A Mortal’s Immortal Gourd
Chapter 39: The Mutated Giant Geese

Ergouzi had been away from Shekou Mountain for several days, but his mind was constantly on the medicinal herbs growing up there.

As he arrived at the cliff base and prepared to ascend using Windwalking, he noticed a small puddle of blood on the ground.

There were more scattered blood drops nearby.

In the rubble, he found some ropes and a broken piece of a ladder.

Someone had been here?

The cliffs around Shekou Mountain had long since been smoothed by his heavy sword—normal people couldn’t possibly climb up.

Unless they could use Windwalking like he did.

Without hesitation, Ergouzi gathered True Qi into his Lower Dantian and activated Windwalking. A gentle breeze lifted him up.

With a strong kick, he soared two to three zhang into the air.

When that burst of force ran out, he lightly tapped the cliff and leapt higher.

Repeating this cycle for a few breaths, he was soon back atop the mountain.

“Gaa~ gawk~ gaa~ gawk~”

A flock of white geese flapped their wings and stretched their necks, crowding toward him.

Seeing that all his geese were unharmed, Ergouzi was greatly relieved.

When it came to guarding a place, geese were even more reliable than dogs. Dogs could be bribed with bones—geese weren’t that easy.

He’d raised this flock for years. The older ones had already become dinner, but he still had around a hundred left.

Thanks to the spiritual energy in their feed, each generation of geese was stronger than the last.

The current lead gander stood as tall as an adult human. A single sweep of its wings carried over a hundred jin of force—not even ordinary adults could match it.

Still uneasy, Ergouzi did a full patrol around the mountaintop. All his herbs were untouched—no signs of intruders.

However, with no one watering them for days, the herbs had barely grown.

Losing several days of growth meant a pretty big setback.

Without even eating, Ergouzi first watered every medicinal plant on the mountain with the spiritual water from his gourd. Then he dumped out feed and fed the geese.

Only after all that did he eat and rest.

But he couldn’t sleep a wink that night—not because he was excited about becoming a Xiucai.

It was the mountain full of herbs that weighed on his mind—his personal treasure trove.

He had no idea who had tried to climb up this time, but it seemed they’d failed and gotten hurt.

Once he started attending Zhengwu Hall, he’d be away frequently.

Even if he didn’t go, he couldn’t guard the mountain forever.

What if someone clever enough found a way up while he was gone?

Tossing and turning all night, he got up early the next day and walked around the mountain, thinking.

He considered planting a wide ring of thorny bushes along the mountaintop’s edge.

But he hadn’t found the right kind—ordinary thorns could be chopped down in a few sword swings, useless against martial artists.

Then his thoughts turned to the geese.

They were already a strong deterrent—most people couldn’t handle even one of them.

But they still weren’t strong enough to face real experts. He needed to toughen them up.

So he picked up a hoe and dug out several hundred ginseng roots, each over ten years old.

If he sold these to Sima Yi in the county, the guy would probably go nuts with joy.

He stuffed them all into the gourd, and after three days, their spiritual energy multiplied.

Each day, he ground up a few and mixed them into the goose feed.

After eating this super-boosted ginseng, the geese became vigorous and ferocious, bursting with energy every day.

But the ginseng was too potent. From the second day on, a few geese started bleeding from their seven orifices and pores—and died of internal bleeding.

After that, one or two geese died almost daily.

Though it pained him, Ergouzi stewed the dead ones or turned them into cured goose meat for future meals.

And he kept feeding the rest with ginseng.

The flock shrank day by day, but the surviving geese became noticeably stronger. The death rate dropped as well.

Three months later, the remaining flock stabilized at thirteen geese. None had died for half a month.

These thirteen had grown dramatically—taller than Ergouzi by a full head.

Their wingspan was over a zhang wide.

Their once-white feathers now bore streaks of blood-red, making them look even more striking.

Their flying ability had also improved significantly. When Ergouzi tried riding one, it could carry him smoothly from mountaintop to the foot of the mountain.

Climbing back up from below, however, was still a struggle.

Still, they were more than enough to guard the place.

Geese had strong territorial instincts. Facing all thirteen at once, even a martial artist would be overwhelmed.

The surviving thirteen likely wouldn’t die now, and Ergouzi continued feeding them ginseng infused with spiritual energy.

Their size and strength continued to grow.

In his free time, he trained them with commands and combat drills. Sometimes, he’d ride them for a flight or two around the mountain.

Flying freely gave Ergouzi a thrill like no other.

The only downside? These geese, for all their power, couldn’t help him farm.

Even with his boosted strength, tending the fields took up most of his day.

So far, he’d only cultivated fifteen mu of ginseng, plus some Polygonatum and desert cistanche—around twenty mu total. That was his personal limit.

Every day, he had to water the plants, pull weeds, and replant empty spots. These chores took half the day; the rest went to cultivation.

Ergouzi had grown up doing farm work, so he never felt it was tiring.

He wandered the fields with a hoe over his shoulder, gazing at the green crops he’d raised himself, feeling nothing but satisfaction.

There was still plenty of untamed land on the mountain, but he couldn’t manage it all alone.

Ever the practical man, he wouldn’t let it go to waste.

So he sparsely planted persimmon and jujube trees across the uncultivated areas.

These tall fruit trees didn’t need much care—just water—and they bore fruit regularly.

Dried jujubes and persimmons kept well and made good snacks, which he stored in his gourd.

Whatever he couldn’t eat, he fed to the geese.

Under the trees, he scattered a large number of ginseng seeds, letting them grow wild among the weeds.

That was how wild ginseng grew anyway—low survival, slow growth, and small size.

Thanks to years of cultivating, he now had around seven to eight thousand ginseng roots over twenty years old, most of which he hadn’t harvested.

Those aged ten-plus years numbered in the tens of thousands.

They all thrived. As long as he kept watering them, they grew at ten times the normal speed.

He’d heard hundred-year-old ginseng had miraculous effects. If he kept this up, in eight years he could produce some.

For now, his ten-plus-year ginseng supply was more than enough for himself and the geese.

It was just a pity—he didn’t dare sell the extras in town.

In the past, he’d occasionally sold a few to Huichun Hall. Sima Yi had been thrilled like a child.

But the ones he sold weren’t even as potent as what his geese were now eating.

Sometimes he felt guilty toward Sima Yi—after all, the guy had been a solid friend.

Sima Yi had once mentioned that his family also grew ginseng.

But their survival rate was low, growth was slow, and even after twenty years of careful tending, yields were meager—barely enough to supply their most promising family members.