In a solemn chamber steeped in the lingering fragrance of ancient incense, an elderly man sat upon a cushioned seat.
His hardened features told stories of war, especially the deep scar that ran above his eye, granting him an air both imposing and fearsome.
Standing before him, the woman bowed deeply in reverence before speaking in a low, careful voice.
"Sir… the physician I told you about earlier is now with Elder Zohur. The two of them are heading together toward the Leader's residence."
The instant those words left her lips, the elder jolted upright.
His expression changed at once, and his breathing grew heavy as he asked sharply,
"What did you say?! Do you mean they are going directly to the Leader's house?"
The woman lowered her head even further.
"Yes, sir… Elder Zohur himself told me they had urgent business concerning the Leader."
Silence swallowed the room.
The elder's gaze drifted into the distance as he began pacing back and forth, his mind spinning countless possibilities.
Then he muttered through restrained fury,
"It seems that strange physician is carrying something valuable in his sleeve… but that bastard Zohur—how dare he snatch him from under my nose and steal him so quickly?"
He paused for a moment before adding in a dark tone,
"I must go there at once. If my suspicion is correct, then Elder Zohur is about to seize an extraordinary opportunity—and I will not allow that. I was the one who found that physician first. I am the one who deserves to reap the fruits of his knowledge."
The moment those words were spoken, he stormed out of his residence in a fury, dragging his long black robe behind him as it snapped sharply with every step.
Meanwhile, within the heart of a grand and imposing residence, a council of three men was gathered.
Two sat facing one another, while the third occupied a massive wooden chair carved with dazzling golden engravings that reflected the authority of the room itself.
The first was an old man whose black hair still resisted the whitening of age.
The second was a man in his early forties, his features set with stern seriousness.
As for the man seated upon the great chair, he was in his fifties, clad in a silk robe tinged with blue, with firm and commanding eyes.
He was the Leader of the Carp Tribe.
The black-haired elder was the first to break the silence.
"Things are worsening by the day… we must find a real solution to this predicament before it is too late."
No sooner had he finished speaking than the other man added with clear concern,
"The youths of the tribe urgently need spiritual cultivation resources. Two full weeks have passed without them beginning their new planting. If this continues, I fear we will suffer a humiliating defeat in the 'Exchange of Experience' that will take place in a few months."
The Leader remained silent, submerged in a weighty stillness, his thoughts wandering through the hidden corners of the tribe and the burdens it concealed.
Even if the two men had said nothing, he already knew despair had begun to seep into people's hearts.
But the problem of the "leech illness" was a wall of solid stone, one that even the most seasoned apothecaries had failed to breach.
So how could a mere third-rank tribe possibly solve a disease that had confounded the great powers themselves?
After a long silence that nearly suffocated the room, the Leader finally spoke in a tone that allowed no argument.
"As we agreed… by next week, the youths must receive their resources in full.
They are the future of the Carp Tribe. Any further delay will shatter their morale and undermine the foundation of tomorrow."
The black-haired elder immediately protested, his voice thick with worry.
"But Leader! Those resources are more urgently needed by you. You need them desperately to prevent the further deterioration of the spiritual embryo.
The children can wait a few more weeks—but the embryo is racing against time!"
The Leader replied with calm sorrow, yet unshakable resolve.
"No… that is not true. The growth of our youths cannot be postponed."
The elder tried once more.
"But, sir—"
He was cut off by the Leader raising his hand in a regal gesture that silenced every voice in the room.
Then he said, in a tone that ended the matter entirely,
"This discussion is over. The decision has been made.
The youths will receive the resources they deserve, and as for our fate—we will face it bare-chested if we must."
At that critical moment, while the bitter weight of that decision still lingered in the hall, the doors opened.
Elder Zohur entered first.
Jumanji followed behind him.
The sound of their footsteps echoed over the polished floor, drawing the attention of the two elders and the Leader alike, for the newcomer was not a familiar face within the tribe's inner halls.
Elder Zohur bowed deeply in respect, and Jumanji followed with a balanced, restrained bow of his own.
His altered features appeared natural, his face calm and composed, yet his eyes still held that same quiet and unfathomable depth.
The Leader raised a hand in acknowledgment of their greeting.
