I Don't Plant Spiritual Herbs, I Plant Spiritual Beasts

With the guards escorting us, we safely arrived at the city—Zhao's actual destination. He came here to sell the goods loaded in his carriage.

If Zhao hadn't offered me a job in his village, I might've been looking for work here myself. But things were different now.

The city was bigger than I expected. Tall stone walls surrounded it, with thick watchtowers stationed at regular intervals, giving the place a strong and fortified feel.

A line of people stretched toward the gate. Every carriage and traveler was being checked before entering. Their official reason? To keep illegal goods out.

Of course, that was nonsense.

Anyone who'd lived long enough knew the system wasn't airtight. Illegal things found their way in. Always. The guards might look official, but corruption wasn't rare. Some of them probably had buyers of their own.

When our carriage reached the line, the soldiers who had traveled with us said their goodbyes and rode off. They had clearance—no need to wait like we did.

I slid out from the cargo area and joined Zhao at the driver's seat. There was nothing else to do, so I figured we could talk.

"What exactly do you want me to do back in your village?" I asked.

Zhao hesitated, almost like he didn't want to say.

"Well," he said quietly, "I was hoping you could be… different. Make a difference in our village."

"What do you mean?"

He looked down, almost ashamed. "There are people with talent for cultivation. My son is one of them. But we live in a place no one cares about. No sect nearby. No recruiters ever show up. We've got potential—but no support. I was hoping… maybe you could help us?"

I'd heard about recruiters. Cultivators from the major sects who traveled through cities and villages every few years, seeking talent. But they didn't go everywhere.

Zhao's village was one of the forgotten places.

"You do realize I'm just a weak cultivator, right? What do you expect me to do?"

"I know," Zhao said. "I'm willing to wait. For you to get stronger. We need your help…"

Truthfully? The offer was better than I could've imagined.

Zhao was offering land. Solitude. A place where I could plant spiritual beasts and grow stronger. He'd help with money too.

And then I surprised him.

He was hoping I'd become a tutor for a few gifted kids. But I wanted more.

"What if we created a sect?" I said. "Do you have the people or funds to help me build one?"

Zhao blinked like I'd asked him to summon a dragon.

"A sect? Are you serious?"

"Yes. Imagine it—a new sect in the Misty Mountains. A place the others overlook. We could rival them. We could be a beacon of hope."

"Rival them? You know those sects have Golden Core cultivators, right? That level is nearly impossible to reach…"

For most people, sure. But with my system? I could reach it. Fast.

"We'll start small," I said. "One step at a time."

Zhao stared off toward the distant mountains, probably imagining a rising sect hidden among the mist—a sacred place people dreamed about joining. That was the face I saw.

"Alright," he said. "Let's do it. But first, you've got to get stronger."

"I know," I said. "Just give me a little time."

We sat quietly as the guards finally reached our carriage and inspected it. Nothing illegal. We were cleared through the gate.

Inside, the streets bustled with people. But there weren't many cultivators.

I asked Zhao why.

"This city's not popular with cultivators," he explained. "They prefer places where they can trade with each other. This isn't one of those cities. You're mostly seeing weak cultivators here."

Our nice conversation ended quickly. Zhao wasn't in the city for fun—he was here to work. He had a carriage full of goods to unload at several locations.

"The stuff I sell is for rich folks," Zhao explained as we walked through the city streets. "We'll stop by a few houses and drop off the cargo. If all goes well, we can finish today and leave tomorrow."

Zhao had been away from home for a while, so he was eager to wrap things up. I didn't mind—I wanted to leave too. This city wasn't suited for planting spiritual beasts, and both of us were itching to get back to his village.

To speed things up, we worked hard. We visited house after house, delivering the cargo—bolts of high-quality fabric meant for clothes. Zhao cultivated it himself, and the product had a reputation for excellence. The wealthy paid generously.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted. Even with my improved physical condition, it had worn me down. Zhao looked even worse. Thankfully, he found us a decent tavern to spend the night. Nothing fancy, but enough to rest properly—and enough to calm the thunderstorm in my belly. Zhao paid for food, too. I appreciated that.

As we sat and ate, he leaned back in his chair and asked, "So… how long do you think until you're strong enough? Five years? Ten?"

In the cultivation world, that wasn't long at all. But for me? It felt like an eternity. I wanted power faster. I wanted my own sect.

Not just to lead disciples and delegate errands—but to build something permanent. Something that could operate while I focused on my spiritual beast farm. I wouldn't need to do everything myself. My sect would give me freedom.

But there was another reason behind my ambition. I hadn't forgotten the original owner of this body. The disgrace he suffered. Poisoned and discarded by his own family.

I owed it to him. I had to honor what was done to us. Make them regret it.

Of course, I couldn't explain all of that to Zhao. I didn't know exactly how quickly I'd become powerful either—only that I would.

"I can't give you a number," I said. "Let's just wait and see."

"All right," Zhao nodded. "I just really hope you can teach my son something. Imagine our family producing its first cultivator in centuries… that'd be amazing."

Zhao believed in this plan. He believed in me. He needed someone who could change things for the villages in his region.

I wasn't trying to play hero—but creating a sect sounded fun. It was also a clever way to dodge most of the cliché cultivation drama that usually plagued the main characters in those stories.

One thing was certain—I wouldn't be hosting flashy fighting tournaments. That was already off the table.