I have a panel that reduces proficiency.

Chapter 20 Performing in Dreams

The next day.

Fang Shi slowly opened his eyes, and what he saw was the pitch-black roof beams above him.

He stared into the darkness for a long time, his eyes vacant, as if he hadn't yet come back to his senses from a dream.

The warmth of the soil and the pulse of the earth in his dream seemed to linger in his limbs and bones, making him feel as if he were still buried in that soft soil, still a seed that had not yet sprouted.

After an unknown amount of time, his gaze finally focused, and he subconsciously glanced at the panel—

【Reclining and Returning to Roots (Proficient): 0/100】

Fang Shi was startled, and then sat up in bed.

Are you proficient yet?

He looked at it again, and the words were clearly imprinted there; it wasn't a delusional state of mind, nor was it a dream.

He was stunned for a moment, his mind filled with questions—how exactly did this thing get upgraded?

In the past, every breakthrough in these rituals was achieved through his painstaking efforts and adjustments, bit by bit.

But this time, he did nothing. He just lay down and slept through the night, and when he woke up, he had broken through to the next level?

Moreover, it immediately added 2 points of proficiency, jumping from 98 to 100, just crossing the proficiency threshold.

Fang Shi was truly baffled.

He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down and thinking for a long time. Gradually, the scene from his dream surfaced—lying in the earth, his whole body covered in soil, like a seed connected to the earth.

Could it be that I broke through because of this dream?

But why would I have this dream?

Why does having this dream have this effect?

Fang Shi recalled everything he had done yesterday, one by one.

I drew talismans in the morning and spent the whole morning doing so. In the afternoon and evening, I studied talismans and the "Little Water Cloud Technique" for a while. Before going to bed, I cleansed my body with a dust-avoiding spell. During this time, I ate two bowls of wild rice. Then I lay down and practiced the "Reclining Back to Roots" exercise. I fell asleep and dreamed.

Nothing else.

Wait a minute—wild rice?

Fang Shi naturally didn't think that the wild rice he bought from Li Laosan was some kind of rare and precious treasure.

But then he suddenly remembered the legend of the Dao Ancestor seeking the grain.

That legend is widely circulated, and almost everyone in Sanpanguan has heard of it. Its status is roughly equivalent to the creation myths of the past.

The difference is that most myths of past lives are fabricated by later generations, while in this world, those ancient legends are not necessarily all false.

The Dao Ancestor did indeed exist, and the innate spiritual plants also did indeed exist.

The rice plant that the Dao Ancestor ate was the source of all rice in the world. It was a naturally born spiritual creature and naturally had extraordinary effects.

Fang Shi certainly didn't believe that the wild rice he had bought from Li Laosan was the innate spiritual plant.

However, as the first plant of rice in mythology, it is not impossible that its descendants possess some magical effects.

Moreover, this wild rice was picked up from the Great Wilderness—the place where the Three Plates Temple is located, all the immortal opportunities basically come from the Great Wilderness.

No one knows how many ancient relics and remnants of ancient spiritual species are hidden deep within the Great Wilderness.

This wild rice might be a distant relative of some spiritual plant; although its bloodline is thin, it still retains some inexplicable spirituality.

As for why it didn't work for others?

Fang Shi made some plans in his mind.

Others plant wild rice using the mixed and impure spiritual energy of the wilderness, so the resulting grains are naturally nothing special.

But he was different—he used the earth vein spiritual energy purified by the Three Plates Temple. That spiritual energy was purer than that of the Great Wilderness, so the wild rice he grew was naturally better than that of others.

More importantly, he has already mastered the "Reclining Back to Roots" technique to 98 points, just one step away from becoming proficient.

Even if others ate the same wild rice, they might not have the same reaction if they didn't have the same foundation of returning to their roots.

These two things combined led to last night's dream and breakthrough.

However, all of the above are ultimately just speculation.

Fang Shi pondered for a moment and then made up his mind—to verify this, he needed to conduct an experiment with controlled variables.

Let's not eat that wild rice today, and see if we feel the same way again tonight.

If not, then it is indeed the wild rice that has contributed; if so, then it must be due to other reasons.

He got up, got out of bed, and pushed open the door.

The winter sky was still dark when he took a deep breath. The cold air filled his lungs, and he felt refreshed.

Don't rush to try the effects of lying down and returning to one's roots; wait until you go to sleep.

Fang Shi went to the kitchen to cook breakfast. When he reached for firewood, he found that the woodpile next to the stove was almost empty, with only seven or eight sticks of varying thickness left, which would not last more than two days.

Before the water in the pot boiled, he went to the courtyard and performed a set of seven steps to invoke the spirit.

He was so familiar with the ritual that his hands and feet moved on their own without him having to think about it.

Soon the porridge was cooked, and Fang Shi drank two bowls. After tidying up, he headed to the north end of Pan City.

Lingfuxuan's stall was already set up, and the young servant in blue was bending over to arrange the talismans on the table.

