The Eternal Farmer: I Trade My Harvest for Immortality

Chapter 294: A Potential New Home?

[Harvested 1 stalk of “Top-quality Spirit Rice,” Lifespan +6 days]

[Harvested 1 “Top-quality Watermelon,” Lifespan +5 days]

…

[Current Remaining Lifespan: 689 years]

Jiang Chen stood waist-deep in the golden fields, completely immersed in the profound, dual joy of a bountiful harvest and an expanding Lifespan.

It took him barely an hour to clear all three acres of mature crops. The vast amount of Lifespan he had recently burned to perfect his Earth and Fire cultivation techniques had already been fully replenished. Once the Yang-extreme medicinal herbs fully matured in a few days, his Lifespan would easily shatter the seven-century mark.

In the Cultivation world, a standard Foundation Establishment cultivator—even one possessing a Wood Spirit Root famed for longevity—would be incredibly lucky to live for three hundred years. Yet Jiang Chen, still firmly in the Foundation Establishment stage, now boasted a lifespan that eclipsed even that of a Golden Core ancestor.

He didn’t need to chase the esoteric, blood-soaked path to ‘immortality’ like the rest of the Azure Realm. He just needed to farm, live in the present, and make the absolute most of every single day.

After expertly packing the harvested crops into his storage rings, Jiang Chen summoned his Giant Leaf. He shot into the sky, tearing through the clouds toward the flat-topped mountain at the center of the Core Farm.

Looking down, he watched countless spirit farmers meticulously patrolling their assigned plots. The Sect’s annual assessment quota of 5,000 pounds of Spirit Rice wasn’t an insurmountable hurdle, but for the raw novices who had just clawed their way into the Core Farm, it was a brutal, year-long challenge.

When Jiang Chen worked his plot alone, he only needed to submit a minimum of 1,250 pounds per quarter to hit the quota.

But things had changed. He had recently taken on Lin An as a subordinate, securing an additional acre of second-grade land in the process. This naturally increased his overall tax burden.

Of course, Jiang Chen had absolutely no intention of submitting Top-quality Spirit Rice to cover Lin An’s quota. He was pragmatic, not a philanthropist.

The Sect’s laws were clear: a farmer must submit 5,000 pounds of Spirit Rice annually. The regulations said absolutely nothing about the grade of the rice. Whether it was inferior, good, or Top Grade, 5,000 pounds was 5,000 pounds.

Therefore, for Lin An’s portion of the tax, Jiang Chen exclusively submitted the cheapest, most inferior Spirit Rice he could legally acquire. It was a simple matter of cost-efficiency.

As for why Jiang Chen stubbornly continued to submit Top-quality Spirit Rice for his own personal quota? That was a historical accident. When he had first arrived at the Core Farm, he was entirely ignorant of the unspoken rules. Lacking any inferior or standard rice to pad his submission, he had foolishly handed over his premium crop.

By a sheer stroke of luck, that ‘foolish’ display of quality caught the eye of Elder Mu and the upper management, ultimately paving the way for his rapid promotion to Spirit Cultivator. Now that he had established that standard, he was practically forced to maintain it.

Not that it mattered anymore.

He controlled five acres of premium land externally. More importantly, he possessed a sprawling, hyper-fertile one-hundred-acre Spirit Farm hidden within his personal dimensional space. If he truly wanted to, he could single-handedly bankroll the entire food supply of a mid-sized Cultivation Sect. 5,000 pounds a year was less than a rounding error.

Moments later, the Giant Leaf touched down at the base of the flat-topped mountain. Jiang Chen took the stone steps two at a time, quickly reaching the summit courtyard.

The administrative area was largely deserted. It made sense; mid-summer was a critical growth period. Most farmers were chained to their fields, obsessively guarding their maturing crops.

Jiang Chen bypassed the task boards and headed straight for the central pavilion, seeking Elder Mu. He needed definitive answers regarding the cursed history of his plot.

To his surprise, Elder Mu spotted him first. “Little Jiang! Good timing.”

Jiang Chen stepped forward, clasping his hands in a respectful, deep bow. “Manager. I have two pressing matters I humbly seek your advice on.”

Elder Mu smiled warmly, gesturing for him to sit. “Speak.”

Jiang Chen reached into his robes and produced the sealed Storage Bag, placing the charcoal-like fragment on the table. “A few days ago, I…”

He laid everything out. He meticulously detailed the nightmares, the excavation, the blackened corpse, the writhing tentacles, and his conversation with Senior Brother Zhu Fuxian. While he trusted Zhu Fuxian’s assessment, when it came to his own safety and survival, Jiang Chen’s hyper-rational nature demanded a second, authoritative confirmation.

