3 White Poria

The Ghost Scholar never intended to hide this status, so he nodded without hesitation.

In this world, "scholars" exist; they are mostly the offspring of sorcerers. Because they lack the talent for Occultism but possess some knowledge of the uncanny, they are referred to as scholars.

"So, do you intend to stay in He Village with Lu-wazi?" Great-Uncle He Three continued his inquiry, unhurried, his gaze now shifting to the two men opposite him.

Ye Lu, who had been listening from the side, frowned. Instinctively, he prepared to step forward, but to his surprise, a withered hand landed on his shoulder, rendering him unable to move.

The Fate-Weaver didn't overthink it; he acted on instinct and nodded without hesitation. If he didn't follow Lu, who would he follow? His life had been saved by Lu.

The Ghost Scholar was only a beat slower than the Fate-Weaver, but he also nodded without hesitation. He believed Ye Lu would never betray him, and he would never betray the other two. Wherever Ye Lu went, they would surely go.

Great-Uncle He Three took in the expressions of everyone. He released his grip on Ye Lu’s shoulder and stopped blocking him.

Ye Lu felt the pressure suddenly lift, a flash of surprise in his eyes—he hadn't expected it to be so easy.

The next second, Great-Uncle He Three’s calm, gentle voice sounded: "I understand."

"In that case, stay in the village."

Great-Uncle He Three seemed to have no intention of pursuing the matter further. Despite the many suspicious points about the two men and the fact that the village's hidden dangers were based only on their one-sided claims, he had actually believed them.

At this, the Ghost Scholar couldn't help but show a hint of astonishment.

"Everyone has a hard time in this world," Great-Uncle He Three said, shaking his head and interrupting what the Ghost Scholar was about to say.

The Ghost Scholar knew full well that Great-Uncle He Three was clearly aware of their abnormalities; he wasn't a fool. The only possibility was—the Ghost Scholar instinctively looked at Ye Lu beside him. Ye Lu was lost in thought; he had clearly seen the favorable attitude Great-Uncle He Three held toward him. Keeping the two of them was likely for Ye Lu's sake.

He had kept them only after confirming they posed no threat to Ye Lu or the village.

*Are the people in this village a bit strangely kind?* The first thought crossed the Ghost Scholar's mind.

Great-Uncle He Three did not bother to explain his reasons further. He turned to Ye Lu, stating the main purpose of his visit: "The drought outside is worsening. You have two more people in your home now; you must ration the broomcorn millet. Also, check the fields outside and water them as much as you can. Since they are staying at your place, have them help out more."

Great-Uncle He Three looked at Ye Lu with a touch of worry. Lu-wazi’s supply of millet surely wouldn't be enough for two extra people. In this world, those who do not eat occult food cannot survive for long.

Ye Lu heard the warning in the old man's words and fell silent. He began to sense that something was wrong—it was all too strange. From beginning to end, every clue seemed to imply that a severe disaster was impending, and this was merely the calm before the storm.

"I understand."

Great-Uncle He Three patted Ye Lu's shoulder, sighed, and slowly walked away with his cane, leaving the three of them in the room.

Once the old man left, the room fell into a heavy silence. None of them spoke.

The Ghost Scholar broke the silence, saying gravely: "This is strange!"

"This village is not what we expected." To put it mildly, it was much better than they had anticipated. No one knew why the village accepted them so naturally.

"Let's not talk about it for now. It's getting late, let's have dinner! We'll get up early tomorrow to check the fields," Ye Lu said, stepping in to soothe the mood. For some reason, he instinctively trusted that Great-Uncle He Three meant him no harm, though he took the old man's words to heart.

All signs pointed to a massive drought likely hitting this world.

The three of them currently had nothing—no spiritual energy, no equipment, no martial prowess, and they couldn't access their team storage. With a famine likely to follow the drought, they had to prioritize the fields; they couldn't just starve to death in this world.

***

Ye Lu’s thoughts were exactly what the Ghost Scholar was thinking; he nodded in agreement.

The Fate-Weaver listened quietly the entire time, showing no intention of speaking.

After Ye Lu and the Ghost Scholar finished talking, they both looked at the millet not far away.

The three gathered around the wooden box, staring at the stored grain. It was called a wooden box, but it was actually a chest about a calf’s height. Through the gaps, one could see the millet inside—yellow and white, distinct grains about the size of a child's finger. The box likely had some mechanism to dampen the leakage of the millet's occult power.

Ye Lu considered for a moment and hesitated: "It seems this millet is meant to be eaten directly."

"It can be boiled, but the village has always felt that cooking it reduces the occult power inside. Even though the taste would be much better, no one has been willing to do that," Ye Lu said, recalling memories of how the millet was consumed.

As ordinary villagers, the value of occult food was self-evident; no one would sacrifice power for flavor.

"Let's eat first," Ye Lu decided. He grabbed a handful of millet from the box—about a dozen grains—and handed a handful to the Ghost Scholar and the Fate-Weaver each.

