"Master, why do we have to pull the weeds by hand? Why can't we just use a spell to clear the field?"
Han Ye looked up from the dark soil, his forehead damp with sweat. A young boy named Xiao stood over him, holding a wooden trowel like it was a heavy burden. Han Ye wiped his hands on his simple gray trousers and sat back on his heels.
"Because if you use a spell, you never learn the shape of the root, Xiao. You don't feel how hard the earth is working to keep that plant alive," Han Ye said, his voice calm and grounded.
"But my brother says real cultivators don't get dirt under their fingernails," the boy argued, pouting at his own muddy hands. "He says they just wave a hand and the world obeys."
Han Ye smiled, a genuine expression that reached his eyes. "Your brother is looking for a
