The Eternal Farmer: I Trade My Harvest for Immortality

Jiang Chen leaned back against the rough bark of the poplar tree, his eyes half-closed against the afternoon sun. Between his teeth, he chewed on a stalk of green grass, the bitter sap spreading across his tongue.

A cool breeze swept through the fields, tousling his hair and fluttering his sleeves.

He was alone again.

Senior Sister Yu had moved out, returning to the intense heat of the Earthfire Zone to stabilize her new foundation. Lin An was constantly running errands outside, barely setting foot in the courtyard.

The silence was comfortable, yet laced with a subtle thread of loneliness.

Jiang Chen spat out the grass stem and grinned. “Good thing I’m used to it.”

During the day, his favorite spot was here under the poplar, watching the waves of spirit plants ripple in the wind. The rustling leaves and the cool air soothed his spirit.

At night, he would lie on the roof, gazing up at the brilliant river of stars. Whenever a meteor streaked across the darkness, he felt a profound sense of peace settle over his heart.

His daily routine remained steady. He still held the position of assessor for the Spirit Farms, but he didn’t need to visit the outer perimeter daily. The current crop of Outer Peak disciples were mostly veterans from the previous season. They were familiar faces who knew the drill; there was nothing left for him to teach them.

The courtyard, however, remained lively.

Da Huang had shed his winter lethargy. The dog was a boundless ball of energy, frolicking through the fields from dawn till dusk.

The Pearl Chickens wandered freely, pecking at insects, though they never strayed too far. At the slightest sign of trouble—a shadow or a sudden noise—they would scramble back to safety.

The five Fire Crows continued their aerial patrols over the Spirit Farm, vigilant as ever.

As for Fortress, the wooden golem seemed to have found a kindred spirit in the poplar tree. When it wasn’t working, it would stand motionless beneath the branches, blending in like a statue.

Jiang Chen opened his eyes and watched Da Huang sprinting across the field with unnatural speed.

“That dog…” Jiang Chen mused. “Whether it’s size, strength, or agility, he’s far superior to others of his kind. He’s nearly three years old now. Maybe I should consider finding him a mate?”

Just then, a slight vibration buzzed from his waist.

Jiang Chen flipped his right hand, and a Communication Talisman appeared in his palm. The edges were worn, indicating frequent use. It was Shen Peng.

“Fellow Daoist Cai,” Shen Peng’s voice projected from the talisman, using Jiang Chen’s market alias. “The Spirit Wine is sold out again. When can you come by?”

“Sold out?” Jiang Chen raised an eyebrow. “I gave you 3,000 jin. It hasn’t even been a month.”

“We had no choice! Our product is too good—we’ve stolen all the business from our competitors. Many of them have closed shop entirely!” Shen Peng sounded excited but desperate. “When can you increase production?”

“I’m just one person,” Jiang Chen replied calmly. “I don’t have the energy to brew more.”

“Fellow Daoist, surely you can hire help?” Shen Peng urged.

In Shen Peng’s view, a disciple of the Immortal Sect like Jiang Chen shouldn’t be handling manual labor personally. Even loose cultivators kept servants. For someone of Jiang Chen’s status and realm, doing everything himself seemed absurd.

“I prefer to work alone,” Jiang Chen said, declining the suggestion firmly. He cut the connection.

Hiring servants meant extra eyes, and Jiang Chen had too many secrets to keep.

He dusted off his robes and headed toward the stone house. It was time to brew the next batch of 3,000 jin of high-quality Spirit Wine.

Once the brewing was complete, Jiang Chen handed the feeding duties over to Fortress, instructing the golem to dispense food on a fixed schedule.

He then stepped onto the Giant Leaf artifact and shot into the sky.

Half an hour later, he arrived at Fire Peak.

The Formal Disciple Competition had been dragging on for nearly half a year. Due to the sheer number of participants, they were still in the preliminary stages.

He scanned the crowd. Acquaintances like Long Ao, Chen Bo, Jin Fugui, and Mo Yu had mixed fortunes. Some were advancing vigorously against the current, while others had already been eliminated.

The number of spectators in the square had dropped by more than half. Those who remained were mostly die-hard fans of specific geniuses.

Long Ao, despite his disfigured face, had garnered a massive following. His unyielding spirit and brutal fighting style resonated with the crowd. As various unofficial rankings—Genius Strength, Battle Record, Potential—began to circulate, Long Ao’s name was consistently in the top three.

In contrast, Shui Wuhen, the former star of the Rain Pavilion who was once in the limelight, had fallen from grace.

He couldn’t even crack the top ten, lagging behind even his friend Jian Chen.

Both Long Ao and Shui Wuhen had been defeated by the monster Mo Sha, but their reactions were polar opposites. Long Ao had used the defeat as fuel to forge a sharper blade. Shui Wuhen had crumbled, unable to step out of Mo Sha’s shadow. One was rising; the other was fading as if he didn’t exist.

Jiang Chen withdrew his gaze from the arena. He wasn’t here for the glory.

“Between supplying recipes, ingredients, and franchising, I’m pulling in two to three thousand Mid-grade Spirit Stones a month,” he calculated silently.

After splitting the profits with his partners, it was a fortune. However, Jiang Chen, Jin Fugui, and Mo Yu were reinvesting every single stone into preparations for the upcoming “Return to Ruins Secret Realm.”

As a result, from the Beginning of Spring to the Beginning of Summer, Jiang Chen had actually been living quite frugally.

He boarded a giant flying sword bound for the Loose Cultivator market.

He arrived an hour later, smooth and undisturbed.

His first move upon landing was routine: disguise. He ducked into a cheap inn, applied his makeup, and changed his robes. When he emerged, the elite Immortal Sect disciple was gone, replaced by “Cai,” a plain, unassuming loose cultivator.

He headed to the Spirit Rice trading point to check the market.

Tier-1 Spirit Rice: Price adjusting downward. Tier-2 Spirit Rice: Significant drop.

Prices were falling back to the levels of two years ago. With the Immortal Sect focused on the competition, the major factions like the Harvest Alliance had loosened their stranglehold on resources.

For ordinary cultivators, this was a blessing.

Seeing an opportunity, Jiang Chen spent 625 Low-grade Spirit Stones to purchase 1,000 jin of high-quality Tier-2 Spirit Rice. It was a steal.

Satisfied with his bulk purchase, he walked toward the trading house on the other side of the market.

He wasn’t just here to deliver wine to the Shen family. He wanted to see if there were any “leaks to pick”—hidden treasures undervalued by the sellers. Last year, he had found several gems this way.

He walked up to the Reflecting Mirror in the lobby.

“Immortal, do you need assistance—” a beautiful female receptionist began, smiling warmly.

“I’ll handle it myself,” Jiang Chen interrupted, waving her off.

He placed his hand on the mirror and injected a stream of Wood Qi. The surface rippled and activated, displaying a scrolling list of items.

He scanned through the categories: Cultivation Techniques, Spells, Spirit Plants.

His eyes narrowed. There was a sudden influx of Earth-attribute items.

Earth-attribute cultivation manuals. Earth-attribute spells. Earth-attribute Spirit Weapons.

And then, nestled among the miscellaneous items, he saw it.

Item: Detailed Map of Huang Yuanhua’s Cave Dwelling.

Jiang Chen froze. He turned his head sharply toward the receptionist.

“Has Huang Yuanhua’s cave dwelling already been cleared by the hunter teams?”