Fang Shi stood in line behind several independent cultivators selling talismans, and it wasn't long before it was his turn.

The servant took the four talismans for protection against the cold, examined them, and then counted out sixteen fragments of spirit energy from the money box and handed them over.

Fang Shi took it, put it in his pocket, and turned to leave.

For seven days, he drew talismans and sold them every day. After deducting costs, he made a net profit of a full one hundred spirit fragments.

One hundred fragments of spirit energy—equivalent to more than a month's income in the past.

In the past, this would have required drawing a hundred protective talismans, taking up more than half a month.

He walked and thought, and before he knew it, he had reached the street corner.

Suddenly, a complaining voice came from a breakfast stall by the roadside. Two rogue monks carrying medicine baskets were drinking porridge and talking.

"Eight pills per sheet, but the number of people is increasing. I spent most of the day freezing in the Cold Mist Ravine and only managed to pick two Frost Spirit Grasses. I sold them for twenty pills, and after deducting the cost of the talismans, I only had twelve pills left. Before, when there were fewer people, I could pick three to five grasses a day, and the cost of the talismans only accounted for one or two tenths of the cost. Now, it's almost half of my capital."

Another said, "Don't worry, I heard that many people in Taoyuan Town are already learning how to make cold-resistant talismans. There was a woman at the fourth level of Qi Refining who finished one in three days. In a while, as more people learn how to make them, the price will naturally drop."

The first question was: "How much will it fall?"

The other held up two fingers: "Two. It's not anything special to begin with, but the Frost Spirit Grass from Cold Mist Valley was exposed this year, which is why it's been driven up to this price. Once the herb-gathering craze dies down, I'm afraid you won't even be able to sell two."

The first person sighed and said, "But by then, talismans will be cheap, and Frost Spirit Grass will be gone. What's the point of having them then?"

Another said, "That's right. Nowadays, some people are reluctant to buy talismans and force themselves to go in, which injures their bodies. They won't be able to earn a single spirit fragment for the next few months."

Fang Shi listened and naturally understood these principles.

Therefore, he planned to take advantage of the current hype to draw talismans, and only after the hype died down would he close himself off to cultivate properly and make a full-fledged effort to reach the third level of Qi Refining.

Since the goal is to capitalize on the hype and make money, it's natural to avoid unnecessary trouble.

Therefore, these days he sent Wu Tong to find out when Lao Zhao and Han Laoliu went to sell talismans. The two of them would go early before dawn, sell them and leave without delay.

Fang Shi deliberately avoided going out at the same time, waiting until dawn, and never ran into them.

Coming out from the north end, as you pass the intersection at the west end of the street, you'll see a row of independent monks selling firewood squatting by the roadside, with bundles of firewood, pine, cypress, and miscellaneous wood neatly stacked in front of them.

Judging from their age, most of them are quite old, and their cultivation level has stopped at the second level of Qi Refining.

Fang Shi didn't need to ask to understand that these people had long since given up on the idea of ​​cultivation.

They would spend their magic power every day to earn spirit fragments, and when their meridians were exhausted and they could no longer support themselves, they would turn to manual labor such as chopping wood, making charcoal, and quarrying stones to support the next generation.

Half a grain of spirit can buy hundreds of pounds of firewood, but after a whole day's work, they only earn one or two grains of spirit.

Fang Shi glanced around and saw seven or eight people selling firewood, a motley crew. He didn't pick and choose—there were too many rogue cultivators like this, they were everywhere by the roadside, he could just pick one at random.

Just as he was about to walk toward the nearest one, he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

At the very edge, a woman was squatting behind a stack of firewood.

She hunched her shoulders, her face was sallow, her lips were pale, and she was wrapped in an old, patched cotton-padded coat. Her hands were tucked into her sleeves, and she was curled up in a ball.

Several rogue cultivators nearby were only wearing thin clothes, and she looked even colder than them.

In front of her was a small bundle of firewood, tied crookedly, unlike the neat bundles next to it.

Fang Shi's gaze lingered on her face for a moment, and he suddenly recognized her—this was the herb-gathering woman who had asked him to repair the spirit-locking array two months ago.

Her daughter was admitted to Songyuan Academy, and she also said that she should cultivate well and not damage her cultivation by drawing talismans.

He glanced at her a few more times and noticed something amiss—she wasn't too lazy to organize the firewood; the cold had seeped into her body, making her fingers stiff and unable to exert any strength. She seemed weak and listless, even her breathing was short.

The woman looked up and met his gaze. She paused for a moment, then forced a smile, a smile tinged with embarrassment and pleading: "Fellow Daoist Fang... are you buying firewood? My firewood may not be bundled very well, but it's all thoroughly dried pine, so it'll burn well."

Fang Shi walked over to her and looked at her: "What's wrong?"

The woman gave a bitter laugh, a laugh more painful than a cry: "I've gone to Cold Mist Ravine to gather herbs."

