Spirit Plant Entry: Immortality Begins with Farming

Fan Datong arrived right at the hour of Chen (7-9 AM).

Unlike usual, the Green Leaf Flying Boat landed quietly outside the field ridge.

Fan Datong jumped down alone, without any disciples, and even changed his steward's robe into an ordinary blue cloth shirt.

He walked to the edge of the field, glanced at the rice paddies, and squinted his small eyes.

"Chen Yuan".

"Deacon Fan," Chen Yuan bowed.

Fan Datong didn't respond. He squatted down, picked a stalk of rice, and rubbed it in his palm.

The rice grains are plump and dark golden in color. When rubbed apart, the rice core is milky white, with a clearly visible golden line in the middle.

"Golden thread rice." He stood up, clapped his hands, and said, "Eight acres, all of them?"

"luck."

"Luck?" Fan Datong laughed, but there was little warmth in his smile. "Your luck is a bit too good."

He paced back and forth along the edge of the field, hands behind his back, then suddenly turned around: "What's the yield per mu?"

"Around 200 jin (100 kg)."

"Eight mu, 1,600 jin." Fan Datong stopped. "According to the rules, the tax is 70%, so it's 1,120 jin. Golden thread rice is a rare variety, so it's just right."

Chen Yuan's heart skipped a beat.

This algorithm... is too conventional.

The rules are not right.

Fan Datong took two steps closer and lowered his voice: "Chen Yuan, you're a smart man. Some things don't need me to spell them out."

Chen Yuan took out a heavy cloth bag he had prepared beforehand from his pocket and handed it over.

"Deacon Fan, you've worked hard. Here's a little something for your tea."

Fan Datong took the cloth bag, flicked the opening with his fingertip, and peeked inside. Twenty low-grade spirit stones were neatly stacked, gleaming warmly in the morning light.

The fake smile on his face became more genuine.

"You're sensible." He tucked the cloth bag into his coat. "Report the yield of your eight acres of land truthfully, and pay the taxes accordingly. As for the requisitioning..."

He paused, then took out a wooden plaque from his sleeve and tossed it to Chen Yuan.

The wooden plaque is about half the size of a palm. The front is engraved with "Chen Yuan" and the back has cloud patterns of the Flying Feather Sect. There is an extra small character in the lower right corner: "Exempt".

"I've marked your conscription list for this year." Fan Datong turned and walked towards the flying boat. "Just focus on farming. We'll talk again next year..."

The flying boat took off and quickly disappeared into the horizon.

Chen Yuan held the exemption plaque, his palms slightly sweaty.

Twenty spirit stones can buy a year of peace.

value.

"He's quite straightforward," Old Wu said as he walked over from the other end of the field. "I thought it would take a while to get to the point."

"He can't delay." Chen Yuan carefully put away the wooden sign. "The matter of the golden thread rice can't be kept secret. If it drags on, the higher-ups will come down smelling it, and he won't even get a sip of the soup."

"Can we drink it now?"

"Twenty spirit stones, that's hush money." Chen Yuan looked in the direction the flying boat disappeared. "The more readily he takes it, the more people are watching him. This money is to keep him quiet for now, and also to... shield him from those in front."

Old Wu was silent for a moment: "What do you plan to do?"

"Sell the grain, buy seeds, and keep planting." Chen Yuan walked towards the thatched shed. "While we can still plant, let's plant more."

---

Just past noon, Manager Liao's carriage stopped by the field.

The same two blue-antlered deer were still pulling the cart, their bells jingling. Manager Liao stepped down from the cart, dressed in a brocade robe, a folding fan in his hand. He looked more like he was there for a spring outing than to collect grain.

"Fellow Daoist Chen." He cupped his hands in greeting, a smile plastered on his face.

"Manager Liao," Chen Yuan returned the greeting.

