Spirit Plant Entry: Immortality Begins with Farming

Chen Yuan flung open the door, grabbed a broom from beside it, and rushed over. The broom slammed against the swarm of insects, making a crackling sound, and dark red sap splattered everywhere.

But there were just too many bugs. You kill one wave, and another comes.

He remembered there was still half a packet of insect repellent powder in the house, so he went back, found it, diluted it with water, and poured it on the ginseng seedlings.

The pesticide was poured onto the leaves, and the insects trembled but did not die. Instead, they burrowed even more frantically into the roots.

No... this isn't an ordinary fire aphid.

Chen Yuan focused his gaze and activated the spiritual plant status warning.

In my field of vision, extremely faint words appeared on the insect's body:

[Name]: Fire aphid (artificially induced)

[Status]: Increased aggression due to drug stimulation.

[Weakness]: Fear of cold

Artificially induced birth.

Chen Yuan raised his head and looked in the direction of Liu San Niang's house.

The room was dark and quiet.

But he knew that someone was hiding in the shadows, watching the show.

"Okay," he said softly, "If you want to play, I'll play with you."

He ran back into the house, scooped out the last ladle of cold water from the water vat, and activated the Spirit Rain Technique.

This time, he set the rainwater temperature to freezing.

Fine, icy rain fell, landing on the golden ginseng and among the insects.

When fire aphids encounter cold air, their movements immediately slow down. They curl up and roll off the leaves one by one.

Chen Yuan continued watering without stopping.

The freezing rain intensified, and a thin layer of frost formed on the surface of the soil in the experimental field.

The insects were all frozen stiff, their dark red corpses covering the ground.

The five golden thread ginseng plants trembled slightly in the icy rain, but their root systems remained intact.

Chen Yuan stopped, panting heavily, and looked at the insect corpses scattered all over the ground.

The sky began to lighten.

When Chen Yuan dug out the third golden thread ginseng, the soil brought up by the roots was still damp from the icy rain of the previous night.

"Do we really have to move?" Widow Li squatted down beside her, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes.

"If Liu San Niang can release insects once, she can release them a second time." Chen Yuan carefully moved the ginseng seedlings into the ceramic pot and compacted the soil. "With people coming and going from the thatched huts by the field, she doesn't dare to openly do it."

He picked up the earthenware basin and walked towards the edge of the field.

Three golden ginseng plants—two mutated varieties and one common one—gleamed pale gold in the morning light.

Last night's icy rain killed all the fire aphids in the yard, and it also woke him up: there is no "safe" place in the shantytown, only "relatively safe".

He looked up at the sky. It was overcast and didn't look like it was going to rain.

Under the thatched shed, three ceramic basins were arranged in a row.

The soil, mixed with fire-attribute slag, had a dark reddish hue. In the leftmost pot, the stem of the golden thread ginseng drooped slightly, with a withered yellow leaf lying beneath it.

Chen Yuan pulled out a piece of hematite from his pocket; it was only the size of a fingernail.

He crouched down, pressed his fingertips against the ginseng stem, and slowly infused a trace of spiritual energy into it.

The ginseng leaf trembled slightly.

Widow Li held her breath.

She saw that the ginseng stem was slowly straightening up; although it was still thin, at least it was no longer drooping.

"Go and bring that jar of rainwater from Old Zhao's cellar." Chen Yuan didn't even look up. "Ginseng roots are sensitive to dryness. You can't just use fire to accelerate them; you need to use yin water to balance it."

"Hey!" Widow Li jogged away.

Chen Yuan stared at the ginseng seedlings, his brows gradually furrowing.

Since last night, the sapling in my mind's sea of ​​consciousness has been throbbing faintly from time to time—as if something in the distance is stirring the earth's veins, causing spiritual energy that does not belong to plants to scatter in disorder.

Just as I placed the ceramic pot in the corner of the thatched shed, the sapling in my mind suddenly jolted!

This is a new perception gained after the system evolved.

The scope is small, but the sensitivity is high.