A brief silence passed before Elder Zohur stepped forward and spoke, his tone carrying both caution and excitement.
"Leader… today I have come to you bearing a possible way out of the crisis strangling our tribe.
This fellow spiritual practitioner standing behind me is no ordinary man.
He is a spiritual physician."
He then began recounting the details of their meeting within the apothecary building, as well as the spiritual medicines the man had brought with him.
The two seated men were visibly surprised, while suspicion surfaced in the Leader's expression.
But Elder Zohur continued before anyone could interrupt him.
"And more importantly, sir…"
He paused briefly to gather his breath before lowering his voice into something more serious.
"He claims to possess a method—perhaps our only hope—for treating the sick 'farm embryo.'"
Those words struck the Leader like thunder.
He straightened at once, and a sharp gaze shot from his eyes and settled on Jumanji like an arrow, as though trying to pierce through the man's mysterious exterior.
"Is this true?" the Leader asked in a rich voice laced with both doubt and hope.
"Do you understand the weight of what you are claiming, fellow spiritual practitioner? We are speaking of an affliction that has baffled even the greatest specialists of the Bamboo Continent."
In truth, the matter had never been about the incapability of the Bamboo Continent's experts.
It was simply that secrets of this caliber were not shared with just anyone.
Even if someone did know the answer, the cost would be so monstrously high that silence would often be the wiser choice.
These lesser cultivators believed that what they did not know did not exist.
But the truth stretched far beyond the reach of their eyes.
Jumanji smiled faintly and raised a hand.
"I have already told Elder Zohur what I know.
You have a chance—however slim—of success.
I offer no absolute guarantees, but I can assure you that there is still a path left untraveled."
He spoke with such natural ease and simplicity that it left little room to doubt his sincerity.
And yet, suspicion still lingered in the minds of the Leader and the elders.
For a man who possessed such knowledge should not have remained nameless in a world that breathed spiritual power.
The Leader spoke again, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of caution and curiosity.
"This is no small claim. If true, it could overturn the Bamboo Continent itself.
But before we take even a single step, I want to know the name of the capable cultivator standing before me.
A man of your qualifications must surely have a name that travels ahead of him."
It was a trap.
Anyone who knew how to treat a "farm embryo" ought to be a renowned name in the records of the great clans.
But Jumanji did not hesitate.
Smiling calmly, he answered with dignified ease,
"You may call me… the Shepherd of Sheep.
There is no name that brings me greater comfort."
"The Shepherd of Sheep?!" the elders and the Leader repeated in bewilderment.
They searched the depths of their memories, recalling the names of experts, wanderers, and great cultivators who had crossed the Bamboo Continent.
But no such name existed.
It was as if he had emerged from nothing.
And that only deepened the aura of mystery surrounding him, forcing the Leader to reassess the man before him with far greater seriousness.
"I hope your claim is not false," the Leader said at last, his words carrying the cold edge of an unmistakable threat.
"You know very well where you are standing now, and I do not believe I need to remind you of the consequences of deceit in this place."
Jumanji met that threat with a serene, unwavering smile.
"I know my own worth very well, Leader," he said steadily.
"I would never place my head in a matter this dangerous unless I were confident in what I say.
To lie in the presence of death is suicide."
At that moment, the doors burst open violently.
The scarred elder stormed into the chamber, sparks nearly flying from his eyes.
He came to a stop beside Elder Zohur, cast a sharp sideways glance at Jumanji, then directed the full force of his fury toward Zohur.
"Elder Zohur! I found this man first. What you have done is nothing short of betrayal. How dare you steal an opportunity that was never yours to take?"
Elder Zohur frowned, both startled and displeased, but answered in a composed voice.
"What are you talking about, Elder Baido? What theft are you even accusing me of?"
Baido gritted his teeth in frustration and jabbed a finger toward Jumanji.
"You know exactly what I mean, so do not pretend otherwise! This man was my guest. If he were to come here, it should have been through me. But you took advantage of my distraction and snatched him away for your own gain."
Elder Zohur turned toward Baido with a cold look.
Now he could clearly see the shape of the game Baido was trying to play.
"Baido, you are twisting the truth and inventing excuses," he said firmly.
"This man came to the apothecary hall on his own two feet to trade rare spiritual medicines. He was looking for a direct and honest exchange.