Without wasting any words, Manager Liao went straight to the edge of the field, squatted down, and carefully examined the rice. He pinched off the ears of rice, rubbed the grains, smelled them, and even broke off a piece of rice stalk and chewed it.

After a long while, he stood up, his face solemn.

"Golden thread rice, no doubt about it." Manager Liao wiped his hands with a handkerchief, "but this rice... something's not quite right."

"How so?"

"I've collected quite a few Golden Thread Rice grains. The golden threads in the rice core are clear, and the spiritual energy is gentle." Shopkeeper Liao held half a grain of rice up to the sunlight. "Your rice has blood mixed in with the golden threads, and the spiritual energy... is restless. It's like it's been mixed with fire, or something else."

Chen Yuan did not respond.

Shopkeeper Liao stared at him: "Isn't your blood ginseng a bit too close to the fields?"

"……yes."

"That's right." Manager Liao sighed. "The blood essence of the ginseng seeped out and soaked the soil. The rice absorbed the blood essence, which is why it mutated. The rice is good rice, and it's valuable. But people who eat this kind of rice for a long time may have their temperament affected—irritable, paranoid, or even...bloodthirsty."

Chen Yuan's heart tightened: "Can it still be sold?"

"Yes, we can." Manager Liao put away the handkerchief. "But we need to explain the situation. Some cultivators who practice fire-attribute techniques or body refinement specifically seek out spiritual foods containing blood essence, and they can even raise the price."

"How many?"

"Ordinary golden thread rice costs one spirit stone per pound in the market." Manager Liao pondered for a moment, "I'll buy yours for one and a half spirit stones. But we'll have to sign a contract stating that the rice has blood essence, and the buyer will bear the consequences."

"OK."

The two returned to the thatched hut, and Manager Liao took out paper and pen from his pocket and wrote a contract on the spot.

Chen Yuan paid 1,120 catties of tax rice, and sold the remaining 480 catties of golden thread rice. At 1.5 yuan per catty, it cost a total of 720 spirit stones.

After finishing writing the contract and pressing his fingerprint, Manager Liao took out a small cloth bag from his pocket: "This is the deposit, three hundred spirit stones. The remaining four hundred will be settled in one lump sum once the rice is delivered to Baicaotang."

Chen Yuan took the cloth bag; it was heavy.

Three hundred spirit stones—he had never seen so much money in his life.

"There's one more thing," Manager Liao said, putting away the contract and lowering his voice, "Someone's asking about your method for making blood-bleeding ginseng and mutated golden thread rice."

"Who?"

"It's not just one." Manager Liao's eyes were complicated. "Several alchemists in the market, and... people from the Flying Feather Sect's medicine hall. I did as you said, and denied them all. But it won't stay a secret for long."

"We'll keep it a secret as long as we can."

"Chen Yuan," Manager Liao paused, "take my advice. You'd better leave this shantytown as soon as possible. Take Widow Li and her child and go somewhere else to make a living. Southern Xinjiang is vast; find a remote town and farm peacefully—that's better than staying here."

"We can't leave." Chen Yuan shook his head. "The fields are here, the roots are here. If we leave, the fields will be wasted."

"Is the land more important or your life?"

"Sometimes," Chen Yuan said, looking at the dark golden rice paddies outside the shed, "the rice paddies are life itself."

Manager Liao stared at him for a long time before finally sighing.

"Whatever you want." He turned and walked towards the carriage. "I'll send someone to pick up the rice tomorrow. The rest of the spirit stones will be given to you then."

The carriage drove away.

Chen Yuan sat in the thatched hut, looking at the three hundred spirit stones in his palm.

three hundred.

Including the previous amount, it's over seven hundred yuan in total.

enough.

---

In the evening, Chen Yuan went to the market.

He didn't go into the inner area, but wandered around the outer grocery street. He bought three things:

A bag of gray leaf vegetable seeds, the cheapest kind, costs one spirit stone for twenty catties.

