My Portable Spirit Farm: Rise of the Humble Servant

Chapter 152: Room for Improvement

Chen Ping steadied his breathing and focused his Divine Sense on the Jade Pendant.

Space warped. In the blink of an eye, he was standing within the familiar, silent void of the Black Earth dimension.

The four acres of Spirit Field lay before him, the soil glistening with a deep, oily black sheen now threaded with faint veins of purple—the mark of its previous evolution.

Chen Ping’s eyes darted anxiously around the perimeter, hunting for any sign of change.

He paced the boundary of the four acres, measuring it inch by inch. He even extended his Divine Sense into the churning gray chaos that walled off the dimension.

Nothing.

The ten Middle Grade Spirit Stones he had sacrificed were like a clay ox walking into the sea—vanished without a ripple. The size of the space, the scope of the field, even the roiling speed of the chaotic fog remained exactly the same.

“I expected as much…”

Chen Ping’s brow furrowed, then smoothed out as he accepted the reality.

“It was only ten stones. Even with Low-grade Spirit Stones, it took tens of thousands to trigger an upgrade. This was just a drop in the bucket.”

He hadn’t truly expected a miracle from such a small investment. The goal had been to verify a theory.

And the theory held: The Jade Pendant could absorb Middle Grade Spirit Stones.

Since the mechanics worked, the only remaining problem was capital. He needed more stones.

Chen Ping exited the dimension immediately, flashing back to the material world. He didn’t waste a second, heading straight for the Marketplace.

His destination was specific—the few shops with decent reputations where he had exchanged currency before.

When Chen Ping dumped over 30,000 Low-grade Spirit Stones onto the counter—a literal mountain of glowing crystals—the shopkeepers froze.

The sheer visual impact of that much wealth was staggering. It wasn’t just money; it was a statement of power.

Greed flared instantly in their eyes, only to be extinguished just as quickly by a cold bucket of fear.

Standing before them was a Foundation Establishment cultivator. His aura was calm, heavy, and undeniable.

The shopkeepers exchanged nervous glances. Their minds raced through the calculations of “black-on-black” predation—robbing a customer to feed their own pockets. They were used to eating the weak.

But this? This was a shark.

A cultivator who could casually liquidate 30,000 stones was either a Sect elder, a scion of a powerful clan, or a monster with terrifying personal strength.

To rob him was to invite death. Endless, relentless death.

Reason prevailed.

Suppressing their trembling hands, the shopkeepers sighed and proceeded with the transaction. They adhered strictly to the black market rate: one hundred and ten Low-grade stones for one Middle Grade stone.

They didn’t dare take a single extra shard.

After deducting the transaction fees, Chen Ping walked out with a heavy pouch.

He had secured 310 Middle Grade Spirit Stones.

Back in the safety of his rented quiet room, Chen Ping activated the isolation Restrictions.

He didn’t hesitate. He upended the Storage Bag.

Three hundred and ten glowing stones cascaded out.

Summoning the Jade Pendant, he began the feeding frenzy.

Flash.

White light strobed in the dim room.

One by one, the Middle Grade Spirit Stones lost their luster, crumbling into fine gray dust as their essence was ripped away. The Jade Pendant acted like a bottomless furnace, greedily devouring the high-purity Qi.

The process took the time of an incense stick.

When the light finally died down, the room was filled with drifting dust and the lingering scent of ozone. The stones were gone.

Heart pounding, Chen Ping plunged his consciousness back into the Jade Pendant space.

Change.

It was visible. It was real.

The boundaries of the four-acre Black Earth had pushed outward against the gray chaos.

By exactly one foot.

It wasn’t much, but the new soil was undeniable. It merged seamlessly with the existing field, radiating the same rich, nurturing energy.

An inch of land meant an inch of gold.

Chen Ping crouched, running his fingers through the fresh, cool soil. It felt identical to the rest.

He stood up and looked at the thin strip of expansion. His mind began to crunch the numbers, and the result made his blood run cold.

310 Middle Grade Spirit Stones.

That was roughly 34,000 Low-grade Spirit Stones.

And it had bought him one foot of expansion.

To upgrade the field to the next significant tier—six or eight acres—wouldn’t take thousands of stones.

It would take tens of thousands of Middle Grade stones.

Millions of Low-grade Spirit Stones.

Chen Ping sucked in a sharp breath.

Millions.

That kind of wealth could buy entire streets in the Qingyun Sect’s marketplace. It could purchase the loyalty of clans. For a solitary cultivator, even one with his alchemy skills, it was an astronomical, almost despairing figure.

Chen Ping stared at the darkness, and then, he grinned.

So what?

Millions? So be it.

As long as the Black Earth could grow, as long as the path forward existed, the cost was irrelevant.

This land was his foundation. It was his cheat code to immortality. Its value couldn’t be measured in stones.

“Mid-grade, High-grade, Top-grade… I don’t care,” he whispered to the silent void. “If I have to crawl through the mud to earn them, I will.”

The fire in his eyes burned brighter than before.

The pressure was immense, but so was the clarity. He had a goal.

He withdrew from the space, returning to the quiet room. He looked at his hands, then at his shriveled Storage Bag which now held barely a thousand Low-grade stones.

“Spirit Stones…” He sighed, shaking his head. “They really don’t last.”

He was broke again.

He needed to earn. He needed to earn big.

To gather three or four million stones, his current methods were too slow.

Right now, his only revenue stream was alchemy. But he was selling wholesale to the shops.

The shops bought in bulk, suppressing the price to about 90% of the market value. They had to eat, after all.

That 10% margin didn’t seem like much on a single pill. But when he was burning through 30,000 stones at a time?

“That’s 3,000 stones I’m losing to middlemen,” he muttered, feeling a phantom pain in his wallet. “Almost ten Middle Grade stones.”

It was inefficient. It was wasteful.

He had considered retail—setting up a stall like a common hawker. But he had killed that idea instantly.

He was a cultivator, not a shopkeeper. His time was worth more than the margin he’d save. If he spent his days haggling over single pills, his cultivation would stagnate.

‘I need a storefront,’ he thought. ‘A place that sells for me.’

A memory surfaced.

He did have a shop.

It was a property listed under his name on the outskirts of the Qingyun Marketplace. It was large, but the location was terrible—remote, with practically zero foot traffic.

But the real problem wasn’t the location.