[Genres] Xianxia (Cultivation) • Farm-to-Power • Weak-to-Strong • Slice of Life • Alchemy
[Synopsis]
In the brutal hierarchy of the Qingyun Sect, Chen Ping is nothing more than fuel for the fire.
Starved, whipped by cruel overseers, and thrown into the deadly Spirit Mines to rot, his destiny was to die quietly in the mud. But fate intervened in the form of a dull, gray jade pendant.
Inside lies a secret dimension—a portable spirit farm where time flows rapidly, and herbs mature in days.
With this secret, Chen Ping transforms his fate.
While others fight to the death for a single resource, he harvests acres of Spirit Rice.
While others succumb to mine toxins, he purifies his body with legendary herbs.
While others rely on talent, he relies on infinite resources to brute-force his way through the bottleneck of his “Waste Spirit Root.”
But in a world where the strong devour the weak, a treasure is a death sentence. Chen Ping chooses to hide. He endures the insults of Manager Wang. He plays the role of a dying consumptive. He bides his time, silently accumulating power in the shadows.
He is a farmer, and patience is his deadliest weapon.
[⚠️ Read This Before You Start]
This story is PERFECT for you if you like:
Slow Burn Progression: The MC starts from the absolute bottom. He works hard for every scrap of power.
The “Gou” Philosophy: A protagonist who hides his strength, acts cautiously, and plans before he strikes.
Farming & Crafting: Detailed descriptions of growing herbs, resource management, and alchemy.
Logical Revenge: The payoff is delayed, but satisfying.
This story is NOT for you if you want:
Instant OP: The MC does not become a god in 20 chapters.
Fast-Paced Action: There are many chapters focused on daily life, farming, and grinding.
Arrogant/Loud MC: The protagonist is low-key and stoic, not flashy.
Harem: This is a story about survival and immortality, not romance collection.
Chapter 372: Jingtian’s Foundation Yuan Jingtian gaped, his voice stolen by the moment. The sheer impact of this windfall hit him like a tidal wave, drowning his thoughts in a sea of white and robbing him of all reason. He collapsed with a heavy thud, prostrating himself once more. This time, the gesture was born from the very marrow of his soul. He threw himself into a full kowtow, his forehead striking the frigid stone floor with rhythmic desperation. His
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