Jiang Chen stared at the Communication Talisman in his hand, momentarily at a loss for words.

The connection had been severed abruptly. On the other end, Wang Ze, seeing no response, had taken the initiative to cut the line. The silence of the estate was deafening, amplifying the sudden unease that had settled in his gut.

“Are you… Jiang Chen?”

A hesitant voice drifted from behind him.

Jiang Chen turned. The speaker was a man of short stature with a face that looked older than his years, though the features struck a familiar chord. Jiang Chen searched his memory for a moment before realization dawned.

“Zhao Ying!”

Memories of his early days in the sect surfaced. Himself, Zhao Ying, Zhao Ziyao, and Lin An—the four of them had been promoted to formal disciples at the same time.

Zhao Ying’s path had been the rockiest. Cursed with poor aptitude for cultivating spirit plants, he had fallen short of the quota by a hundred catties during the third assessment. Strictly speaking, he had failed. He only managed to scrape by and secure his formal status by signing on as a tenant farmer for Wang Hu.

But a tenant farmer was a far cry from a true Spirit Farmer.

Every grain of Spirit Rice Zhao Ying painstakingly grew went to Wang Hu. In return, he received a pittance of cultivation resources—barely enough to sustain life, let alone progress. His cultivation realm had stagnated, and his techniques were merely one grade higher than the trash tier found in the Outer Peak.

Yet, looking at him now, the man had changed.

Gone was the haggard, hunched figure that looked ready to collapse from exhaustion. The deep lines of fatigue had smoothed out, and his posture was relaxed.

“You actually remember me,” Zhao Ying said, a look of pleasant surprise washing over his face. He glanced around the empty courtyard. “Is Lin An not with you?”

Jiang Chen raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

Zhao Ying shook his head. “Zhao Ziyao and I, along with a few other tenants, just left Wang Hu’s control not long ago. We’ve been out of the loop regarding outside news.”

“Ah, I see,” Jiang Chen said, realization coloring his tone. “Back in the outer area, Lin An hired two helpers to boost his yield. Later, when he couldn’t produce the promised Spirit Rice, the Punishment Department took him away.”

Zhao Ying’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “You and Lin An were the most talented among the four of us. How could he of all people owe Spirit Rice?”

Jiang Chen shrugged, offering a concise summary of the events that had led to Lin An’s downfall.

Zhao Ying listened, stunned. It was incomprehensible. Back then, everyone believed Jiang Chen and Lin An were the ones destined for greatness. Zhao Ziyao had been a distant third, and he himself had been the failure who had to sell his labor to Wang Hu just to stay in the game.

Who would have thought that in the end, Jiang Chen was the only one standing firm?

Zhao Ying sighed, shaking off the melancholy. “Are you here looking for Senior Brother Wang?”

“Yes,” Jiang Chen confirmed.

Zhao Ying tilted his head toward the tightly closed gates of the estate. “Since he isn’t here, why not come sit at my place for a bit? We can catch up.”

As they walked, they reminisced about the old days.

“Thinking back, the Outer Peak wasn’t so bad,” Zhao Ying mused. “Now that we’re in the core Spirit Farm area, even though we have second-grade fields, the pressure is suffocating.”

Before long, they arrived at Zhao Ying’s plot.

It was a decent location, bordering a small river that made irrigation convenient.

“Did you exchange your old plot for this one?” Jiang Chen asked.

“After Wang Hu disappeared, the Punishment Department and the Spirit Farm administrators came to investigate,” Zhao Ying explained, leading the way without looking back. “Once they saw our living conditions, they allowed us to relocate.”

Jiang Chen looked over at the adjacent field. It was a second-grade Spirit Farm planted with a dense crop of Spirit Rice. The stalks were slightly yellowed, despite it not yet being harvest season.

He swept his Spirit Sense over the crop. Data flooded his mind.

[Target: Golden Spirit Rice] [Status: Infested (Early Stage)] [Pest: Root Cicadas]

Problems. Big problems.

It seemed that while Zhao Ying had awakened a Wood Spirit Root, his talent for plant pathology was still lacking. He hadn’t even noticed the infestation.

“Come, sit.” Zhao Ying pulled a wooden chair from his hut. It was clean, but he wiped it down with a rag anyway—a habit born of servitude.

As soon as Jiang Chen sat, Zhao Ying bustled about, returning with a bowl of cool tea. His enthusiasm was palpable. After settling his guest, he grabbed another chair and sat opposite him.

“I know the Punishment Department came asking questions about Wang Hu,” Zhao Ying said, his voice lowering. “I was ready to run. I had my bags packed. But who would have thought there’d be a silver lining?”

He let out a long breath. “Toiling ourselves into early graves every day, having our resources docked for the slightest error… it was torture.”

As they chatted, another figure approached from the fields.

It was Zhao Ziyao.

Zhao Ying stood up to greet him. “Ziyao, look who’s here.”

Zhao Ziyao nodded absently, then turned to the guest. His eyes went wide. “Jiang… Senior Brother?”

He opened his mouth to explain his shock, but the words caught in his throat.

Jiang Chen smiled faintly. “Three out of four. Now we’re just missing Lin An.”

Zhao Ziyao stood frozen, his expression complicated. Unlike Zhao Ying, he had heard the rumors.

The man sitting before them had broken through from Qi Condensation to the Foundation Establishment realm in less than four years. He was no longer a ‘Fellow Daoist.’ He was a powerhouse who commanded the title of ‘Senior Brother.’

The conversation continued, but the atmosphere had shifted.

It was awkward. Zhao Ziyao sat on the edge of his seat, nervous and overly respectful, afraid to speak out of turn. His tension was contagious, dampening Zhao Ying’s relaxed mood.

Sensing the shift, Jiang Chen finished his tea and stood up. “I should head back.”

Zhao Ying rose immediately, a polite smile on his face. “Let’s chat again when you have time.”

Jiang Chen walked to the edge of the field. He paused on the ridge, glancing meaningfully at the yellowing rice stalks.

“You’d better check your roots,” he said simply.

With a wave of his hand, he summoned his [Giant Leaf]. The artifact expanded instantly, lifting him into the air. In the blink of an eye, he was a speck in the distance.

Only after he was gone did Zhao Ziyao dare to step forward, exhaling a breath he seemed to have been holding for minutes. “Jiang Chen… he’s not on the same level as us anymore.”

Zhao Ying looked confused. “Not on the same level?”

Zhao Ziyao took a deep breath, envy burning in his eyes. “I just got the news. Senior Brother Jiang is already a Foundation Establishment cultivator. He holds the deed to two full mu of second-grade Spirit Farm land!”

Hiss!

Zhao Ying sucked in a cold breath of air.

“Wait,” Zhao Ziyao said, recalling the parting words. “If Senior Brother Jiang told you to check the plants, you’d better do it. Now.”

“Right, right!” Zhao Ying snapped out of his daze.

He didn’t even bother taking off his shoes, jumping straight into the paddy mud. Zhao Ziyao followed close behind. They dug their hands into the soil at the base of the stalks.

As they pulled up a cluster of roots, they both recoiled in horror.

Attached to the root system were dozens of small, brown insects resembling cicadas, sucking the life out of the rice.

“Root Cicadas…” Zhao Ziyao wiped sweat from his forehead. “Luckily we found them now. Any later, and the whole harvest would have been lost.”

Zhao Ying scrambled back up to the field ridge. He faced the direction Jiang Chen had flown, cupped his fists, and bowed deeply.

“Thank you, Senior Brother Jiang!!!”