For the white millet, Ye Lu peeled off the white skin to reveal the golden grain and swallowed it directly. A faint aroma of grain greeted his palate, followed by a slight sweetness that was easy to miss. Then came the poor texture—it was dry, coarse, and had a powdery mouthfeel.

It was indeed as bad as his memory suggested.

Ye Lu remained expressionless, but then his eyes brightened, and he couldn't help but praise: "Good stuff!"

A surge of occult power erupted from his stomach, diffusing toward his dantian. His previously dried-up spiritual energy felt like a parched land meeting rain. Although there was a slight initial rejection due to the difference between spiritual energy and occult power, the rejection was almost negligible once the occult power touched his dantian.

A thin layer of occult power appeared in his dantian.

That wasn't all; the millet was truly effective. Ye Lu could clearly feel warmth spreading from his dantian throughout his entire body and limbs. His physical strength had also improved, albeit imperceptibly—it came with a certain degree of physical reinforcement.

The Ghost Scholar and the Fate-Weaver felt their own strength recovering as well. Although it was only a visible sliver, it gave them hope. Most importantly, this was just a secondary plant of the Yellow-Grade Green Millet.

It was likely White-Grudge grade.

Good stuff!

The two couldn't help but look at the wooden box again, their eyes filled with expectation.

Ye Lu frowned, looking at the box as well. It had seemed like a lot, but now it looked pitifully small.

All three were used to relying on their own strength. Once they confirmed they could recover, they immediately swallowed the rest of the millet in their hands. They were full, and though it couldn't be called a full recovery, they had at least escaped their previous state of extreme weakness.

By the time they finished, it was dark. They had been busy since waking up and didn't want to go out; mostly because after dark, the outside world gave them a deeply dangerous feeling.

"Let's tidy up and sleep early. We need to go to the fields tomorrow."

"We can't just ignore the fields. We need to see how this millet is grown. If we can take some back to the Star Net later, that would be best."

"Hee hee..."

The night deepened.

The next morning.

At the first light of dawn.

Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the wooden window, and the temperature in the room rose steadily, casting a dim yellow hue across the floor.

Ye Lu was woken by the heat.

When he opened his eyes, the room was empty, though two figures were whispering nearby. Hearing Ye Lu rise, both looked over. Ye Lu nodded, washed up quickly, and stepped outside.

"..." As soon as he stepped out, Ye Lu couldn't help but frown.

The Ghost Scholar was also frowning, squinting at the sky. The sun was too intense—outrageously so. He whispered, "It’s even hotter than yesterday."

Ye Lu didn't speak but followed the route in his memory toward the fields allocated to him by the village.

Because he was still young, Ye Lu rented out most of his land to the village, sharing the harvest with others. He had seven mu in total: one mu of occult plant fields and six mu of regular grain fields.

The three followed Ye Lu, soon reaching the edge of the fields. The millet field near the hillside was small. Unexpectedly, while the millet was white when harvested, it was a pale green in the field, like celadon.

The millet field looked different from the others surrounding it. Ye Lu’s sharp eyes could even see a faint blood-red hue on the soil, likely from blood. Getting closer, he could see more. Beyond the fragrance, he could feel the occult power even before it was ripe.

It was indeed an occult plant.

Looking around, Ye Lu saw that most layouts were like his—a single occult plant field surrounded by a large patch of regular fields. A few occult plant fields were clustered together, surrounded by even more regular ones. Clearly, there was a difference between the occult fields and the regular ones.

The Ghost Scholar squinted at the fields. After a few glances, he noticed something wrong. He leaned down to inspect a nearby stalk of millet. The stalks were tall, with long, slender, segmented leaves. While they looked decent at first glance, the Ghost Scholar had seen the millet in the wooden box.

These were too thin, even withered.

The edges of the leaves were curled.

"Lack of water." Millet was naturally drought-resistant, yet even here, the stalks looked frail. The Ghost Scholar looked up and scanned the horizon; whether it was the millet fields or the regular ones, all were equally poor. By comparison, the millet fields were actually the most vibrant.

The Ghost Scholar pinched a millet leaf; it felt dry.

Ye Lu surveyed the landscape. Most fields were on the hillsides, stretching toward the foot of the mountain, devoid of any moisture. At the foot of the hill, there was a small ditch—likely where a stream once flowed, now dry and cracked.

"Well water!" Ye Lu said with certainty. This weather had persisted for a while, and the villagers mostly used well water to irrigate the fields.

If Ye Lu recalled correctly, there was a well in his own courtyard. It seemed his mother's family did indeed hold status; otherwise, a child wouldn't have such a large house and yard. Wells weren't something just anyone could have. His sorcerer father had left him many good things, and his mother's family was indeed protective.

The three men worked, seemingly slow but actually quite efficient.

They soon finished watering the millet field, and the plants looked visibly more spirited. However, the well water was replenishing slowly. Ye Lu hesitated and decided not to water the regular fields. Instead, he and the Ghost Scholar cleaned the large vats in the house and began drawing water from the well to store.

A few more days passed.

The well water grew even scarcer.