficiency. Steward Pang was a problem for Work Lin Fan. Home Lin Fan had a cabbage to harvest.
The rest of the day was agony. He performed his duties. He ate his lunch—a tasteless, watery congee and a hard bun—in the main mess hall, tuning out the usual gossip. He just... waited.
When the final gong of the day sounded, Lin Fan did not walk. He ran.
He didn't care if Pang saw him. He didn't care if the other servants thought he was running to the latrines. He flew down the path, ducked behind the ivy curtain, and burst into his tiny courtyard.
He pulled the cloth off the cabbage.
He gasped.
It was no longer a "vigorous cabbage." It was... a jewel.
It was the size of his head, for one. But it was the color that was so shocking. It was a deep, vibrant, jade-green, and its leaves were so plump with moisture that they seemed to glow in the twilight. A faint, sweet, grassy smell filled the tiny courtyard, overpowering the usual kitchen-grease aroma.
A new panel hovered above it, the "6 hours" timer gone.
[Vigorous Cabbage (Mundane)]
Status: Ready for Harvest.
"Harvest," Lin Fan whispered, his voice trembling. He had no knife. He used his hands, digging into the soft, rich soil at its base and pulling the entire plant up by its roots.
The moment it left the earth, a ding sounded in his head.
[Vigorous Cabbage (Mundane) harvested.][You have gained: 10 Energy.]
[Item: Vigorous Cabbage (x1)]
Quality: Superior
Description: A mundane vegetable nurtured at the peak of vitality. Consuming it will slightly replenish stamina and clear trace impurities from the body.
Lin Fan stared at the notification.
Ten energy.
What had taken him over a week of meticulous, back-breaking care to get one point... he now got ten from a single harvest. The upgrade wasn't just a small boost; it was a fundamental change.
He was now 10/500 for the next upgrade.
He looked at the magnificent cabbage in his hands. It was heavy, at least three catties. The description was tantalizing. "Replenish stamina." "Clear trace impurities." This was the effect of low-grade spiritual pills!
His stomach rumbled. He hadn't had a real, fresh vegetable in... well, ever, at the sect.
He took the cabbage to his rain barrel and washed the soil from its roots. He then did something he'd never done. He took a single, large, crisp leaf, and he bit into it.
CRUNCH.
His eyes shot wide.
It was sweet. Incredibly sweet, like a fresh mountain spring. The moment he chewed, a burst of cool, clean juice filled his mouth. It was so crisp it was almost loud. There was no bitterness, no stringy fibers. It was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten in his entire 28 years of life.
He devoured the entire leaf, then another. He ate until he was full, sitting on his cold stone, clutching the cabbage like a treasure.
When he was finished, he felt... good.
The exhaustion from Pang's nagging, the aches in his back from dusting high shelves, the dull headache he always had from the mildew—they were gone. He felt... clean.
He looked at the remaining half of the cabbage. This was too good to eat all at once. This was capital.
He looked at the empty patch of soil where it had grown.
And he looked at his [Bronze Spirit-Water Can], which was ready for its next [Daily Condensation] after the morning reset.
He had a system. He had 10 energy. He had half a superior-quality cabbage.
He had a path.
But he was out of seeds.