The sun had barely risen when Ning drove the hoe into the earth.
The blade struck the soil with a dull thud. He twisted his wrists, stepped forward, and struck again, working in a steady rhythm.
Each impact reverberated up his arms and settled deep into his shoulders. Sector Three's soil was nothing like the dirt he remembered from Earth. Beneath the topsoil lay a compacted layer strengthened by years of formation reinforcement, designed to trap qi and prevent spiritual energy from dissipating.
Unfortunately, that also made the ground incredibly hard, forcing Ning to put his full strength behind every stroke.
Alas, he had thought too simply in the beginning.
Spiritual farming might have involved spiritual crops and qi, but farming was still farming. The fields needed to be tilled, seeds needed to be planted, and crops needed to be watered.
By midmorning, sweat traced steady paths down his spine. The body he had inherited was strong, honed through years of martial discipline, and without that foundation, he probably would have collapsed within hours. Even so, his palms blistered beneath the wooden handle, and his lower back throbbed with an unforgiving ache.
Once the soil was prepared, he began planting Basic Grain.
As the name suggested, Basic Grain was the lowest-tier spiritual crop offered by the sect. It carried no elemental attribute and had no special requirements, making it suitable even for novice spiritual farmers.
There was, however, one thing it needed.
Spiritual rain.
And that was precisely the problem.
Ning couldn't produce spiritual rain. Not yet, at least.
Until he mastered the Small Cloud Rain Technique, all the water his crops needed had to be carried from the river by hand.
Fortunately, the river wasn't particularly far away. Unfortunately, a short walk became considerably less short when you had to make it over and over again while carrying two buckets of water.
Ning fashioned a shoulder pole from spare lumber and suspended a bucket from either end. The first trip was manageable. By the fourth, the pole had rubbed his shoulders raw. By the eighth, every step felt like hell.
“I don't think this is how I imagined my cultivation life,” Ning muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow.
When he first learned that he would be assigned to spiritual farming, he had at least expected some assistance. An ox. A sect puppet. Perhaps even a simple mechanical contraption.
Instead, he had a pole, two buckets, and a hoe.
The so-called mystical world had proven surprisingly mundane.
When Ning asked Old Zhou why they had to farm this way, the old man replied plainly, “It's the sect's rule. Physical labor helps newly condensed qi stabilize within the body. You adapt faster when the body moves.”
For a moment, Ning was speechless.
Annoying as it was, he couldn't exactly argue with the results.
After several days of hauling water, circulating qi while moving had indeed become easier. His qi followed his breathing more naturally, and his steps felt steadier than before.
Still, understanding the reasoning didn't make the buckets any lighter.
“Alas, I can only hope cultivation can cure back pain.” Ning sighed.
Days passed like this.
Hoe at dawn. Water by noon. Study by night beneath the light of a talisman lamp.
Gradually, the rhythm became routine and the soreness familiar. Ning learned the slopes and uneven patches of his land by instinct, while circulating qi as he worked became almost second nature.
Yet one problem remained.
His fields needed spiritual rain.
Fortunately, that was about to change.
...
After planting the final stretch of grain, Ning straightened and rolled his aching shoulders before surveying the field.
Over the past week, he had divided the land into several sections, rotating the watering schedule while carefully observing how the soil behaved. He noted which patches dried first, where the ground sloped gently toward the west, and how the eastern edge received the morning sun long before the rest of the field. He had even carved shallow channels to drain excess water rather than letting it gather into stagnant pools.
They were only small adjustments, but improvements were still improvements.
His gaze drifted toward the jade slip resting on a nearby stone.
Small Cloud Rain Technique.
He had studied it every night before sleeping, again every morning after waking, and often a third time whenever he found a quiet moment.
If he were being honest, hauling bucket after bucket of water had become his greatest source of motivation. The heavier they felt, the more determined he became to memorize every circulation pathway, hand seal, and line recorded within the technique.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
Unlike martial arts, spells demanded much finer control. Qi had to leave the dantian, circulate through a precise sequence of meridians, gather within the palms, and finally be released through the correct hand seals to produce the desired phenomenon.
Ning drew in a slow breath and raised his hands.
