The Immortal Path of Pesticides

I was a top student at an agricultural college in the 21st century, but overnight I woke up as an abandoned disciple of Medicine King Valley in a fantasy world.

My master ruled that I could never touch a pill furnace again, all because the pills I made had “no spiritual essence.”

But when they were besieged by demon beasts and their spirit fields withered, they came begging at the door of this “good-for-nothing.”

I hefted my herbicide and smiled. “Pest control is ten spirit stones per bottle, weed removal is thirty per mu. Life-saving pills... cost extra.”

Later, a legend spread throughout the entire cultivation world: the woman carrying a strange magical tool and constantly talking about “the interval between doses” was the true Saint of Alchemy.