A Mortal’s Immortal Gourd
Chapter 20: Enhanced Dali Pills

“Hngh…”

“Hah…”

Ergouzi’s arms bulged with veins as he raised a massive boulder above his head and walked several laps around the three mu of farmland.

Finally, he let out a long breath and slammed the rock down with a heavy thud, sending up a cloud of dust.

That stone weighed at least three to four hundred jin, and now he could lift it with relative ease.

Thanks to eating the grain stored in the gourd daily, his strength and cultivation had improved rapidly. That single strand of True Qi had already grown several times stronger.

But he still couldn’t crush a stone into powder. Even a pebble the size of a pigeon egg was beyond him.

Every time he recalled how easily and gracefully his master had crushed a rock, he couldn’t help but yearn to reach that level someday.

Who knew how many more years of cultivation it would take to get there?

After tossing the boulder aside, Ergouzi picked up a wooden sword and began practicing basic sword forms.

He had already learned several foundational techniques—thrust, slash, lift, hook, tap...

According to the sword manual his master had copied, one should practice with a heavy sword, gradually increasing the weight from ten to five hundred jin.

In actual combat, switching to a light sword would amplify the power significantly.

When Ergouzi read this part, he thought he must have misread it.

Sure, he could lift a several-jin rock with both hands, but wielding a heavy sword with one hand? Even a ten-jin sword felt clunky.

To use a one-hundred-jin sword effectively, he’d need strength in the thousands of jin.

Since he didn’t have a proper heavy sword, he tied some rocks to his wooden one, adding about five or six jin of weight.

In front of him stood a life-sized straw dummy, with numerous copper coins tied to its body.

He held the sword in one hand and slowly thrust toward the dummy.

Shing!

The sword pierced the center of a copper coin precisely!

Then he pulled back and thrust again…

Thrusting was the most common and basic move in swordplay. It required stability, accuracy, speed, and strength—all concentrated at the sword tip. It was also the technique he practiced most.

Even as the sun began to set, he was still in the golden twilight, repeating thrust after thrust…

Time flew, and the snowy season of the New Year was fast approaching. The world turned into a blanket of white.

Only Shekou Mountain, in some hidden corners unseen by outsiders, remained lush and green, full of life.

With the year’s end nearing, Ergouzi still owed Huang Laocai 40 taels of silver—the agreed annual payment.

He had earned 14 taels from selling Dali Pills before, but much had been spent since—some on occasional meat, most on wine and gifts for his master.

Now he had only six taels left.

Grain, however, was plentiful. He had over 200 sheng stored in the gourd.

The ginseng he’d planted had finally flowered and produced seeds. He used them to plant another two mu of ginseng.

Altogether, he had now cultivated ten mu of land:

Three mu of rice fields

Four mu of Polygonatum

One mu of Cistanche

Two mu of ginseng

Plus the stone house, goose pen, and martial arts training grounds, taking up about one more mu.

Ginseng had a long growth cycle—ten, twenty years was common, with some taking fifty or even a hundred years.

So he planned to save more seeds and expand his planting.

He even considered converting the rice fields into ginseng patches—the gourd had enough stored grain to feed him for twenty years.

Even if he made all of it into Dali Pills, he wouldn’t need that much.

Lately, in his spare time, he’d been making Dali Pills.

He already had over one sheng of them in the gourd, planning to head to the county to sell them in a few days.

But before that, he had another idea he wanted to try.

He had planted ginseng and Polygonatum with the intention of adding them to the Dali Pills—give the pills a medicinal aroma to look more authentic and sell better.

Now that he had found a market, he wanted to try mixing in some herbs.

He dug up five Polygonatum roots, each more than half a foot long.

They were golden and plump, with three or four segments—about three or four years old in medicinal age.

In reality, he’d only planted them three or four months ago.

He cooked the Polygonatum, mashed them with rice into a paste, and rolled them into pills, then dried them.

He also made a batch using Cistanche in the same way.

Once finished, he stored them all in the gourd to enhance their spiritual energy.

After much experimentation, he had figured out that anything placed inside the gourd would have its quality enhanced and gain some magical effects.

However, there was a limit to how much the gourd could enhance.

The first day brought the biggest boost, the second day a slight increase, and after three days, it hit the ceiling.

He suspected that his improved cultivation had strengthened the gourd. Now it could transform up to seven or eight times.

At its largest, the gourd could grow two to three zhang tall—enough to fit almost anything.

At its smallest, it could shrink to the size of a hair, like a tiny needle he could hide in his skin—undetectable.

Three days later, Ergouzi hoisted a sack onto his back and cautiously descended the mountain using a rope.

With heavy snow sealing the mountain, the rocks and trees were coated in ice. The path was treacherous—just walking on level ground could cause a fall. His terrain was even more dangerous. A single slip could send him over a cliff.

By the time he reached the foot of the mountain, his straw sandals were worn through.

He tossed them aside and walked barefoot in the snow, planning to buy a pair of cotton shoes this trip.

Last time in town, he saw all the rich men and officials strutting around in cotton shoes, heads held high, walking in a showy V-stance—it looked so grand.

He’d heard the county magistrate wore tall boots made of cowhide, embroidered with gold and silver thread.

Ergouzi had grown up barefoot or in straw sandals, his feet covered in thick calluses.

But now that he had money, he wanted to buy a pair of cotton shoes, just to see how it felt.

As he fantasized about his new shoes, he saw a small figure curled up by the roadside ahead—he couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead.

Every winter, there were plenty of such scenes.

Corpses by the road were a common sight—people who had starved or frozen to death. Ergouzi had long grown numb to it.

After all, they were just lowly folk, not like those dignified officials. When they got tired of living, they simply lay down and died.

People had long since developed hearts colder than the snow.

Last year, he’d been kicked out by his uncle. Without the gourd, he might’ve died by the roadside too.

Today, seeing that tiny figure, likely only six or seven years old, something stirred in him.

He remembered how he and Dagou had become orphans around that age, working hard in their uncle’s house just to survive.

He gently pulled away the rag covering the child’s face. The face was pale, messy matted hair covered most of it, and a few fleas crawled in the strands.

Still breathing—alive!

He picked up the child, gave him some water, and fed him a Dali Pill.

The kid must’ve been starving—half-conscious, but anything put into his mouth was quickly swallowed.

After eating over ten pills, the child slowly opened his eyes and looked at Ergouzi.

“Hey kid! Glad you woke up!”

“This bag of food—keep it and eat slowly. Whether you survive or not is up to fate.”

Ergouzi rummaged through his sack and pulled out a large bundle—inside were the Dali Pills he had hand-rolled.

If eaten sparingly, maybe it could last the child till spring.

Or maybe he’d freeze to death tonight.

Ergouzi left the bag behind and walked away.

The child hugged the bundle tight to his chest, pulled aside the hair from his forehead, and stared at Ergouzi’s fading figure.

His gaze was complex, and even the dark red birthmark on his forehead seemed to shine a little brighter.