He stood up and looked towards the mountains and forests to the northwest.

The mist swirled around the mountainside, and the depths of the forest were pitch black, making it difficult to see clearly.

After the last attack, the people in the shantytown said that the mountains were "unclean." But no one could say for sure what it was.

"Young Master Chen!"

Old Zhao hurried over from the other side of the field, carrying a hoe, his trousers covered in mud. He didn't look too good.

"Something's not right in the woods to the west."

"How so?"

"Footprints." Old Zhao squatted down and scratched the muddy ground with a twig. "Larger and deeper than the last one, with three hook marks at the front of the claw prints—this isn't a lynx."

Chen Yuan's heart sank: "What is it?"

"It's like an 'Iron-Spine Mountain Demon'," Old Zhao said, lowering his voice even further. "Those things are strong and have thick skin; ordinary magical artifacts can hardly break through their defenses. The key is... they live in groups."

"How many?"

"At the very least, five or six. At most..." Old Zhao paused, "maybe ten or so."

The two remained silent.

From afar came Fan Datong's shouts. The overseer, along with two outer disciples of the Flying Feather Sect, was inspecting each household to check the progress of the spirit field restoration.

There are only fourteen days left until the deadline for conscription.

"Your method," Old Zhao glanced at Chen Yuan, but didn't say it explicitly, "will it be able to prevent it?"

Chen Yuan shook his head: "I used it all up last time, and I haven't saved up enough new ones yet."

He had been using most of his trump cards on growing yellow-sprout rice and golden thread ginseng.

"What should we do then?"

"Let's take a look first." Chen Yuan gazed at the mountains and forests. "If they're just passing by, we can hide and get past them. But if they're after the spirit fields..."

Before he could finish speaking, the seedling of the word in his mind suddenly trembled violently again!

Chen Yuan's expression changed: "Fellow Daoist Li! Forget about the rainwater, go back inside and hide the child!"

He turned to Old Zhao: "Uncle Zhao, do me a favor."

"you say."

"Go to Baicaotang and find Manager Liao. Tell him that the golden thread ginseng I'm raising has shown some unusual signs and may survive ahead of schedule. Ask him if he can take a look first."

Old Zhao was taken aback: "Isn't this a scam?"

"I can't fool him." Chen Yuan took out a cloth bag from his pocket, unfolded it, and inside were two ginseng leaves with pale gold edges. "The new veins that grew last night, Manager Liao knows his stuff, he'll definitely come when he sees them. If he comes, more people from the Flying Feather Sect will stay."

"You want to take advantage of this?"

"Every little bit helps," Chen Yuan said, shoving the leaves into his hand. "Go quickly!"

Old Zhao didn't say anything more, put his cloth bag in his pocket, and ran away.

Chen Yuan took a deep breath and walked to the middle of the field.

Of the eight mu of spiritual land, three mu belonged to himself, three mu to Old Zhao, and two mu to Widow Li.

The yellow-budded rice has just sprouted ears, a tender green expanse. Under the thatched shed, three pots of golden ginseng gleam faintly in the morning light.

He closed his eyes and channeled his spiritual energy into his dantian.

The second level of the Cloud and Water Technique – the Spirit Rain Technique.

"rise."

Fine raindrops seemed to gather out of thin air and began to fall gently. The rainwater seeped into the soil, and the vitality of the fields visibly increased.

The rice seedlings swayed gently, as if stretching out.

Just then, a piercing shriek came from the northwestern mountains!

It felt like a sheet of iron scraping against a stone, or like something being torn apart.

Chen Yuan suddenly opened his eyes.

In the distance, flocks of startled birds took flight from the woods, forming a dark, dense mass.

He walked to the woodpile by the field and pulled out the old iron knife he used for chopping wood. The blade was rusty, but it was thick and heavy.

"Come on." He wiped the rain from his face.

"Farming to the point of fighting with animals, I'm really making a name for myself as a spiritual farmer."

In the woods, the shadows of the trees swayed.