Lu Mingyuan, the manager of the Qingzhu Mountain Spirit Field, is just a mortal farming. Wearing coarse linen clothes every day, I bend over to take care of those rare spiritual plants. My favorite thing is to see the purple grass glowing under the moonlight.
The little girl Su Xiaotang picked up from the mountain kept pestering him with questions, unaware that the people around him could cut stars with just a snap of their fingers. The seeds in her pocket can solve Lingzhi's heartache, but they can't solve the crisis of spying in the dark.
Blood Fiend Sect Yin Wushe's three hundred years of cultivation could not see through the depth of this young man in the field; the soul-locking formation of the Situ Family Master could not trap the vitality of a single plant of Crimson Pearl Grass. When the clues of the Ten Thousand Years Soul-nurturing Tree point to this spiritual field, when the Nine Yin puppets turn into black mist and sneak into the moonlit night -
Lu Mingyuan gently brushed away the dew on the leaves, and the sword intention was already flowing on his fingertips.
