Early the next morning, before the first rays of sunlight could even dispel the early mist, Thuong Sinh was already standing in the middle of the yard. He wore tidy clothing; the Marsh-Blood Sword, still wrapped in white cloth, was placed on a wooden rack beside the porch.
He stood motionless, taking a deep breath. The Foundation Establishment internal force in his dantian was no longer thin strands of energy but a deep purple lake, steady and vast. Thuong Sinh did not circulate the "Marsh Blood Corrupting Heart Manual"; he actively sealed all toxicity deep within his bone marrow, using only the purest internal force to adapt to his new body.
He began to move.
"Phantom Steps"
Whoosh—!
There was no whistling wind, no swirling dust. Thuong Sinh's figure blurred, transforming into a dark mist gliding across the grass carpet. His speed at this moment had reached a completely different realm. If before his leaving of afterimages was due to extreme speed, now every step he took seemed to glide upon a mystical trajectory.
He appeared at the eastern corner of the yard, then immediately manifested at the western corner; along the path, only a blurred black streak remained, and before it could dissipate, another streak overlapped it. Thuong Sinh frowned slightly; he was forcing himself to control the power in his legs so that each time he touched down, the blades of grass only bowed their heads slightly without being crushed.
Next were combat skills.
Thuong Sinh raised a finger, pointing straight at the space before him.
"Blade Wind"
Instead of slashing out a line of blade-force as before, this time an extremely high surge of pressure emitted from his fingertip. The air was compressed to the point of warping, forming a transparent wind drill that lunged forward.
Slash!
The wind drill pierced through a dry leaf falling in mid-air, then vanished into the void without touching the fence or the surrounding trees. Thuong Sinh was temporarily satisfied; the control of internal force at the Foundation Establishment realm allowed him to condense power into a single point, avoiding unnecessary damage to the surrounding scenery.
Finally, he flicked his hand toward the wooden rack.
"Sword Kinesis: Gale Transformation"
The Marsh-Blood Sword, though still wrapped in white cloth, vibrated violently then flew into the air. It no longer flew in crude straight lines; under the control of his mental power, the sword undulated like a black dragon amidst the sky. It glided through the gaps in leaves, circled around the wooden pillars—its speed so fast only an interlacing streak of white and black could be seen—yet it absolutely did not touch a single flower or blade of grass that Lam Thanh Moc had painstakingly cared for.
At this time, from the wooden house window, Lam Thanh Moc, holding Thuong An who was rubbing his eyes awake, stepped onto the porch. She stood frozen, watching Thuong Sinh's figure moving rhythmically in the middle of the yard. Thuong An saw his father dancing; the boy excitedly clapped his hands, his black eyes following the sword flying in the sky.
Thuong Sinh sensed the gaze of the mother and child; he lightly retracted his hand. The Marsh-Blood Sword circled in a perfect arc then dove straight into the wooden rack, standing still as if it had never moved. The final black afterimage vanished; Thuong Sinh stood in the yard, his breathing as steady as before, without a single drop of sweat.
He turned around.
"Are you two awake?"
Lam Thanh Moc stepped forward; she looked at the still-lush green grass, looked at the flowers still beaded with morning dew that were entirely unharmed, then looked at Thuong Sinh: "I see you've been busy since morning."
Thuong Sinh did not answer, receiving Thuong An from her arms.
Thuong Sinh carried Thuong An in his hands; the boy kept laughing brightly every time he was lifted high. He stood chatting with Lam Thanh Moc for a moment, then picked up a rattan basket himself and headed toward the forest behind the house.
He walked slowly. With every step touching a leaf, a wave of internal force silently spread out from his dantian; it was no longer a vague perception through hearing or vision as before. At the Energy Refining realm, he could only rely on the sharpness of his five senses to estimate large movements within a radius of a few dozen meters. But now, having stepped into Foundation Establishment, his spiritual sense had begun to take shape. Within a range of nearly a hundred meters, even if he did not turn his head, he could "feel" the breathing of a worm curling beneath the bark of a tree, or the slow movement of mutated vines.
Thuong Sinh suddenly halted.
He turned his body, his purple-black gaze directed toward a deep crevice between a cliff face and the roots of a giant ancient tree, a place originally covered by thick moss and forest humidity. Previously, he had passed this spot no less than ten times, but only regarded it as a useless, rotted rock hollow. But at this moment, as his spiritual sense glided past, a cold but pure sensation suddenly surged back toward him.
Thuong Sinh approached, brushing aside the rotted leaves. He did not use brutal strength, only gently placing his palm against the cold cliff wall. He moved closer, clearing away the tangled vines and rock fragments. His internal force at this moment did not concentrate on the ground but converged upon a narrow rock gap where glistening water droplets had accumulated.
There, winding between the crevice, a tiny sprout was reaching upward.
It did not have a bizarre or thorny shape like the mutated plants out there. The plant was only about half a palm high, its stem as transparent as crystal, topped with three fragile leaves bearing a jade-green hue. From those leaves, a faint white mist radiated out, carrying a pure fragrance.
"Spirit medicine?"
