The Eternal Farmer: I Trade My Harvest for Immortality

Boom~

Thunder rolled across the horizon, deep and resonant.

The air grew heavy, suffused with the scent of damp earth and ozone.

At first, the rain fell in fine, silk-like threads, painting dark, wet spots onto the bluestone slabs. But as the thunder grew more muffled and distant, the drizzle thickened. Dense curtains of rain wove the sky and earth into a single, gray blur.

Under this watery veil, Jiang Chen walked briskly, his eyes scanning the surrounding First-Rank Spirit Farms.

The cyan rice seedlings were drinking their fill. Water droplets clung to their leaves, wrapped in a faint glow of Spirit Qi, before rolling down into the soil like glistening glass beads.

The atmosphere was perfect—a moment of serene, natural cultivation.

If he were back at his stone house, Jiang Chen would undoubtedly be reclining in his rocking chair, taking a well-deserved nap.

But here—and specifically now—he had a duty to perform. He had to patrol.

He was not like his predecessor, Wang Hu.

During the assessments, Wang Hu would only show up occasionally to take a lazy glance. If it was windy, rainy, thundering, or too hot, Wang Hu wouldn’t even bother making an appearance. His attitude had been the definition of perfunctory.

Jiang Chen, however, believed that since he had accepted the role of assessor, he had to execute it with diligence.

Not only was he drawing a salary from the Immortal Sect, but the respect these Outer Peak disciples held for him was also worth maintaining.

“Senior Brother Jiang! Please, go back! It’s not too late to inspect the fields after the rain stops!”

“Senior Brother Jiang… if we fail to become regular disciples after seeing you work this hard, we really won’t have the face to see you!”

As Jiang Chen passed the residential area of the Outer Peak, several disciples spotted him walking through the downpour. deeply moved, they called out to him, their voices thick with emotion.

In response, Jiang Chen simply waved a hand without looking back, maintaining his aloof image.

Before long, he arrived at the First-Rank Spirit Farm designated to Mo Yin.

The spring seedlings he had secretly planted were thriving.

Unless an accident occurred—like Mo Yin having another psychotic break and destroying the field—this guy would definitely pass the first quarterly assessment and become a regular disciple.

As for whether this blatant “pulling of strings” would be noticed by the higher-ups… that wasn’t something Jiang Chen cared to worry about. He just wanted the problem gone.

By the time he finished his rounds and confirmed everything was in order, nearly two hours had passed.

He summoned his Giant Leaf artifact. With a surge of Qi, he rose from the ground and flew toward the core of the Spirit Farm.

On the way home, the drizzle intensified into a steady downpour.

Sheets of rain connected the dark clouds to the earth, as if the heavens were determined to soak the winter-dry soil with moisture.

As he neared his home, Da Huang poked his head out of his doghouse. The dog looked furtive, his eyes darting around suspiciously.

Upon seeing his master, Da Huang let out a single “Woof,” followed by a frantic string of barks directed at the main house.

Jiang Chen glanced at the five Fire Crows huddling in the study to escape the rain. He then swept his Spiritual Sense across the property.

To his surprise, there was a person sitting on the first floor of his house.

The figure felt familiar, yet the aura radiating from him was strange—sharper, colder.

Although Jiang Chen didn’t know who it was immediately, he felt no fear. This was the Sect, after all.

He landed softly, his feet skimming the flowing water on the ground, and walked steadily to the door.

Inside, a tall, burly male disciple sat at the tea table, facing sideways.

He was completely bald. A ferocious scar ran across half his face, twisting his features into a permanent scowl.

Hearing footsteps, the man turned.

Jiang Chen froze for a second, then his eyes widened. “Pei Mo?!”

This was none other than Pei Mo, the “Male Drunkard” who was just as infamous as the “Female Drunkard” Tie xin.

He possessed Dual Spirit Roots, but tragically, they were Mutually Restraining—Metal overcoming Wood. After a long, roundabout journey of failures, he had eventually joined Beast Mountain.

Nearly two years ago, he had followed the core disciple Chen Tian to the Central Region battlefield to hunt monsters.

