Chapter Thirty-Eight: Brother Chicken, Time for Your Medicine (Leave a Comment!)

As April arrived, under the drizzling rain, Chen Yu welcomed the second and third mutated plants successfully catalyzed. One was the Jade Beetle Coat, the other was the Greens.

Nourished by spiritual energy, the Jade Beetle Coat had only the "jade beetle" dangling from its withered stalk, barely holding on. The Greens fared similarly; the mutated buds resembled tiny corn cobs, wrapped in leaves with only their emerald skins exposed. Small bumps dotted the surface, and beneath the skin seemed to grow many bean-sized granules.

Wearing a bamboo hat, Chen Yu stood in the fine drizzle and carefully pinched off the tender shoots of the Jade Beetle Coat, his fingernails pressed to the nodes, gently twisting until they fell away. He was neither hurried nor impatient, using the lightest touch for fear of tearing the delicate outer layer. On his first attempt, careless, he snapped a stem, staining his hand with juice and discovering beneath the skin a mass of semi-solid, transparent gel filled with liquid.

It was just as he had guessed. Its purpose was unclear, but the aroma was enticing, whetting his appetite and moistening his mouth. If it proved non-toxic, it would make an excellent accompaniment to cold dishes or porridge, requiring little seasoning, for its own flavor was sweet and tangy.

With the notion that every damaged stem was a loss, Chen Yu became much more cautious, no longer rough. One by one, he harvested the mature Jade Beetle Coats transplanted and thriving in the corner of the medicinal field, leaving some behind. He needed to verify their properties first; if all were harvested and then spoiled, it would be a waste.

Even so, the bamboo basket hanging from his arm was filled, the shoots piled high, their fragrant sweetness wafting in clouds around him.

He also pulled up two bunches of Greens, plucking two buds to examine. The buds were small, one longer, one shorter—three inches for the short, five for the long—much smaller than a corn cob.

The rain whispered outside, and the courtyard was no place for careful study. After harvesting, Chen Yu returned to the temple, removed his hat, and fetched knife, pots, and bowls.

It looked less like investigation and more like preparing to cook. But, not yet certain of the nature of these mutated vegetables, he wasn’t so reckless as to cook and eat them outright. Though he was fond of food, caution was necessary.

He brought out a small square table, squatted on a chair, and picked up a stem of Jade Beetle Coat. The tender shoot was milky white, dew clinging to its surface. Through the thin skin, he could faintly see the amber-like gel within.

He placed a bowl beneath, pinched a shoot, eyes fixed, and used a small knife to slice a slender slit along the skin.

Colorless liquid oozed from the opening, dripping into the bowl. He sniffed close, clicking his tongue; it reminded him a bit of aged vinegar.

He thought for a moment, then set a plate beside him, and squeezed the shoot. With a gentle pop, the pulp emerged whole onto the plate.

Chen Yu looked down at the bowl and plate, then produced a prepared bamboo tube. With a tap and shake, an old friend appeared once more—an earthworm wriggling about on the table.

He lifted the ceramic bowl and dripped some of the colorless liquid onto the worm, watching quietly and waiting.

A quarter hour passed… then half an hour…

After a full hour, the worm finally stopped moving, but Chen Yu was unsurprised. Likely, his old friend was simply exhausted and resting. Sure enough, soon the worm resumed squirming, attempting to leave the table in search of soil to hide.

There seemed to be no change.

He glanced at several other worms confined in bamboo strips nearby. During this hour, he had tested four more worms, using juice, pulp, and combinations thereof to observe any effects.

Perhaps the time was too short, but so far, the worms appeared well, showing little or no change compared to previous tests with spiritual liquid.

However, what was harmless to worms might not be so for him. Yet, earthworms were the easiest to obtain and expend, so for now, his old friends would have to contribute to his farming endeavors.

For these experiments, Chen Yu had prepared many bamboo tubes, each worm rewarded with a new home—left for observation.

After tidying up and hanging the tubes on the wall, he returned to his various hypotheses, preparing to test them one by one.

He aimed to verify the effects of these new plants at the smallest cost amid countless guesses.

He also foresaw that, once understood, spiritual-energy-catalyzed plants might yield common clues for identifying traits, saving much effort.

“Next, let’s try well water.”

Judging by the worms’ reactions, Chen Yu surmised that the liquid in the Jade Beetle Coat’s tender shoots was likely not spiritual liquid or source, but rather some peculiar-smelling ordinary fluid, without mystical properties.

The truly special component lay within the gel.

He sliced off a bit, using the same knife—no signs of corrosion or acidification.

He placed the piece into a separate vessel and poured in freshly drawn well water. The pulp quickly floated to the surface, showing no sign of dissolving.

“Now let’s try spiritual liquid.”

He repeated the process. With many spiritual roots (white roots) in the medicinal field nearing maturity, he was unconcerned about supply and used it freely.

He poured about a mouthful’s worth.

As before, the spiritual liquid and pulp did not react violently as expected. The pulp floated quietly atop the liquid, its flesh translucent and sparkling.

“…”

The experiment yielded no clear results, but Chen Yu did not pause. He gathered a few finely diced pieces of Jade Beetle Coat pulp and headed out back.

At the chicken coop, the rooster held its head high, staring him down.

The hens gathered further inside, surrounded by a brood of chicks chirping and occasionally scratching the dirt to dig up bugs, which they rushed to devour.

Chen Yu opened the fence with a gentle smile, only to be met by the rooster’s wing-beating and sharp peck.

Luckily, his recent practice in agility paid off, and he dodged easily.

This rooster, whether it had lost its mind or bore him a grudge, had grown increasingly irritable since being fenced in. Despite good food, drink, hens by his side, and a flock of offspring—luxuries many chickens could only dream of—his temper only worsened. Whenever Chen Yu brought feed, the rooster ignored his mate and chicks, kicking them aside to focus solely on pecking him.

“Brother Rooster, your fiery temper is bad for your health. Come, let me give you some medicine.”

The rooster resisted, its sharp beak poised to strike again.

In a flash, Chen Yu’s hand shot out, grabbing its neck. With a single lift and toss, his fingers slipped beneath its wings, pinning them swiftly.

He brought the rooster before him, eyes narrowing. This bird was becoming harder to manage; he’d have to find time to discipline it. If it didn’t mend its ways… perhaps it was time to send it to meet the ancestors.

He recalled it had been a while since he offered the old priests and Daoist forebears a proper meal.

“Come, eat your medicine.”

Ignoring the rooster’s struggles, Chen Yu pried open its beak, exposing its slender tongue, and poured in the pulp.

Then, he closed the fence and carried the problematic rooster to the woodshed—left for observation.

“May you be well, Brother Rooster.”

He meant it sincerely; otherwise, he wouldn’t dare try this himself.