Fang Shi asked, "You didn't buy that winter-protecting talisman?"

The woman shook her head and whispered, "Eight pills a day, I can't bear to part with them. I thought I'd been into the mountains before in winter, and the cold would have been bearable, but who knew the fog in the Cold Mist Valley... The first two times were alright, but the third time I couldn't take it anymore. My whole body was freezing, and my meridians felt stiff as if they were frozen. When I tried to get out, my legs wouldn't obey me, and my companions had to drag me out."

Fang Shi asked, "Have you seen a medical practitioner?"

The woman said, "I've seen it, and they prescribed some warming medicine. But... the doctor said the cold has damaged my meridians, and I need to rest for two months to recover."

Fang Shi remained silent for a moment.

two months.

More and more people are gathering herbs, and fewer and fewer Frost Spirit Grass are available. Two months later, where will she find any?

Seeing that he remained silent, the woman pleaded again, "Fellow Daoist Fang, please have mercy and buy me a few bundles of firewood. I really... have no other choice."

She rubbed her stiff fingers together, her voice lowering, "My daughter studies at Songyuan Academy, and she needs to spend Spirit Shards to buy Qi Nourishing Pills every month. If I don't earn money soon, her pills will run out. I promise I'll patronize your business next time and buy you a few more Protective Talismans, please..."

Fang Shi glanced at the bundle of firewood in front of her, then at her fingers, which were purple from the cold, and asked, "How much firewood do you have?"

Upon hearing this, the woman hurriedly replied, "Just these two bundles... weighing about a hundred pounds. I can't cut any more right now, so this is all I have."

Fang Shi took out half a grain of broken spirit from his pocket and handed it over: "Half a grain of broken spirit, and one hundred catties of firewood."

The woman took the fragment of spirit pill, clutching it tightly in both hands, and repeatedly said, "Thank you, Fellow Daoist Fang, thank you, Fellow Daoist Fang... Now my daughter's Qi-Nourishing Pill is taken care of..."

As she spoke, she tried to stand up and tie the firewood, but her body swayed twice, her knees buckled, and she almost fell back down.

Fang Shi said, "No need."

He squatted down and retied the crooked firewood on the ground, making it secure again.

Although the woman had tied the firewood loosely, it was all good firewood—dried pine wood, evenly split, clearly having been carefully processed in the past.

Fang Shi tied the firewood up, tightened the hemp rope, tied a tight knot, picked it up and weighed it—a little over a hundred pounds, not heavy for a second-level Qi Refining cultivator, but not light either.

The woman's lips trembled, and her eyes reddened as she said, "Fellow Daoist Fang, what... what should we do..."

Fang Shi carried the bundle of firewood on his back and said, "Go back and rest. Getting chilled is no small matter. If you don't take good care of yourself, it will leave a lingering illness and cause more trouble later."

After saying that, he walked towards home.

……

Fang carried the bundle of firewood back to the courtyard, stacked it next to the stove, and then continued his daily homework.

In the morning, I draw talismans; in the afternoon and evening, I study "Essentials of Talismans" and "Small Water Cloud Formula".

That day, however, they ate Biling rice instead of wild rice.

This continued until late at night.

He lay down fully clothed, placed his hands on his lower abdomen with palms facing inward, and practiced the "returning to the root" exercise.

I don't know why, but I fell asleep very quickly tonight. It felt like my body had barely touched the bed before my soul drifted off into a deep sleep.

That night, he had another dream.

This time, however, I didn't dream of myself turning into a seed and being buried in the soil; instead, I dreamed of drawing talismans.

There was no cinnabar, no yellow paper, and no familiar spirit wolf brush in that dream.

All around was a vast expanse of white, empty and desolate, with only the phantom image of a talisman hanging in front of them—the very design of the cold-resistant talisman, its patterns flowing like water, layer upon layer, large circles within small circles, interlocking one another.

He then stretched out his finger and began to trace the phantom image stroke by stroke.

There was no power, no cinnabar, only the tactile sensation of fingertips gliding across the void, light and airy, like a child practicing writing on the ground with a twig.

One stroke, one line, one circle, one pause.

The phantom light glowed slightly in sync with the movement of his finger, like a firefly suddenly appearing in the white morning mist, flickering in response.

After one stroke, the illusory image became clearer.

He then traced it again.

Trace it once, then trace it again.

Over and over again, tirelessly.

The talisman's patterns gradually became clearer and smoother under his fingertips, transforming from blurry to distinct.

The curves of the large circles become increasingly smooth, and the turns of the small circles become more and more rounded. Even the most difficult stroke, the flying stroke, can be smoothly and effortlessly executed, like a swallow skimming the water, leaving no trace.

After countless attempts, the illusory figure finally lit up—its lines were distinct, and its light flowed, as if it had come to life.

[Winter-Proofing Talisman Proficiency +1]

【Winter Protection Charm (Beginner): 61/100】