A packet of sweet potato sprouts, half a spirit stone.

There were also a few drooping perilla plants, which I bought from an old woman's stall; three plants for one spirit stone.

By the time I returned to the courtyard, it was already dusk.

Widow Li was drawing water from the well when she saw Chen Yuan return. She quickly put down the bucket and asked, "Brother Chen, did Fan the Skinflint give you any trouble?"

"No." Chen Yuan took out the exemption plaque from his pocket. "You don't need to go this year."

Widow Li took the wooden plaque, her fingers tracing the character "免" (meaning "exempt") on it, her eyes reddening.

"Uncle Zhao's fields..." Her voice choked with emotion, "If he knew..."

"He knows," Chen Yuan interrupted her. "He gave me the seeds, he gave me the land, he knew I could grow them."

He placed the seeds and seedlings he had bought on the table: "Start replanting tomorrow. Plant lamb's quarters and yam on your two mu. Plant yellow sprout rice on my three mu, and also some edelweiss. Boss Liao said he wanted some. Old Zhao's three mu... plant perilla and green rice."

"Perilla?" Widow Li was taken aback. "That stuff isn't worth much..."

"It's worthless now," Chen Yuan said. "Once I figure out a method, it will be valuable."

Widow Li looked at him for a long time, then nodded emphatically: "I'll listen to you."

At night, Chen Yuan sat in the thatched hut, taking stock of the harvest.

Three hundred and seventeen spirit stones were stacked on the table, forming a small pile.

Keep the exemption plaque close to your body.

The blood ginseng was growing quietly in the corner, and its fifth leaf had fully unfolded.

In the sea of ​​consciousness, three newly extracted leaves of the [High-Efficiency Yield] were floating next to the sapling of the term, along with other miscellaneous term fragments such as [Slightly Resilient] and [Rapid Maturation] that had been accumulated before.

He picked up a spirit stone, held it in his palm, and activated the Long Breath Technique.

The spiritual energy seeped into his meridians in wisps and strands, more smoothly than ever before. The bottleneck of the third level of Qi Refining was still there, but the spiritual energy in his dantian was noticeably thicker.

Half an hour later, the spirit stone's luster dimmed.

Chen Yuan opened his eyes and looked at his palm.

Beneath the skin, a faint green aura could be seen flowing—a characteristic of the wood-attribute spiritual power of the "Long Breath Technique." But at the edge of the aura, there was a very faint trace of golden-red.

Blood Refining Qi.

He clenched his fist.

Outside the window, the night was deep.

In the depths of the distant mountains and forests, a few more pairs of scarlet lights appeared.

Further away, the lights on the mountainside of Feiyu Sect went out one by one. But in the side hall of the outer sect's affairs hall, a lone lamp still shone.

Under the lamp, Fan Datong was writing a report:

"...Chen Yuan, a farmer from the western shantytown, has delivered 1,120 catties of high-quality golden thread rice this season, which has already been stored. This farmer is diligent in his farming and possesses outstanding skills; therefore, we request that he be exempted from this year's conscription as encouragement..."

He paused here, dipped his brush in ink, and added a small line:

"This person's farming techniques are unusual; the rice they produce contains trace amounts of blood energy, suggesting possible contact with demonic methods. It is recommended to observe them discreetly and take control if necessary."

The pen tip paused on the paper for a moment before finally falling.

The ink was still wet, gleaming faintly under the lamplight.

Outside the window, a withered leaf was swept up by the night wind, swirling and landing on the thatched roof of the shed.

Inside the thatched shed, Chen Yuan blew out the oil lamp.

In the darkness, the leaves of the blood ginseng gleamed with a faint golden light.

Within the sea of ​​consciousness, the roots of the sapling of the word tree trembled slightly, stretching towards a distant and indistinct direction.

There, a faint resonance is emanating.

The fragment of the term "[Cross-border Resonance]" (extremely small amount) flickered slightly.