I did not steal anyone, and our fellow spiritual practitioner here is witness to that."
Then he turned toward the Leader and added in his defense,
"As for this accusation of theft, it is baseless. How was I supposed to know he was Baido's guest?
He came to us like any wandering physician would. And when I asked him certain things, his answer was so shocking that there was no room to waste time.
How could I delay the chance to heal the Leader's 'farm embryo' over hollow protocol?"
At that moment, the Leader's voice cut through the hall like stone splitting under a blade.
"Elders! Sit down.
You may settle this politely later.
This is the council chamber of the Carp Tribe—not an animal pen for you to brawl in like this."
The force of the Leader's words instantly silenced Baido.
He swallowed his rage and, though unwilling, returned to his seat.
Elder Zohur also stepped back and reclaimed his place.
A cautious silence fell over the hall.
Now, the only one left standing in its center was Jumanji.
He remained where he was with astonishing steadiness, as though none of the storm that had erupted around him had touched him in the slightest.
He simply stood there, awaiting the final word from the man in blue.
The Leader fixed Jumanji with a probing gaze, as though trying to pierce through his composure.
Then he asked in a practical tone,
"Very well. Tell me this—how exactly will the embryo be treated? And how much time and how many resources will you require before you are ready to begin?"
Jumanji nodded with dignified calm.
"Very well, sir.
First, I will need a preparation period of two full months. There is also a long list of rare resources required for the process.
Tomorrow, I will write down everything I need in precise detail and hand it over to you."
He paused briefly before continuing in a more serious tone.
"Second, I ask that this matter remain an absolute secret within the walls of this chamber.
I have no desire for the trouble that such fame might bring me.
And to ensure your loyalty to that secrecy… I need all of you to swear the 'Farm Oath.'"
The instant those words were spoken, a dreadful silence fell over the room.
The "Farm Oath" was not a mere verbal promise.
It was a spiritual covenant, one that bound a cultivator's life to the very existence of his spiritual farm.
Any betrayal of that vow would mean the immediate destruction of the farm itself and the collapse of its energy, making any cultivator think a thousand times before daring to utter such a suicidal oath.
Jumanji spoke with calm steadiness.
"I understand full well that the elders absent from this council will learn of this sooner or later.
So I ask the Leader to forgive my boldness… but I require a more complete guarantee.
I want every one of them to be bound by this oath as well."
This demand was not merely about safety.
It was bait.
A clever hook cast into the tribe's fish pond.
By asking for protection against schemes and theft, Jumanji only made himself appear more credible in their eyes—as a true expert physician guarding his hard-earned secrets from betrayal.
His caution seemed not only reasonable…
but necessary.
The Leader understood the weight of such a demand.
But the hope of saving the embryo outweighed everything else.
He gave a solemn nod, then recited the formula of the "Farm Oath" with measured gravity.
The elders present followed after him, repeating the vow that bound the fate of their spiritual farms to the preservation of this secret.
As for the absent elders, the Leader took on an additional vow in his capacity as the head of the tribe, swearing to compel their silence and ensure that not a single word of what would occur here was ever spoken aloud.
Yet the Leader, seasoned and sharp in the ways of command, did not leave even the smallest opening unguarded.
He turned to Jumanji with a piercing gaze and demanded the equal price.
"Since we have bound ourselves to this oath, you too must swear upon the existence of your spiritual farm that you will devote every ounce of your strength and knowledge to healing this embryo."
The Leader understood well that a spiritual oath was a double-edged blade.
It was the only guarantee that could force this stranger to place his life and future on the scale beside the tribe's own fate.
Jumanji nodded with the same unshaken calm he had maintained all along.
"I will do so," he replied with solemn dignity.
"And as I said before, I will exert every effort and devote all my knowledge to achieving the desired result.
But I must repeat once again—success lies in the hands of fate.
I offer no absolute certainty."
The Leader exhaled deeply, as though a crushing weight had finally shifted—if only slightly—from his shoulders.
Then he said, in a voice shadowed by the fear of passing time,
"Very well… it is enough that you do all that you can.
We are racing against time, and with every moment that passes without healing the leech… the pressure upon us only grows."
**End of Chapter**