Pei Mo set down his teacup and looked Jiang Chen up and down with a scrutinizing gaze. “It’s been over a year. You look a bit more… dispirited than before. Could it be that you’ve fallen ill from missing me?”

Jiang Chen chuckled, kicking off his wet shoes. “You’re one of my biggest clients. Of course I missed you.”

Pei Mo nodded solemnly, as if discussing a grave matter. “Without your wine, my life in the Central Region lost much of its flavor.”

Jiang Chen walked into the room barefoot, drying his clothes with a circulate of Qi. “You, on the other hand, look even more burly. And dangerous.”

Pei Mo bared his teeth in a grin that was both friendly and terrifying. “I went to the Central Region for two reasons. First, naturally, to hunt monsters, improve my strength, and gain combat experience. Second… I told you about it before.”

Jiang Chen paused, searching his memory. “The Boiling Flesh Blood Pond?”

Pei Mo nodded slightly. “Exactly.”

The Boiling Flesh Blood Pond was a brutal body-tempering method.

There were five elemental ponds—Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth—along with specialized variants for mutant Spirit Roots.

The core principle was using the flesh and blood of powerful monsters to brew a toxic, potent medicinal soup.

Any cultivator could enter. As long as they survived soaking for seven, fourteen, twenty-one… up to eighty-one days, they would receive massive physical enhancements.

The longer you stayed, the greater the benefit.

But the longer you stayed, the more toxins accumulated in your body.

For a Qi Condensation cultivator, lasting seven days was the limit.

A Foundation Establishment cultivator might last fourteen.

But Pei Mo, relying on sheer, maddening willpower, had persisted for eighteen days before finally passing out.

Now, his physical body strength alone rivaled a Foundation Establishment Perfection cultivator with an Earth Spirit Root.

His spiritual power had also climbed to the late Foundation Establishment stage.

However, the fundamental problem remained: his Metal still restrained his Wood. That curse could not be changed.

Jiang Chen listened to the explanation and couldn’t help but give a thumbs up. “It has to be you. Only a madman would soak in monster blood for that long.”

Pei Mo extended an invitation, his eyes gleaming. “If you’re willing, I can take you there next time. It does wonders for the constitution.”

Jiang Chen laughed awkwardly. “The outside world is too dangerous. I think I’ll honestly stay right here in the Immortal Sect.”

Pei Mo didn’t seem offended. Instead, he nodded in agreement. “You’re not wrong. This trip with Chen Tian… I truly saw how fragile life is. In the Central Region, monsters farm humans, treating us as livestock. Every day is fighting, killing, and death.”

“So,” Jiang Chen mused, “you came back to participate in the Official Disciple Competition, and then you plan to return to the Central Region?”

“That is the plan,” Pei Mo confirmed.

“What if you become a Core Disciple?” Jiang Chen asked. “Would you stay then?”

Pei Mo sneered, a look of disdain crossing his scarred face. “There is no ‘what if.’ I am not recognized by those lofty immortals in the upper echelons. I will never become a Core Disciple. People like me… we are only fit to transform in the fires of the battlefield.”

Jiang Chen sensed the bitterness but didn’t press it. “And Senior Brother Chen? Where is he?”

“He remains in the Central Region,” Pei Mo replied. “He will return in half a year. As a Core Disciple, he has no need to participate in this competition.”

Jiang Chen sighed. “You’ve changed so much. I imagine Senior Brother Chen has changed as well.”

Pei Mo looked around the room, a playful expression finally breaking his stoic mask. “His changes—and mine—are nothing compared to yours.”

When Pei Mo had first arrived, he thought he had walked into the wrong territory.

In his memory, this place had been a humble wooden shack with a single acre of Second-Rank Spirit Farm.

Now?

The wooden shack was a stone fortress. The single acre had expanded into four. The air was thick with wealth and resources.

To achieve this in less than two years was nothing short of miraculous.

Jiang Chen rubbed the back of his head, offering a modest, awkward smile. “Oh, come on. I’m just an ordinary Spirit Farmer with a Wood Spirit Root. Just making a living!”