My Portable Spirit Farm: Rise of the Humble Servant

Chapter 239: A Visitor Arrives

“Junior Brother Chen, forgive the intrusion!”

Zhao Yuanqi’s voice boomed with his usual boundless enthusiasm before he even landed.

“Allow me to introduce Zhou Chuanshi, the Master of my Formation Hall! He heard your application for a Large Spirit Gathering Array was approved and insisted on leading the team personally to set it up for you!”

Chen Ping’s heart stirred. He immediately bowed to the gaunt, serious-faced old man standing beside Zhao Yuanqi.

“For Hall Master Zhou to come personally… Chen is immensely grateful.”

Zhou Chuanshi’s expression remained stern. He offered only a curt nod in return, his words clipped and efficient.

“Elder Chen is too polite. No need for formalities; this is my duty. The Sect is benevolent, and exchanging for this array will greatly benefit the Green Mountain lineage. Time is short, so we will begin immediately. Junior Brother Zhao, assist with locating the ley line nodes.”

Clearly, this was a man of action who detested small talk.

“Right, right, right!”

Zhao Yuanqi hurriedly agreed, then shot a conspiratorial wink at Chen Ping.

“Junior Brother Chen, just stand back and watch. Prepare to witness the true prowess of the Formation Hall!”

Happy to avoid a long conversation, Chen Ping stepped aside to observe.

Under Zhao Yuanqi’s guidance, Zhou Chuanshi and his two assistants moved like clockwork. They buried formation bases and drove flags into key locations across the main peak of Green Mountain and several subsidiary ridges.

Their technique was flawless, their manipulation of Qi exquisite. A mysterious resonance began to hum between the scattered components, stirring the slumbering spiritual veins deep underground. Slowly, the invisible skeleton of a massive formation rose, encompassing the majority of the mountain.

The entire process was efficient and nearly silent. Apart from the hum of shifting Qi and the occasional flicker of runic light, not a word was wasted.

Half a day later, Zhou Chuanshi executed a final hand seal and shouted low.

“Array, complete!”

Hummm—

A deep, resonant vibration swept through Green Mountain, as if a sleeping giant had taken its first breath.

In an instant, the ambient Qi within a radius of several dozen miles was seized by an invisible gravity, pulled inexorably toward the mountain.

Although the change wasn’t violent, Chen Ping could feel the difference immediately. The surrounding Qi was becoming denser and purer at a rate visible to the naked eye.

A Third-Rank Low-Grade Large Spirit Gathering Array had taken root.

The moment the work was done, Zhou Chuanshi stowed his tools and cupped his hands at Chen Ping.

“Elder Chen, the array is active. It will take three to five days for the Qi convergence to stabilize. Once settled, the density here should rival a Third-Rank Low-Grade spiritual vein. Here is the core control disk; refine it, and the array is yours to command.”

He handed over a palm-sized jade disk inscribed with complex fractals, then immediately turned away.

“Sect affairs are pressing, and we have another site to visit. Farewell.”

With that, he didn’t linger for a second breath. He and his assistants transformed into streaks of light and shot into the sky.

Zhao Yuanqi opened his mouth, clearly bursting with the desire to gossip, brag, or share the joy of the installation. But seeing his boss leave so decisively, he choked back his words and forced a hurried smile at Chen Ping.

“Ah—Junior Brother Chen, that’s that then! I have to follow him. I’ll come back another time for tea and Dao discussion!”

Before the sentence was even finished, he scrambled into the air, chasing the fading streaks of light.

Chen Ping stood alone, holding the still-warm jade disk. Watching them disappear over the horizon, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

Hall Master Zhou was certainly a character. But his abruptness was a blessing; it saved Chen Ping from hours of Zhao Yuanqi’s chatter.

He took a deep breath. The air was already sweeter, heavier with power. It was refreshing.

The development of Green Mountain had exceeded his initial expectations. With this Third-Rank array, the cultivation speed of everyone here—his parents, his disciples, even Yuan Jingtian—would accelerate significantly.

His foundation was finally taking shape.

In the following days, Chen Ping’s life settled into a stable, rhythmic peace.

He guided the three little ones in alchemy and was delighted to find their progress astonishing. Their control over fire and understanding of medicinal properties deepened daily. They were hovering right at the threshold of becoming Rank 2 Alchemists; a single successful refinement of a Rank 2 pill would likely trigger their breakthrough.

His parents’ cultivation received even more meticulous attention.

Under the nourishment of the enhanced spiritual vein and ample resources, the two elders improved steadily. Though they couldn’t match the explosive growth of the young, their foundation was being laid with solid, unwavering care. Chen Ping patiently answered every question, corrected every minor blockage in their Qi circulation, and ensured they walked the smoothest path possible.

Every dusk, Green Mountain came alive with the warmth of mortal life.

Mother Lin seemed to pour all her love into the kitchen, turning spiritual ingredients into a dazzling array of delicacies. The savory aromas wafted across the mountain, making mouths water long before dinner.

Yuan Jingtian and the three disciples would appear in the dining hall with clockwork precision, eyes glued to the table. Even Father Chen, usually lost in cultivation, would end his meditation on time to sit down with a smile.

Laughter and chatter filled the air as they ate, sharing stories of the day and insights into their training. It was a harmonious, happy existence.

Watching his mother bustle between the kitchen and the table, her face radiant with a simple, pure joy, Chen Ping swallowed the words he had intended to say. He didn’t tell her to stop wasting time on cooking. He didn’t urge her to cultivate more.

The path of immortality was long and lonely. If a simple meal could bring such genuine happiness, perhaps it was worth more than a few extra hours of bitter meditation.

Witnessing this warmth, his heart felt a rare peace.

After the meal, Chen Ping would return to his cave dwelling. There, he would cultivate, tend to the spirit herbs in his dimension, or study ancient pill formulas.

In cultivation, time blurs. Seasons change without notice.

One day, Chen Ping awoke from a deep trance. He opened his eyes slowly, the sharp light within them receding into a calm pool.

His cultivation in the main Dantian remained stable at the peak of the sixth layer of Foundation Establishment. Without suitable pills to assist him—Top Grade True Essence Pills were now useless—breaking through to the seventh layer was a formidable barrier.

However, there was good news. His auxiliary Dantian in his chest was brimming with True Qi. After this period of diligent cultivation, it had reached the absolute peak of Qi Condensation Grand Perfection.

He was one step away from attempting to build a second Foundation.

Just as he was weighing his options—whether to continue nurturing the True Qi naturally or to actively assault the barrier—a communication talisman pierced through the cave’s Restriction. It hovered before him, vibrating softly.

His Divine Sense swept over it.

A strange, steady voice emerged, claiming to have urgent and significant business to discuss.

A visitor? Now?

Chen Ping frowned slightly. He sensed no malice from the aura attached to the message, but the strength behind it was not weak. He tidied his robes and stepped out of the cave dwelling.

Outside, winter had claimed the mountain. Snow blanketed the ridges, wrapping the world in silver and white. The air was crisp with the chill of the year’s end, carrying a hint of new beginnings.

A tall figure stood with his back to the cave, hands clasped behind him, quietly admiring the snowy vista.

The man was strikingly tall, standing a full head above Chen Ping. Yet, he wasn’t burly. Instead, his posture was straight and unyielding, like a sharp sword resting in its scabbard—seemingly calm, yet radiating a hidden, peerless edge that threatened to cut the world open at any moment.