Quest (5)

Sinchebalbu sujibumo—the body, hair, and skin are bestowed by one's parents.

It meant that a dutiful child should never carelessly mistreat the flesh and blood given to them by their parents, but rather cherish and govern it with utmost care. Across all eras and civilizations, East or West, a child growing up in good health has ever been a parent's greatest wish. Conversely, a child's untimely demise—above all, dying before their parents—was condemned as the most heinous act of unfilial impiety. Such customs of filial devotion had been passed down since antiquity, but the people of the Central Plains held to them with ferocious intensity.

Yet as generations slipped away, original meanings invariably faded, replaced by bizarre and skewed interpretations. This tendency was amplified tenfold by the Gallery, an extradimensional cultural nexus through which individuals unwittingly absorbed warped concepts. Sinchebalbu sujibumo proved no exception. In its pristine form, it merely taught that preserving one's health and growing up upright was the highest devotion a child could offer. Somewhere down the line, however, it twisted into the dogmatic obsession that losing even a solitary lock of hair was an unforgivable offense, spiraling straight into unhinged madness.

Because the philosophical doctrine had degraded so completely in the Central Plains, premature balding was frequently treated as an unfilial disgrace. Compounded by an extraordinarily conservative social climate, those whose hair began to thin suffered suffocating, unrelenting stress. And the stress, in turn, accelerated their hair loss—a merciless, vicious cycle from which there was no escape.

In this manner, hair loss was a peculiar ailment that plagued humanity alone, often branded an endemic 'racial disease' that struck men with disproportionate ferocity. The true danger, however, was the profound social devastation it wrought. Since ancient times, it was widely acknowledged that a man's presence was defined by his mane, and countless souls had suffered agonizing humiliation under the heel of this single condition. It could be slowed with preventative measures, but a true cure had never existed—and even prevention merely postponed the inevitable. It was commonly quipped that whoever formulated an absolute cure for baldness would instantly become the wealthiest individual in the known world.

Is it truly so catastrophic?

The Heavenly Demon, Yu Sowol, stared down at the sprig resting in her palm with a furrowed brow. Physician Song had extolled it as nothing less than a divine miracle, declaring with quivering tears that it was peer to the legendary Herb of Immortality. Living semi-detached from the mundane secular world as she did, she could only find such clamor bewildering.

Even if one's body and hair are gifts of one's parents, in the end, it is merely hair.

It was a sentiment born of utter ignorance toward the bald man's agony—yet simultaneously a testament to her broad-minded detachment. At present, the prejudice against those losing their hair in the Central Plains was venomous. It soared beyond petty teasing into open ostracization and public censure. Much of this stemmed from how comparatively rare baldness was among the folk of the Central Plains. Everyone else boasts a lush, thick crown, so why are you barren? Did you defile the body bequeathed by your parents? The victim would feel wronged to death, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠yet prejudice possessed neither ears nor mercy—especially within a society as steeped in rigid conservatism as the Central Plains. Even in the Gallery, users merely bantered about it or offered patronizing pity. But the Central Plains actively persecuted it. The Shaolin Temple was excused, of course, but that was strictly because their shorn heads were an act of voluntary devotion.

If this can truly be cultivated, it could amass unimaginable wealth.

Yu Sowol pondered the possibilities. If this plant could be systematically grown, one could sweep up all the riches of the land. Furthermore, her chief strategist, Wi Seolak, had proposed layering a delicate fabrication over its origins: to proclaim across the lands that this grace had blossomed entirely from the benevolence of the Heavenly Demon. In short, disguise it as the Heavenly Demon's divine revelation and distribute it far and wide. Were they to do so, their sphere of influence would swallow not only the Central Plains, but crash across the Western Realm like an unstoppable tidal wave. Since the Western Realm suffered from a far higher proportion of balding men, the economic leverage would be absolute.

Absolutely not. I will never deceive my benefactor.

Yu Sowol firmly rejected the notion. To do so would be a foul betrayal against Grylls, the savior who had preserved her very breath. Even if Grylls granted his consent, her own conscience would never permit such thievery. If this was truly a miraculous herb, every shred of glory and gratitude born from its unveiling rightfully belonged to Grylls. In spite of her progressive thoughts on worldly matters, Yu Sowol possessed an unbending, old-fashioned sense of honor, which made her resolve unshakeable.

No sooner had her resolve hardened than Grylls sent a direct message. Since she always kept the Gallery interface open, she drafted her reply without hesitation.

Even Grylls marveled at the revelation. Sensing his reaction, Yu Sowol raised her free hand to touch her own locks. Her hair was like woven ebony silk—flowing, supple, and radiant with enchanting vitality. Having ascended to the Profound Realm, her physical vessel maintained its absolute zenith at all times. And even prior to that breakthrough, she had undergone Physical Rebirth multiple times throughout her martial cultivation, meaning her hair had never once known dryness or frailty.

What is so effortless for this lady may well be a treasure beyond price to others.

Gaining this subtle enlightenment, she keyed in her response. The crux of the matter was determining what must be done with this miracle herb.