Elder Mu listened intently, his smile fading into a solemn nod. “Zhu Fuxian was correct. Your specific sector was indeed the epicenter of a catastrophic Raging Spirit Storm decades ago. The stone mountain was ground zero.”

Elder Mu tapped the charcoal fragment. “This is exactly what he said—a fragment of a Life from Death Tree. Because the cultivator holding it failed to properly resurrect, the wood absorbed his dying resentment. That residual psychic static is what caused your nightmares. It poses no physical threat to you, and it certainly won’t evolve into an Inner Demon. You can put your heart entirely at ease.”

Jiang Chen processed the information. So, the desiccated corpse and the malignant black tentacles were nothing more than the rotting, mutated byproducts of a botched resurrection. The sudden expansion of his Spirit Farm had simply agitated the local ley lines, causing the residual Yin energy to temporarily spike and mutate the Frost Cabbage.

Jiang Chen exhaled a long, heavy breath, genuine relief washing over him. “That is excellent news, Manager.”

Elder Mu stroked his beard thoughtfully. “If the history of the plot truly unsettles you, you have the authority to request a relocation. Regardless of how you feel, the atmospheric limit of that specific sector is an absolute hard cap of five acres. You cannot expand any further without triggering another disaster.”

Jiang Chen grinned, leaning forward. “Which brings me to my second matter.”

Elder Mu blinked, then threw his head back and laughed heartily. “You pragmatic little rascal! Hahaha! I should have known.”

Still chuckling, the elder unrolled a massive, detailed map of the Core Farm across the table. Countless glowing dots marked the available plots.

However, Jiang Chen’s smile faltered as he scanned the map. There were barely any remote locations left.

“This is difficult,” Jiang Chen muttered, his brow furrowing. “My requirements are strict. I need a sprawling plot large enough to comfortably accommodate five acres and a sizable irrigation pond. More importantly, it must be completely isolated, and absolutely free of cursed stone mountains or buried corpses.”

Elder Mu tapped a finger on the map, offering a stark dose of reality. “Little Jiang, in the Core Farm, the more isolated a plot is, the higher the probability that it harbors a dark history. It’s an unspoken rule.”

The implication was chillingly clear. If a plot was perfectly remote and yet remained abandoned by the veteran farmers, it was almost guaranteed to have been the site of a Raging Spirit Storm or a similar atmospheric disaster. The only variable was the severity of the residual taint.

Jiang Chen’s current plot was actually considered one of the ‘safer’ disaster zones. As long as the five-acre limit was respected, it remained stable.

Normally, a cultivator wouldn’t even possess five acres until they reached the Golden Core stage. But Jiang Chen was a total anomaly. Between Wang Ze’s gift, Qin Hao’s trade, the foolish prince’s bribe, and his own initial allocation, he had rapidly hit the absolute critical mass of his sector while still in Foundation Establishment.

That rapid expansion, perfectly combined with the buried corpse and the mutated Frost Cabbage, had created a perfect storm of coincidences.

Jiang Chen spread his hands in defeat. “So, I essentially have no choice but to stay put.”

Elder Mu’s eyes twinkled with a sudden, conspiratorial light. “Not necessarily. If you aren’t in a desperate rush to move, I suggest you wait.”

Jiang Chen raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Elder Mu extended a finger, tapping a specific, sprawling red zone on the far edge of the map. “You are familiar with Red Leaf Valley, yes?”

Jiang Chen’s mouth twitched. “Manager, I visit the Loose Cultivator market there every single year. Of course I know it.”

Elder Mu leaned in, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Next year, the Sect is entirely relocating the trading hub out of Red Leaf Valley. The entire valley will be cleared and re-zoned as premium, isolated agricultural land. As a Spirit Cultivator, you possess the priority clearance to claim the absolute best plot before it opens to the public.”

Jiang Chen’s eyes lit up. Red Leaf Valley was incredible. The scenery was breathtaking, the ley lines were robust, the acreage was vast, and because it had been a commercial hub, it was guaranteed to be free of buried, cursed corpses.

Elder Mu glanced around the empty pavilion, ensuring no one was listening. “Keep this strictly to yourself. I am only telling you.”

Jiang Chen nodded vigorously, thoroughly thrilled by the inside information. But a thought struck him. “Manager… if they are clearing out Red Leaf Valley, where is the Sect moving the new trading hub?”

“The Flower Sea,” Elder Mu replied simply.

Jiang Chen stared at him, utterly stunned. “Manager… if my memory serves me correctly, didn’t the Flower Sea get completely annihilated?”

He remembered the event with terrifying clarity. When Qin Hao had battled the rogue cultivator Feng Xiao to prevent his demonic ascension, the sheer, apocalyptic fallout of their clash hadn’t just destroyed the flowers—it had violently erased the entire geographical region from the map!