The Eternal Farmer: I Trade My Harvest for Immortality

The silence in the hall was heavy, filled with the weight of shattered expectations.

To the gathered disciples and family representatives, the choice had seemed binary. It had to be Zhao Feng of the Zhao Clan, a mid-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator backed by the Spirit Farm’s premier family. Or it had to be Wang Ze, the Wang Clan’s ace farmer, sitting on nine acres of second-grade land.

Even Chen Bo had been a dark horse candidate, riding the coattails of the Chen Clan’s rising star, Chen Tian.

But Jiang Chen? A loose cultivator turned sect disciple? A man who had only recently made a name for himself? It was inconceivable.

Zhao Feng’s expression froze, the confident smirk dying on his lips. Realization dawned a split second later, and he whipped his head around to glare at Wang Ze.

“You…” Zhao Feng hissed, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “You said you were voting with us. You said you were ‘one of us’!”

Wang Ze shrugged, his expression maddeningly casual. “And I am. Junior Brother Jiang is a friend. To me, he is ‘one of us’.”

“You dare betray me?” Zhao Feng’s spiritual pressure flared, causing the air around him to distort.

Wang Ze didn’t flinch. He smiled, a cold, calculated expression. “Senior Brother Zhao, there is an old saying: A wise bird chooses the best branch to perch on.”

With that, he turned his back on Zhao Feng and walked over to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Chen Bo.

Zhao Feng’s pupils constricted. The message was clear: The Wang Clan had abandoned the Zhao Clan and aligned themselves with the Chen Clan. With Chen Tian on the verge of breaking through to become an Earth-grade Golden Core master, the balance of power in the Rain Pavilion had fundamentally shifted.

While the political landscape crumbled, Jiang Chen’s friends erupted in celebration.

“Congratulations, Senior Brother Jiang!” Xu Linshan shouted, beaming.

“Junior Brother Jiang,” Wang Ze chuckled, clasping his hands, “don’t forget your old friends when you ascend to the heavens!”

Even Zhao Ziyao dragged the Zhao Ying couple forward to offer their respects. “Congratulations, Spirit Envoy!”

Amidst the noise, only Chen Bo remained calm. He had seen the writing on the wall long ago.

Jiang Chen looked at the faces surrounding him—some sincere, some calculating, some fearful. He cupped his hands and bowed to the Chamber. “Thank you all for your support. I will do my best.”

Li Chun, the outgoing envoy, stepped forward. In his hands lay a token glowing with a soft green light. “Junior Brother Jiang… no, I should call you Spirit Envoy Jiang now. Your duty is to patrol the fields and oversee the prosperity of the sect’s spirit plants.”

Jiang Chen accepted the token with both hands. “Thank you, Senior Brother Chen.”

“The burden is heavy,” Li Chun said, his voice lowering. “Do not let the sect down.”

“Wait!”

The shout cut through the celebratory atmosphere like a blade. Zhao Feng stepped forward, his Face flushed with indignation.

Li Chun glanced at him sideways, his eyes narrowing. “Is there a problem?”

Zhao Feng gritted his teeth, forcing himself to speak despite the crushing pressure of the Chamber. “The results… shouldn’t they be based on the vote? If we tally the votes—”

“The vote,” Elder Mu interrupted, his voice rumbling like grinding stones, “is merely a suggestion. It serves to highlight suitable candidates.”

The massive tree spirit opened his eyes, pinning Zhao Feng with a gaze that felt as heavy as a mountain.

“The final decision,” Elder Mu intoned, “lies with the Grain Master.”

Zhao Feng’s Face drained of color.

The hierarchy of the Spirit Farm was absolute. Above the Spirit Nurturing Envoy was the Elder, and above the Elder was the Grain Master—the second-in-command of the entire agricultural division.

If the Grain Master had personally selected Jiang Chen, then no amount of voting or family politics could overturn it. To question the decision was to question the sect’s leadership.

Zhao Feng bowed his head, defeated. “I… understand.”

“Good,” Elder Mu said dismissively. “Everyone except Jiang Chen is dismissed.”

The hall emptied quickly, leaving Jiang Chen alone with the ancient treant.

“Manager,” Jiang Chen said, bowing deeply.

“You earned this,” Elder Mu said, a warm smile wrinkling his bark-like skin. “Your performance in the outer perimeter assessment broke a century-old record. The Grain Master values talent over lineage. That is why you are here.”

He pointed to the token in Jiang Chen’s hand. “That is not just a badge of office. It is a master key to the Core Area.”

Jiang Chen examined the token. It was an octagonal slab of thousand-year Cold Iron fused with Spirit Wood Essence. It hummed with energy, glowing with a verdant, ghostly light.

On the front, a single, lifelike sprout was carved in relief. On the back, golden threads formed intricate cloud patterns. The edges were ringed with vines, blooming with tiny, detailed flowers.

“You have the right to claim a new spirit farm in a prime location,” Elder Mu offered. “Do you wish to move?”

“No,” Jiang Chen said instantly. “My current location suits me perfectly.”

Elder Mu nodded, pleased. “Contentment is a rare virtue. Now, bind the token. A drop of blood and a thread of Spirit Sense.”

Jiang Chen pricked his finger, letting a drop of crimson blood fall onto the carved sprout.

The token drank the blood. The green light flared red, then settled into a deep, rich amber—the color of a mature harvest.

As his Spirit Sense connected with the artifact, a flood of information poured into his mind. It wasn’t just administrative data; it was a cultivation technique.

[The Four Seasons Scripture]

Spring stirs the Wood, the Spirit Veins unseal, A three-inch sprout, true vitality to reveal. Summer sun ignites, a wild and verdant spread, Seven leaves unfurl, three zhang of roots are fed. Autumn winds bring cool, the nectar starts to bind, Thirty days to fruit, five flavors defined. Winter snows entomb, the Spirit sleeps below, Three seasons locked in frost, waiting for the flow.

“This is an Earth-grade technique reserved for the Spirit Nurturing Envoy,” Elder Mu explained. “It surpasses the Evergreen Art and the Spirit Growth Art. It is difficult to master, but the rewards are profound.”

“I will study it diligently,” Jiang Chen promised, committing the verses to memory.

“One final warning,” Elder Mu said, his tone turning serious. “Your ascent has disrupted the plans of powerful families. Be cautious. Do not be arrogant, but do not let them trample you. You represent the Grain Master now.”

“I understand. You know what kind of person I am.”

Elder Mu laughed, waving a root-hand. “Go. Your public awaits.”

Jiang Chen turned and walked out of the palace.

The plaza outside was packed. Hundreds of cultivators stood in formation—friends, rivals, and strangers alike.

In the front row stood Li Chun, Chen Bo, Wang Ze, and Xu Linshan. Behind them were rows upon rows of core Spirit Farmers, over 500 strong.

As Jiang Chen stepped into the sunlight, the crowd moved as one. 500 pairs of hands rose, cupping together in a unified salute.

The sound of their voices shook the air, echoing off the mountainside.

“Paying respects to Spirit Envoy Jiang!”