The Eternal Farmer: I Trade My Harvest for Immortality

It was a roster.

The scroll unraveled to reveal a dense list of names, all belonging to the sect’s formal disciples.

At a glance, Jiang Chen spotted a familiar set of characters on Scroll Number Seven.

Chen Bo.

The name ignited with a golden brilliance. Immediately after, a luminous thread extended from it, darting across the parchment to entangle another name: Zhao Ben.

The match was set. They would be the opening act on Arena Seven.

Chen Bo was in the first batch.

Jin Fugui and the others noticed it a heartbeat later, their heads snapping toward their nervous friend.

Feeling the weight of their concern, Chen Bo inhaled deeply, steadying his trembling hands. “I’m ready.”

From the moment he signed up for the Formal Disciple Competition, he had resolved to hold nothing back.

He wasn’t doing this to posture for his childhood sweetheart, Huo Ling.

He was doing this to prove a point—that even with a humble Wood Spirit Root, he could fight. He could win.

Jiang Chen observed him silently. He knew the psychological burden Senior Brother Chen was carrying. It wasn’t just the fight; it was the audience. Hundreds of familiar eyes were fixed on him, waiting for him to fail.

Suddenly, a wave of noise erupted from the eastern horizon.

Jiang Chen and his group turned, their attention drawn by the sudden shift in atmospheric pressure.

A figure descended from the heavens. With every step she took, a fiery lotus bloomed beneath her bare feet, supporting her weight for a fleeting second before dissolving into scattering sparks.

She held a red umbrella, its shadow obscuring half her face, yet her beauty was undeniable.

Her brows were elegant sweeps of ink, like distant mountain ranges, and her eyes held a limpid clarity that rivaled autumn waters. Her skin was alabaster, a pristine white that seemed to glow against the vibrant crimson of her robes.

She looked like a vermilion lotus blooming in the twilight.

The umbrella in her hand was a masterpiece. Its ribs were forged from red gold, and the canopy bore the embroidery of a phoenix spreading its wings. The bird looked alive, each feather inlaid with microscopic Fire Spirit Pearls that shimmered with every slight movement, refracting light into thousands of crimson streams.

But the arrival of the Red-Clothed Immortal was merely the prelude.

The sky abruptly warped.

The lingering red clouds were violently torn asunder by a cold, azure radiance.

This green light didn’t shine; it pulsed. It surged like living tissue, manifesting as a web of vascular patterns across the sky. Each strand glowed with a ghostly emerald hue, spreading from the horizon with the speed of thunder.

Where the light touched, the clouds turned a sickly ink-green. Dense, vine-like patterns erupted through the vapor, as if the sky itself had been skewered by the roots of a colossal, world-spanning tree.

A hazy green figure emerged, drifting in the wake of the Red-Clothed Immortal.

Then, the heavens trembled.

The clouds churned like boiling water. A roar echoed through the firmament as a brilliant streak of white Sword Qi cleaved down from the Ninth Heaven.

It was domineering. Absolute.

Wherever the Sword Qi passed, the red clouds and the azure roots were obliterated instantly.

A man appeared within the column of light. But it wasn’t the man that drew the gasps of the crowd—it was the manifestation behind him.

A massive, radiant Golden Sunflower.

“Qin Hao!” Jiang Chen blurted out.

The third Perfected Master was indeed Qin Hao, the sword path prodigy. He had condensed an Earth-grade Golden Core before the age of one hundred, securing his place as the number one core disciple of the Cloud Sea Sect.

To think he would be presiding over the Formal Disciple Competition personally.

Before the shock could fade, the sea of clouds churned again. A thick, intoxicating aroma of spirits washed over the arena.

The crowd looked up to see a Jade Green Gourd, fully 3 zhang tall, tumbling out of the sky. A plump elder with white hair and elongated earlobes sat cross-legged atop it.

He held a jade wine pot, pouring a stream of liquor into his mouth as he lazily drifted closer, completely unbothered by the gravity of the event.

Behind the drunkard, a shadow loomed.

A stone statue, ten feet tall, slid horizontally through the air.

Its chest and abdomen were exposed, revealing muscles carved from rock. Its arms were as thick as temple pillars, and its palms faced upward, supporting a massive bronze ritual seal.

The face of the seal bore two ancient characters: Suppress Demons.

Most terrifying were the nine ring-shaped bone spikes protruding from the statue’s head. Rusted iron chains were coiled around each spike, their other ends vanishing deep into the void, pulled taut as if restraining some indescribable, eldritch horror in another dimension.

Whispers exploded through the crowd.

“Red-Clothed Immortal, Su Jinli!”

“The Sword Genius, Qin Hao!”

“That’s the Drunken Master, Jiang Bo, on the gourd!”

“And the stone statue… that’s a projection of Xuan Yuan!”

Five arrivals. Five Golden Core Perfected Masters.

They hovered above the arenas, representing the peak power of their respective mountains. They were here to ensure order, but also to scout.

Under Cloud Sea Sect laws, a core disciple who reached the Golden Core stage was permitted to take apprentices. These masters were shopping.

The atmosphere among the formal disciples shifted from nervousness to feverish excitement.

“If only I could be chosen,” Jin Fugui murmured, his eyes shining.

Mo Yu chuckled, nudging the fat merchant. “Just make a scene. If you attract their attention, anything is possible.”

Jin Fugui rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. “Attract attention, huh?”

Jiang Chen ignored their daydreaming. Today wasn’t about them. The sheer volume of participants was staggering; the venue was a sea of bobbing heads.

He turned to Chen Bo, his voice firm. “Senior Brother Chen. Don’t let the spectacle rattle you. Ignore the judges. Ignore the crowd. Fight your fight.”

Chen Bo nodded vigorously, his knuckles white. “Understood.”

Long Ao, the scarred veteran of their group, chimed in. “Ideally, we should have scouted your opponent’s data to find weaknesses.”

He paused, scanning the thousands of disciples. “But with this many people, names repeat. It’s too late for intel now.”

Jiang Chen listened, but his mind was already pivoting. The grandeur of the Golden Core Masters was impressive, yes, but it didn’t pay the bills.

He shot a glance at Jin Fugui and Mo Yu, his tone shifting from supportive friend to calculating business partner.

“Are the vendors ready?”

Attending the competition wasn’t just about moral support. It was a market capture opportunity.

Through their network of affiliates and partners, they had set up stalls all around the venue. Even before the event officially launched, they were raking in dozens of Mid-grade Spirit Stones daily.

Now, with the entire sect gathered in one place? The profit potential was exponential.

Jin Fugui grinned, the merchant in him waking up. “Relax. We sent the notifications out this morning.”

Top-grade spirit ingredients, proprietary barbecue blends, and the new line of dipping sauces had already been distributed. Their people were positioned at prime locations near the nine great arenas.

“Some are still stuck in the traffic,” Mo Yu noted with a frown.

Jiang Chen waved a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter. Have the ones with prime spots open for business immediately. The earlier we start, the harder it is for competitors to push us out.”

Jin Fugui smirked proudly. “Way ahead of you. I specifically bribed a squad of Metal Spirit Root enforcers to look the other way.”

Since the event was hosted at Fire Peak, the security detail was composed of disciples from the Metal Division. Jin Fugui had been greasing their palms for weeks.

Today, it was spirit food. Tomorrow, rare wines. He had even gifted a few high-end paper dolls from the Rain Pavilion to the squad leaders.

The machinery of corruption was well-oiled and ready to print money.

A booming voice echoed from the central platform, cutting through the noise.

“Arena Seven! Chen Bo versus Zhao Ben!”