Grylls pointed out the flaw with sharp clarity. If they handled it carelessly, her identity as a fixed-handle user might be exposed. Yu Sowol had already considered that risk. Even if Physician Song did not use the Gallery himself, news of a cure with such absurd potency would spread across the realm in days. The whispers would inevitably lead inquisitive minds straight to the existence of the Gallery.

Yu Sowol found herself momentarily speechless before his resolute refusal. It felt almost as though he were palming off a tedious chore onto her—though she knew that was not his true intent.

His retort was even firmer than before.

It was a cheeky, audacious suggestion, but a warm, genuine smile curved Yu Sowol's lips. The heavy anxiety that had weighed on her shoulders felt utterly hollow in hindsight. Still, she had no intention of letting Grylls's name be buried in obscurity. One day, she would reveal to the entire world that Grylls was the true architect of this miraculous salvation. Once the herb entered circulation and its miraculous efficacy became common knowledge, she would subtly link its roots to the Forest of the Four Seasons, guiding the gaze of the world naturally toward his sanctuary.

Before that, I must secure a flowerpot.

A vessel of substantial size would be ideal. Yu Sowol raised her voice and summoned Wi Seolak. Having stationed himself just outside the grand chamber, the strategist appeared almost instantly.

"Did you summon me, Heavenly One?"

"I require a flowerpot."

"A... flowerpot, Sovereign?"

"I intend to cultivate this medicinal herb in earnest."

Yu Sowol held up the grass in her hand. Wi Seolak's heart leaped in silent jubilation. While further tests were needed to ensure there were no hidden side effects, it was already an incontrovertible fact that this single blade of grass possessed the power to rake in mountains of gold. Opening trade not merely within the Central Plains but reaching deep into the Western Realm would grant their cult an immeasurable geopolitical advantage.

An herb born of the Forest of the Four Seasons would likely wither beneath the hands of anyone lesser than the Heavenly Demon.

If it were up to his raw ambitions, he would have plowed under every grain field in their territory to plant this miracle crop. Yet Wi Seolak was certain this herb had arrived straight from Grylls and the primordial depths of the Forest of the Four Seasons. It was an unrecorded plant never seen in the annals of history. It could not be nurtured through mundane agricultural methods, and would undoubtedly drink monstrous quantities of qi or mana. Tending to it blindly across open fields was impossible; leaving its propagation in Yu Sowol's hands was by far the wisest course.

"Understood. How large of a vessel do you require?"

"Hmm." Yu Sowol turned her gaze toward the latticed window. Her audience hall was draped in heavy, somber shadows, yet the sunlight streaming through the southern window was generous and warm—more ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than enough to sustain growing flora. "One of appropriate size to rest beneath the window frame. That shall suffice."

"Your will shall be done."

Wi Seolak executed the order with ruthless efficiency. In less than ten minutes, he returned bearing a pristine earthenware planter matching the exact dimensions she had requested. Now, only the planting remained. Yu Sowol carefully plucked the tiny berries clustering at the tip of the herb.

"Further experimentation is still required, so deliver half of these seeds to Physician Song. However, ensure that whenever someone in desperate anguish seeks aid, it is granted without hesitation."

"It shall be as you command."

She buried the remaining half in the rich, dark soil Grylls had transferred to her in whole sacks. Nurturing a seedling was an entirely novel experience for the supreme sovereign of the Demonic Cult.

It does not sprout immediately, it seems.

Perhaps because it was a legendary specimen untouched by human hands, it did not take root instantly, even within the fertile soil scooped from the Forest of the Four Seasons. Yu Sowol watched the dark earth with her arms crossed before gently extending her pale fingers. A subtle, unprecedented stream of internal energy surged from her fingertips, draping the entire planter in an iridescent, transcendent glow.

Pop! Pop-pop-pop! Pop!

A miraculous sight unfolded. In rapid succession, emerald cotyledons split through the soil, uncurling fresh green leaves before her very eyes. A radiant smile touched Yu Sowol's lips as she beheld the vibrant sprouts. Just as she had anticipated, infusing them with pure martial qi stimulated immediate growth. It was likely a synergistic reaction between her internal energy and the mythical soil of the Forest of the Four Seasons. Of course, such rapid germination was possible only because the cultivator was Yu Sowol; an ordinary person’s qi would not have elicited the slightest ripple.

I must share this with the Gallery.

An irresistible urge pulled at her fingers. She angled her vision carefully, framing the shot from an elusive perspective so that Wi Seolak would suspect nothing.

"Wh-what...?"

Yu Sowol flinched in spite of herself. The very first reply had struck her straight through the heart. She had endured countless insults, endless mockery, and even the sight of horrifying gore during her time on the forums. Yet somehow, this single nonchalant comment could not be brushed aside. It felt like a jagged dagger plunging deep into her chest. Had it been a gift from anyone else, she might have laughed it off—but this was a miraculous find brought to light by Grylls. Denouncing it as a common weed felt like a direct insult directed at both the Heavenly Demon and her benefactor.

"......"

The brow of the supreme Heavenly Demon—no, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the mortal woman named Yu Sowol—narrowed into a razor-sharp scowl.