Though Nevia wanted to linger upstairs a bit longer—after all, sharing a room with Yin the Dream Administrator and admiring her alluring sleeping pose was pure bliss.

But staying too long would rouse her mother’s suspicion; if she came up to check, there’d be no explaining it.

Well, she’d never been the still type—that was just how she was.

As Nevia descended the stairs, her mother carried an ancient book toward a sunlit spot in the house, a wooden chair in her other hand.

“What were you doing upstairs? So noisy,” her mother asked, setting down the chair and glancing sideways. “And don’t blame the cat—if you think that’ll fool me.”

The little girl’s face flushed slightly. “Nothing, Mom. It’s just… Uncle Eccleston’s gift was amazing, so…”

Nevia whispered the rehearsed lines, stammering deliberately.

“So you were excited?” Her mother flipped open the book, finding her last page.

“Mm-hmm.”

“He’ll be thrilled to hear that,” her mother murmured, then fell silent, absorbed in her reading.

“Maybe.”

Nevia slipped past her mother to the back of the house. Their two-story wooden home had a low shed behind the door, packed with firewood, food reserves, and the essential herbs for her mother’s herbalist work.

She pushed the shed door open slowly. Shelves filled the cramped space, stacked to the brim, leaving only a narrow central path. Vertical boards divided each shelf into sections to prevent cross-contamination, making it resemble tiny, separate rooms.

It’d been ages since she’d been here; she’d forgotten how things were arranged.

Nevia scanned the shelves, spotting the third one on the left—herbs.

Right opposite the food section! How had she never noticed?

She covered her face. She used to sneak snacks here, but after Mom’s scoldings, she’d stopped. Still, she’d never realized how close the herbs were to the food.

She walked straight to the neatly stacked medicinal herbs. Examining them closely, she frowned—most were unrecognizable.

Straining her memory, she hesitantly pulled out a bundle of white, root-like plants.

“Hmm, Xiyasi grass. For ‘Recovery Powder,’ a quarter dose plus Valen flower pollen… damn, what’s ‘appropriate’? Whatever, I’ll grab some. But what else… Frostgrass or Flamegrass…?”

Muttering, Nevia sifted through the herbs, head down, soon wearing a troubled look.

Guess I should check the book first, she thought helplessly.

Turning around, she jumped—a figure stood there. Bright eyes gazed at her, half-amused.

“Mom, you… scared me!” Nevia stepped back, clutching her chest in feigned fear. Inside, she scrambled for an excuse. Appearing here, muttering over herbs—it looked suspicious.

“Let me think…” Her mother ignored the act, bending to peer into Nevia’s blue eyes with playful concern. “Hurt again?”

But her gaze held genuine worry.

“No,” Nevia shook her head quickly.

“Really?” Doubt laced her mother’s voice.

“Of course.” Nevia answered firmly.

“Alright… so what did you do to Kaelen this time? Is he alive?” Her mother sighed in relief, then asked worriedly.

“He’s fine, it’s just—hey, Mom!” Nevia glared. “I’m just reviewing herbalist knowledge!”

What do you take me for?

“Unbelievable.” Her mother stumbled back, staring with astonished eyes. “What happened? Am I dreaming?”

She pinched her own arm.

“Ow, hurts. Not a dream,” she frowned.

“Mom…” Nevia shot her a reproachful glare.

“For you, Nevia: a quarter Xiyasi grass, two Valen flowers—grind them—and Stormgrass. Not Frostgrass or Flamegrass,” her mother said, patting Nevia’s head. The girl huffed, turning away.

“Forget it. I’ll never remember.”

“Nonsense. You’re Mom’s smartest daughter.”

Nevia paused, then twisted shyly. “If… say, for a girl a bit older? Like Sister Fanny?”

“Double the dose.”

Guided by her mother, Nevia gathered the herbs, and they headed to the alchemy room. It was larger than the shed, with three tables—two cluttered with bottles and jars. They set their items on the empty one.

“Mom, don’t watch me work,” Nevia said, glancing at her, hoping to send her away.

“I want to see if you’re serious. Last time, your ‘Cold-Repellent Potion’ kept Gneil bedridden for a month… and before that…”

“Uh… okay, Mom.” Nevia waved, blushing. She remembered Gneil—the village fisherman, strong but with a mild cold. She’d volunteered a potion; he’d perked up instantly.

But before she could celebrate, wrong herbs made him strip naked in daylight, dancing wildly. He grew superhumanly strong—many couldn’t stop him.

He ran singing over hills, collapsing only when exhausted.

Recalling it, Nevia felt fear and shame. Since then, Gneil gave her weird looks…

Yeah, probably unforgettable for him.

“Alright.” Nevia realized she needed Mom nearby. She didn’t want to poison the girl—she was pleasant to look at. Honestly, wasting a pretty girl on experiments instead of romancing her was such a waste.

After years as a girl, clinging to harem dreams was impressive.

She placed beautiful glass bottles on the table. Cheap on Earth, they were pricey alchemical tools here—mages used them for mana potions.

The bottle in her hand held clear liquid, gurgling with bubbles. Uncorking it, white smoky gas billowed out. She dodged but inhaled some—it smelled like Earth’s iodine.

First, she put white Xiyasi grass in the mortar, crushed it carefully, ground it to powder, and poured it in.

She repeated with the other ingredients.

Finally, the key step: infusing “herbal essence.”

Herbalists cultivated this from childhood—an innate, attribute-less energy. Nurtured with one herb (ideally), it gained that herb’s properties, acting as a catalyst in potions.

No rare talent needed, but expensive herbs—better ones cost more. So herbalism appealed to untalented, coin-rich middle-class folks. A gold-paved path; here, it meant wealth.

Of course, some grew or foraged their own herbs.

Nevia used lilies since childhood, symbolizing “great love,” granting healing and dispelling negatives.

But as she infused her essence, the liquid trembled violently under her hopeful gaze—then BOOM! It exploded, blue smoke curling up.

Just as expected.

Nevia sighed.