Thuong Sinh was astonished; since he had spare time, he had tried buying a few books from the system, including an encyclopedia of spirit medicines, and the appearance of the tiny plant before him matched the description of the "Pure Spirit Grass" perfectly. In the encyclopedia, this type of herb was recorded to have an extremely powerful ability to gather spiritual energy and dispel foul aura. In a world where the air was heavily polluted by the Zombie virus and radioactive dust like the present, its existence was no different from a miracle.
Thuong Sinh crouched down, carefully observing the sprout. He realized its roots were embedded deep into a minute crack in the rock face, where crystal-clear underground water seeped out. It was this rare source of pure water that helped it maintain its untainted essence, preventing it from being assimilated into an aggressive mutated plant.
Thuong Sinh's eyes flickered; a calculation quickly formed in his mind. He reached out his hand, intending to touch the fragile leaf, but then paused and retracted his hand. He remembered the descriptions in the encyclopedia. This type of spirit medicine was extremely sensitive to human breath and impurities. If he used hands that had already been stained with too much killing intent and blood poison to pluck it, he would very likely wither its only pure spirituality.
He looked at the sprout, then looked back toward the wooden house hidden behind layers of leaves. This mutated forest, while a good hiding place, always had miasma and toxic fungal spores lingering in the air. Lam Thanh Moc had a Wood-type ability that could expel toxins, but Thuong An was different. The child was still too fragile; every breath he took was a gamble with this harsh environment.
If just that pure white mist radiated out every night, it would be like a natural filter. Furthermore, this spirit medicine's breath was very gentle; it would help Lam Thanh Moc sleep better.
Thuong Sinh did not strike hastily. He knew plants carrying spirituality usually had their own growth laws. He observed the position of the rock crevice carefully, realizing the early morning sun would shine directly here for about two hours, providing just enough Yang energy for the plant to neutralize the coldness of the underground water.
He stood up, walking around to collect some pebbles and dry leaves, but not to fill it in—rather to arrange them into a small protective ring around the rock gap, preventing dirty rainwater from flowing directly onto the roots. Finished, Thuong Sinh picked up the basket of wild fruit and walked back home.
He did not intend to tell Lam Thanh Moc immediately. He wanted to wait until he could find a high-quality pot made of quartz or ceramic, capable of retaining underground water for a long time, before officially bringing it back.
Thuong Sinh set the fruit basket down, his gaze scanning the area once before stopping at the downstream part of the underground stream, where there was a stretch of fine gray-white clay he had seen while fetching water. To contain a sensitive spirit medicine like Pure Spirit Grass, he needed something that could retain the soil's moisture and not degrade the pure underground water.
He turned and said to Lam Thanh Moc: "I'm going behind the cliff for a moment to find some clay to mold a bowl and some utensils for our son."
Lam Thanh Moc was surprised to hear this and burst out laughing: "You even know how to make pottery?"
Thuong Sinh did not answer, carrying a small shovel and a wooden bucket toward the clay patch; in his memory, the practical lessons at the workshop of his university's environmental department were still vivid. At that time, he not only studied waste treatment but was also exposed to various minerals and clays in biological filtration experiments. Distinguishing plasticity, soil composition, or calculating firing temperatures were foundational knowledge that a student like him once held very firmly.
He went to the alluvial bank by the stream, choosing a spot located beneath the layer of black earth. He used the shovel to clear away the organic mulch above, digging down about two hand-spans to reach the purest clay section.
Lam Thanh Moc inside the house occasionally peered out the window; she saw Thuong Sinh's back as he crouched by the bucket of soil, his thin but sinewy hands kneading patiently. Thuong Sinh used his internal force to sense the moisture within the clay mass. He used the clay-slapping technique to expel all air, making the clay mass become as pliable and smooth as lard.
He began to mold.
The hand wearing the Black Star Glove rotated the clay mass on a flat stone slab. First, he made a small bowl with thick walls for Thuong An so it would be hard to break, followed by a tall-necked bottle with a wide base. Finally, he devoted the most effort to molding the pot for the spirit medicine plant.
The pot had a simple but refined shape, the rim slightly curved inward to retain moisture; on the outside, he used a sharp piece of wood to carve wave-like patterns—an aesthetic habit from his school days.
"Finished," Thuong Sinh muttered.
He did not fire them immediately but left them in the shade to let the clay dry naturally, avoiding cracks from sudden dehydration. Lam Thanh Moc carried Thuong An out; looking at the raw pottery items, still gray in color but perfectly balanced in shape, she couldn't help but marvel: "You truly can do this..."
Thuong Sinh used river water to wash his mud-covered hands, watching his son who was curiously reaching out intending to grab the small bowl. He blocked the boy's hand.
"Wait for it to dry then fire it; then it will turn brick red."
He looked at the makeshift kiln just assembled from old bricks in the corner of the yard, silently calculating the temperature in his mind. That night, the fire from the kiln glowed red in a corner of the yard. Thuong Sinh sat guarding the fire, his purple-black gaze occasionally glancing toward the wooden cradle inside the house, where the mother and child had gone to sleep.
He continued looking into the flaring fire as it illuminated his cold, indifferent face in the darkness.