A second life, An Eternal journey to Immortality

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A week passed in the blink of an eye, and today was the day of the spirit rice harvest.

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and ripened grain. A soft mist lingered over the fields, dissipating slowly as the golden sunlight spread across the land. Today was the spirit rice harvest.

Jiang Cheng adjusted his straw hat and stepped onto the narrow dirt path leading to his small plot. The spirit rice swayed gently in the breeze, their golden-green stalks shimmering faintly with spiritual energy.

Unlike mundane crops, spirit rice absorbed the essence of the land, making it far more nourishing—but also far more delicate to harvest.

This wasn't a task that could be rushed.

He bent down, gripping the base of a stalk with his left hand while wielding a crescent-shaped spirit harvesting sickle in his right. With a smooth, controlled motion, he sliced through the stalk, ensuring minimal loss of spiritual energy.

The blade glowed faintly, enhanced by a simple Qi circulation technique that preserved the essence within the grains.

With practiced efficiency, Jiang Cheng gathered the cut stalks and set them aside to dry. The process had to be done with care—too much force would disrupt the Qi within the rice, lowering its potency, while harvesting too slowly could let the energy leak away.

Nearby, his neighbors were hard at work in their own plots, moving methodically through their fields. Old Man He, an experienced farmer with over sixty years of harvesting behind him, worked at a steady pace.

His hands, weathered by time and labor, handled the rice stalks with the precision of a craftsman. His grandson, Little He, trailed behind him, clumsily mimicking his movements.

"Careful, boy," Old Man He grunted.

"Don't cut too high—leave the roots intact. Spirit rice grows stronger with each season if you harvest it properly."

Little He wiped the sweat from his brow. "Yes, Grandpa!"

Further down the field, Widow Li worked alongside her son, the two chatting as they bundled the stalks into neat sheaves. She glanced up and caught sight of Jiang Cheng, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Look at Jiang boy," she murmured to her son. "Steady hands, precise cut, He's not bad you should learn from him.

Her son, a young man in his early twenties, chuckled. "You mean he's not just a secluded mad cultivator?"

Widow Li loughed . "He might still be, but at least he's useful."

Jiang Cheng twitched. His hearing had sharpened considerably with cultivation, and while he had grown used to the occasional gossip, it still annoyed him.

On the other side of the field, Auntie Zhang was helping to tie up the harvested rice, chatting animatedly with Old Liu, who—despite claiming he was too old to work—was keeping a sharp eye on everything.

"I still say there's something strange about him," Old Liu muttered, stealing a glance at Jiang Cheng. "That laugh of his last week… gives me goosebumps just thinking about it."

Auntie Wu snorted. "Let it go, Old Liu. If he were really a demonic cultivator, do you think he'd be out here harvesting spirit rice with us?"

Old Liu crossed his arms. "Maybe it's just a cover."

Jiang Cheng, standing just a few feet away, let out a sigh and straightened up, brushing off the bits of husk stuck to his robe. "Old Liu," he called out.

The elderly man jolted slightly but quickly covered it up with a cough. "What?"

Jiang Cheng gave him a lazy smile. "You've got so much energy for gossip. How about putting some of it into the harvest? Your plot looks untouched."

Old Liu huffed. "Bah! My back isn't what it used to be!"

Auntie Wu snickered. "His back is fine when he's running his mouth, though."

The surrounding neighbors chuckled, and Old Liu grumbled under his breath, pretending not to hear.

Jiang Cheng shook his head and got back to work. As much as his neighbors loved to talk, they were still good people. He had grown accustomed to their presence, their quirks, and even their endless curiosity about his affairs.

By the time the sun had climbed higher into the sky, the harvest was nearly done. Bundles of spirit rice lay neatly stacked, ready to be transported back to their homes for further drying and processing.

Jiang Cheng stretched, feeling the ache in his muscles—not from exhaustion, but from the steady, repetitive movements of the harvest. It was a different kind of training, one that required patience and care rather than brute strength.

He glanced over the field, watching as his neighbors wrapped up their own work, exchanging jokes and lighthearted complaints about aching backs and sore knees.

Jiang Cheng stood before the neatly bundled stacks of spirit rice, his expression darkening as he calculated his earnings—or rather, the lack of them.

all the spiritual plants you grow will be purchased by the market at 50% of the market price.

The market price of spiritual rice is ten spirit stones per hundred pounds , but the purchase price in puchan Market will be five spirit stones per hundred pounds.

With such a commission, even if the spiritual rice yield per mu is very high, reaching a two thousand pounds, after half year of hard work, the spiritual farmer can only earn himself 500 spiritual stones at most from five mu of spiritual field.

The annual income of five hundred spirit stones could be mostly covered by the rent of one hundred and twenty spirit stones if one lived in the market town.

After working hard for half year, after deducting the rent, cultivation resources,there will nothing left .

This is really a way to make money in the market and spend it in the market. I want to take it home as soon as I leave.

But even so, if one wants to stay in the market, the profession of spirit plant husband is still very popular.

Not for anything else.

One reason is that there are Foundation Establishment cultivators stationed in the market town, so it is very safe.

Jiang Cheng let out a bitter chuckle. "They really want to squeeze us to death, huh?"

