The Eternal Farmer: I Trade My Harvest for Immortality

The atmosphere around Jiang Chen’s group tightened instantly.

Although Chen Bo had spent months honing his combat skills and sparring with the team, those had been friendly matches. There was no killing intent, no desperate stakes.

This was different. This was war.

The rules of the Formal Disciple Competition were brutal in their simplicity: every disciple started with a single point. Win, and you gain a point. Lose, and you lose a point.

If your score hit zero, you were eliminated immediately.

There were no second chances. No loser’s bracket. If Chen Bo lost this opening match, he would have to wait ten years for the next competition.

Chen Bo inhaled deeply, the air hissing through his clenched teeth. When he opened his eyes, the nervousness was gone, replaced by a flinty resolve.

“I’m going.”

He turned and marched toward Arena Seven. Jiang Chen and the others exchanged a glance before quickly following him to the spectator area below the stage.

Chen Bo ascended the stone steps. Thud. Thud. Thud. His pace was steady, heavy with determination.

“Trouble,” Long Ao muttered, his eyes narrowing as he looked across the stage. “Look at his opponent.”

Jiang Chen followed his gaze, and his expression darkened.

Zhao Ben. A Fire Spirit Root cultivator.

Even standing still, the man radiated waves of heat that distorted the air around him.

“A Fire cultivator,” Jin Fugui groaned, wringing his hands. “That’s a hard counter to Senior Brother Chen’s Wood affinity. The elemental suppression alone will cut his combat power in half.”

The Five Elements were bound by laws of generation and restriction. Fire consumed Wood. It was a fundamental truth of the Dao.

A genius might be able to overcome such a disadvantage through sheer skill, but for an ordinary cultivator, fighting against one’s natural counter was a nightmare.

“We have to trust him,” Jiang Chen said quietly, watching his friend’s back. “Elemental affinity is just one factor. It doesn’t guarantee a win.”

Long Ao nodded, looking at Jiang Chen with a newfound respect. “Junior Brother Jiang, you dislike violence, but your mindset is sharp. In a fight, hesitation is the real killer. If Chen Bo believes he can win, he has a chance.”

On the stage, the two combatants stood ten paces apart.

Zhao Ben sneered, crossing his arms. “Senior Brother Chen, you’re a Wood cultivator. Why suffer? Just admit defeat and save us both the time.”

“The bell hasn’t rung yet,” Chen Bo replied coldly. “Who wins and who loses is yet to be seen.”

“Stubborn,” Zhao Ben scoffed. “I am a Foundation Establishment Fire cultivator. My Snorting Fire Art has reached the third level. I’ll turn you to ash.”

He was posturing, trying to win the mental battle to save his Qi for later rounds.

The Metal Spirit Root referee raised his hand and chopped it down. “Begin!”

Chen Bo moved instantly.

A Wood Spirit Seal flashed in his right palm, and he flung a handful of dense, dark seeds toward his opponent.

Zhao Ben didn’t even raise his hands. He simply inhaled, his chest expanding, and then— Snort.

Two streams of dark red flame erupted from his nostrils like venomous vipers. The fire twisted in the air, intercepting the incoming seeds and incinerating them in a blink. Ash rained down onto the stone floor.

“Is that it?” Zhao Ben opened his mouth to mock him, but the words died in his throat.

His opponent was gone.

Below the stage, Jiang Chen’s eyes lit up. “Forest Stealth!”

Chen Bo had used the visual cover of the exploding seeds and falling ash to vanish. His movement technique was ghostly, slipping into Zhao Ben’s blind spot in the split second the fire bloomed.

He was already behind him.

“Fast,” Jiang Chen noted. It was this exact move that had inspired him to learn the technique himself.

But this was a battle of cultivators, not mortals. Eyes could be fooled; Spiritual Sense could not.

Zhao Ben’s senses blanketed the arena. He felt the fluctuation of Qi behind him instantly. Yet, he didn’t turn around. He stood still, baiting the trap.

Just as Chen Bo lunged, Zhao Ben’s chest expanded again. Snort!

Two more fire snakes shot backward from his nose, looping over his shoulders like a whip.

It was a grotesque, unpredictable angle. Chen Bo had no time to fully dodge.

Whoosh.

His sleeves vaporized instantly. The skin on his forearms turned angry red, blistering from the intense heat.

Chen Bo gritted his teeth, suppressing a scream as he rolled away, narrowly avoiding the main body of the flame. He scrambled back, channeling Wood Qi frantically to soothe his burned flesh.

Zhao Ben turned around slowly, a cruel smirk on his face. “You’re fast like a rat, but you can’t hide from my senses.”

He took a step forward to finish the fight.

Then, his smile froze.

A sharp, piercing pain shot up from the sole of his right foot.

Zhao Ben looked down. There, amidst the scattered ash on the floor, a thin green needle was protruding from the stone.

It wasn’t just stuck there. It was alive.

The Three-Pattern Green Wood Needle vibrated violently, drilling upward like a mechanical worm. It pierced through the sole of his boot, through the flesh, and into the bone.

“Argh!”

Blood sprayed from his foot like water from a sieve.

The pain was excruciating. Zhao Ben hopped on one leg, his face twisting into a mask of agony. “You… you threw a Spirit Weapon on the ground like trash?!”

Chen Bo clutched his burned arms, a grim satisfaction in his eyes. “I learned a lesson recently. When your cultivation isn’t enough, you use money.”

He had bought the needle with his dividends from Jiang Chen’s business. It wasn’t a high-grade artifact, but it was insidious.

He had hidden the needle inside the handful of seeds. When Zhao Ben burned the seeds, the needle—resistant to fire and coated in soot—had fallen unnoticed into the ash pile.

It was a trap laid in the first second of the fight.

“Get it out!” Zhao Ben screamed, stumbling backward, blood pooling beneath him. “I yield! I admit defeat!”

The referee stepped in immediately.

“Arena Seven, Match One: Chen Bo wins! +1 Point.”

“Zhao Ben forfeits! -1 Point. Current Score: 0. Eliminated!”

Jiang Chen, Jin Fugui, and Long Ao pumped their fists in the air.

“He actually did it,” Jin Fugui cheered. “He bought his way to victory!”

“A win is a win,” Long Ao said, nodding approvingly. “Pragmatism beats honor.”

High above them, on the floating platform, the five Golden Core Perfected Masters watched with indifferent eyes.

“Qi… so weak,” one of them murmured, looking bored. “If that had been True Essence, the needle would have melted before it even touched his boot.”

“Indeed,” another agreed lazily. “Fighting with mere Qi is like children playing in the mud.”