## Chapter 7: The Price of an Ancient Herb
The old market breathed with a rhythm that modern streets had long forgotten.
Li Tianchen moved through the narrow lanes at an unhurried pace, hands in his pockets, gaze calm but attentive. Vendors shouted half-heartedly, their voices rough with repetition. The scent of dried herbs, dust, incense, and old wood mingled in the air, forming a strange, nostalgic blend. Most passersby came here seeking bargains, curios, or nothing in particular.
Li Tianchen came because something had called to him.
He stood before the stall once more.
The herb gatherer sat exactly as before, back slightly hunched, hands resting on his knees. His eyes were half-lidded, expression indifferent, as though the world before him were little more than a passing cloud. To anyone else, he looked like a tired, ordinary old man clinging to a meager living.
To Li Tianchen, he looked… interesting.
The ginseng lay among the other herbs, unwrapped, exposed, its thick roots twisted like the limbs of an ancient creature. Its color was deep, neither pale nor overly dark, and faint veins traced its surface. Even without circulating qi, it radiated a subtle vitality that refused to be mistaken for common stock.
Li Tianchen crouched again, lifting it carefully.
The moment his fingers touched the root, the Chaos Divine Root within him stirred faintly, like a sleeping beast acknowledging a familiar scent. The reaction was subtle, but unmistakable.
"One hundred years," Li Tianchen thought. "At minimum."
On Earth, that alone was absurd.
The old man watched him silently, eyes sharper now, following every movement of Li Tianchen's hands.
"Young man," the herb gatherer said slowly, his voice hoarse but steady, "you've been holding that root for a while."
Li Tianchen smiled faintly. "I didn't want to be rude."
The old man snorted softly. "Most people don't hesitate. They either scoff or ask how much without knowing what they're buying."
"And what do you think I'm buying?" Li Tianchen asked, still examining the ginseng.
The old man leaned back slightly. "Most think it's good for stamina. Some believe it improves blood circulation. A few claim it helps with… certain male weaknesses." His lips twitched. "None of them are wrong. But none of them are right either."
Li Tianchen's eyes flickered with amusement.
"It nourishes essence," he said calmly. "Strengthens vitality, replenishes depleted organs. For ordinary people, it prolongs life marginally. For those who know how to use it… the value is different."
The old man's fingers paused mid-tap.
For the first time, he looked directly at Li Tianchen—not at his clothes, not at his face, but at his eyes.
"You've studied medicine?" he asked.
"A little," Li Tianchen replied.
That was not a lie.
It was merely incomplete.
The old man picked up a brittle leaf from his stall and crushed it between his fingers, letting the fragments fall. "Then you should know," he said slowly, "that this root is too old to be sold cheaply. Too old to be sold at all, some would say."
"And yet it's here," Li Tianchen said.
"Yes," the old man agreed. "Because those who recognize it don't come often."
A moment of silence passed between them, dense with unspoken evaluation.
Li Tianchen placed the ginseng back gently.
"Where did you find it?" he asked.
The old man's eyes narrowed. "Buyers usually ask the price first."
"I'm not a usual buyer."
That answer earned a low chuckle.
The old man glanced around, ensuring no one lingered too close. "North of the city," he said quietly. "Beyond the abandoned quarry. There's a mountain path most people avoid."
Li Tianchen's brow creased slightly.
"Why?"
"Animals act strange," the old man replied. "Birds don't fly straight. Dogs refuse to go near it. Phones lose signal. People say it's cursed."
Li Tianchen's heart skipped—not in excitement, but in confirmation.
A dormant spiritual node.
Perhaps not large.
Perhaps incomplete.
But real.
Earth was not barren.
It was bound.
"How long have you been going there?" Li Tianchen asked.
"Thirty years," the old man said. "My father went before me. His father before him. We gathered herbs long before the city grew teeth and swallowed the land."
"And you never wondered why this place still produces such things?"
The old man smiled, thin and tired. "Wondering doesn't feed you."
Li Tianchen nodded.
That, too, was truth.
He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, extracting several bills. He placed them neatly on the stall.
"This much," he said.
The old man's eyes widened slightly.
It was not an outrageous sum.
But it was more than fair.
Too fair.
"You know its value," the old man said quietly.
"I know enough," Li Tianchen replied.
The old man hesitated.
Then he pushed the money back with two fingers.
"Add one more condition."
Li Tianchen raised an eyebrow. "Name it."
The old man leaned forward. "You tell me what that mountain really is."
A dangerous question.
Not because Li Tianchen feared the answer—but because answers shaped destinies.
Li Tianchen considered him for a moment.
Then he spoke.
"It's not cursed," he said softly. "It's asleep."
The old man's breath caught.
"Long ago," Li Tianchen continued, "places like that were common. They nurtured life. Over time, something sealed them. Not completely—but enough that only fragments remain."
The old man stared at him, face pale.
"You're saying…" he began, then stopped.
Li Tianchen slid the money back across the stall. "I'm saying you were lucky to survive going there this long."
Silence fell.
The old man finally nodded, slowly, as if accepting something he had sensed but never named.
"Take it," he said, pushing the ginseng forward. "It's yours."
Li Tianchen accepted it.
As he stood, he paused, then spoke again.
"When you go to sleep," he said calmly, "breathe slowly. Inhale for four counts. Hold for two. Exhale for six. Do that every night."
The old man frowned. "What will that do?"
"It will ease the pain in your lower back," Li Tianchen said. "And your breathing will stop waking you at night."
The old man stiffened.
He hadn't mentioned either.
By the time he looked up again, Li Tianchen was already walking away.
The city felt different now.
Not brighter.
But deeper.
Li Tianchen walked with the ginseng wrapped carefully in cloth, his senses turned inward. The Chaos Divine Root pulsed gently, as if approving his choice. This herb alone would not revolutionize his cultivation—but it would stabilize it.
More importantly, it confirmed his hypothesis.
Earth still remembered cultivation.
That meant others would too.
Eventually.
Back at the Li estate, Li Tianchen slipped into his room without drawing attention. He locked the door, placed the ginseng on the table, and sat cross-legged once more.
He did not rush.
Rushing led to mistakes.
He circulated the Chaos Divine Art slowly, allowing his body to adjust, to prepare. Only when his breathing aligned with the root's rhythm did he act.
He sliced a thin section from the ginseng—barely a fraction—and placed it beneath his tongue.
Warmth spread instantly.
Not explosive.
Refined.
The herb dissolved into essence, flowing into his meridians, reinforcing what he had already built. His body welcomed it like dry soil receiving rain.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
When Li Tianchen opened his eyes, a faint smile touched his lips.
Progress.
Measured.
Stable.
Enough.
He stood and moved to the window.
Night had fallen.
The city lights glittered below, unaware that something ancient had stirred beneath their feet.
Far away, beyond the northern edge of the city, the dormant mountain shuddered imperceptibly.
Deep within the soil, something responded.
A seal—old, eroded, but not broken—vibrated faintly.
For the first time in centuries, chaos had brushed against it.
And it remembered.
Li Tianchen watched the darkness calmly.
"The world is still warm," he murmured. "It just forgot how to breathe."
Behind him, the Chaos Divine Root pulsed—slow, vast, patient.
The path ahead was no longer empty.
It was waiting.