At this rate, he would barely have enough profit to make it worth the effort. This was the fate of small-scale farmers. He had heard the older farmers complain about it plenty of times, but now that he was experiencing it firsthand, the frustration hit differently.

He clenched his jaw. This is the last time I work as a farmer.

Cultivation required resources—herbs, pills, equipment. If he continued wasting time in the fields, he would never progress fast enough. There had to be a better way.

A few of the neighboring farmers were also finishing up their harvest, and Jiang Cheng could hear their grumbles.

"After all this work, what do we get? Barely enough to last the season."

"We slave away from dawn till dusk, but the sect elders and merchants take all the profits."

"As Jiang Cheng straightened from his work, he heard Old Liu's familiar grumble drifting through the fields.

"I'm telling you, boy, hard work doesn't mean fair pay," the old man muttered to Little He.

"Back in my father's day, at least they pretended to give us a fair price. Now? They just cut it however they please."

Jiang Cheng gave a quiet chuckle, brushing off his hands. "You say that every season, Old Liu, but you're still here."

old Liu give him a look, crossing his arms. "And where else would I go, huh? The sect's got the land, the sect's got the market, the sect's got the spirit stones. We're all just spinning in circles."

Little He, wiping sweat from his brow, glanced at Jiang Cheng. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

The question hung in the air. The neighbors nearby slowed their work, ears perking up.

Jiang Cheng exhaled slowly. "Yeah. This is my last harvest."

Auntie Zhang clucked her tongue. "Figures. You're too sharp for a life of dirt and sweat. But don't think those talismans will be any easier, boy."

Jiang Cheng was surprised that they know he was a talismane master, then he smiled. "At least I won't be at someone else's mercy."

Old Liu looked at him and said jokingly "don't forget about us boy"

Jiang Cheng loughed " how can I forget an old man like you haha"

The neighbors burs in lougher.

Jiang Cheng sigh, The system was rigged.

And he had no intention of playing a losing game.

He dusted off his hands, looking at the vast fields one last time. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden hue over the land.

It was beautiful.

But beauty didn't fill a cultivator's storage bag with wealth.

Then Jiang Cheng made his way through the busy market, his heart heavy with thoughts of the future. The day was warm, and the faint scent of earth and spirit herbs filled the air. He could feel the weight of the spirit rice, neatly stored in his storage bag, but it didn't ease his mind. His thoughts were consumed by his decision to leave the fields for good.

As he arrived at the Qinglin Spirit Plant Pavilion, the familiar structure loomed ahead, an imposing building that seemed to breathe with the pulse of the land. The garden around it was filled with rows of spirit plants, and the scent of vibrant herbs mixed with the earthy smell of the soil.

Jiang Cheng had come here countless times before, but today felt different.

He approached the pavilion's entrance, and sure enough, an old man sat in the shade, engrossed in a book. His name was Lin Zhihao, an accomplished cultivator who had reached the seventh level of Qi Refining. One of the pavilion's managers under the jurisdiction of Puchan Square, Mr Lin was responsible for overseeing spiritual plant farmers and managing the distribution of spirit rice and golden bamboo seeds.

Jiang Cheng had met him before, but today, he was not just another farmer coming to sell his crop. Today, he had made his decision.

Jiang Cheng bowed respectfully, his hands clasped in front of him.

"Mr. Lin, junior has collected the spirit rice of this season. Today, I have come to sell it all to you and, at the same time, pay the rent. This will be the last time I will be working here."

the old man on duty was holding a book and reading it with a great interest, he put dawn the book when he saw someone coming .

"It's you. You came here half a year ago. I see you've been diligent in your work. The rice looks well-cultivated."

Jiang Cheng nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Lin. I've done my best."

Lin Zian picked up a ledger and began recording the details of the spirit rice. As he worked, he asked without looking up, "Why are you quitting? The work of a spiritual farmer is stable and provides a steady income."

Jiang Cheng replied calmly, "I've learned some knowledge about talismans and wish to pursue that path instead. It's a better fit for my skills."

Lin Zian paused for a moment, then nodded. "Talismans are a specialized field. If you've made up your mind, then that's your decision." He finished recording the details and handed Jiang Cheng a receipt. "Here's the payment for the spirit rice and the remaining balance after deducting the rent."

Jiang Cheng took the receipt and checked the numbers. "Thank you, Mr. Lin."

Lin Zian glanced at him briefly. "If you ever decide to return to spiritual farming, you know where to find me. The pavilion always needs reliable workers."

Jiang Cheng nodded. "Understood. Thank you for your time."

With that, Jiang Cheng turned and left the pavilion. Lin Zian watched him go for a moment, then returned to his book.

As Jiang Cheng left the pavilion, stepping back into the crowded market streets, the feeling struck him again—an almost imperceptible shift in the air, the weight of an unseen gaze pressing against the back of his neck. He didn't turn immediately, keeping his steps even, his posture relaxed. But his pulse quickened. Someone was watching him.

He walked casually past a row of stalls, pretending to examine a bundle of spirit herbs while discreetly scanning his surroundings. A figure, draped in an ordinary brown robe, stood at the edge of the crowd, half-hidden behind a wooden post. The moment Jiang Cheng's eyes flicked in their direction, the figure melted away into the shifting throngs of people.