One seal flowed naturally into the next as qi stirred within his dantian and climbed steadily through his meridians. Whenever he sensed the slightest resistance, he carefully moderated the flow to avoid placing unnecessary strain on them.
As the final seal came together, he softly recited the incantation recorded within the jade slip.
"Clouds gather above. Gentle rain nourishes all beneath."
The surrounding spiritual qi answered.
The air overhead rippled as wisps of mist emerged from seemingly nowhere, gradually thickening until they condensed into a small gray cloud several meters above the field.
A single droplet fell.
Within moments, gentle rain began to patter across the earth.
Ning immediately felt the drain on his qi. Maintaining a spell consumed far more spiritual energy than practicing martial arts, yet there was something strangely satisfying about watching the dry soil darken as the rain soaked into the ground. The freshly planted grains swayed gently beneath the falling droplets, absorbing the traces of spiritual energy carried within them.
Once the field had received enough water, Ning dispersed the technique with a wave of his hand.
The cloud dissolved almost instantly, leaving behind clear blue sky and the fresh scent of damp earth.
Ning remained where he was, breathing a little heavily as he stared at the watered field.
"...Holy crap." A grin slowly spread across his face. "I actually did magic."
He had always known cultivators could summon storms, split mountains, and soar through the heavens. Until now, however, those had merely been facts inherited from Ji Ning's memories, not so different from the things he had once read about in novels.
Actually calling rain from an empty sky with his own power was different.
For the first time since arriving in this world, cultivation felt truly real.
Ning looked across the neatly watered field, his grin widening.
"More importantly, I don't have to carry buckets anymore."
...
"Old Zhou, how does the Small Cloud Rain Technique actually work?" Ning asked.
Every two days, Old Zhou would impart various bits of farming knowledge to him. Guiding newcomers was one of the responsibilities of senior farmers, and in just the past week, Ning had already learned quite a bit.
Spiritual plants had ranks, and each came with its own requirements. Even something as simple as Basic Grain needed steady spiritual rain and careful management. Weeds weren't merely weeds but competitors for the spiritual energy in the soil, while the soil itself could be refined, balanced, and even improved through various techniques.
And all of that was merely the foundation.
"The entirety of Sector Three sits atop a great farming formation," Old Zhou explained patiently. "When you cast the Small Cloud Rain Technique, you aren't pulling water out of thin air. You're guiding the formation's stored spiritual energy and using it to gather clouds that produce qi-rich rain."
"I see." Ning nodded.
Practical enough for daily use. Vague enough to dodge the deeper questions.
A classic cultivator explanation.
Of course, Ning wasn't entirely satisfied. Weather control, energy circulation, formation theory—there had to be far more going on beneath the surface. But Old Zhou probably didn't know the deeper principles either.
"Old Zhou, your knowledge is truly profound. I admire you."
Ning spoke earnestly, slipping into the role of a flattering junior with practiced ease. Praise cost nothing, so why not brighten the old man's day?
Unfortunately, the trick that had worked quite well over the past few days seemed to have finally lost its effect.
Old Zhou merely waved his hand. "Profound? Hardly."
His gaze wandered across the fields before drifting toward the distant inner regions of the sect.
"This is about as far as it goes for people like us."
Ning paused. "What do you mean?"
"Status," Old Zhou replied simply. "Our standing in the sect is too low. We farm, maintain the fields, and produce resources. That's all. The better resources, guidance, and opportunities naturally flow upward."
He snorted softly. "Cultivation is already difficult enough. Starting from the bottom only makes it slower."
Ning frowned.
That sounded uncomfortably familiar.
"Is there any way to change that?"
Old Zhou glanced at him in mild surprise before nodding. "There is."
Ning leaned forward slightly.
"Spiritual profession certification," Old Zhou explained. "Obtain a First-Tier certificate, and your standing changes. You're no longer considered ordinary labor. You become..." He paused, seemingly searching for the right word. "Useful."
"There's one for spiritual farming?"
"Of course." Old Zhou chuckled. "Those who pass the examination are recognized as Spiritual Plant Masters. Even a First-Tier certificate comes with benefits. For one thing, the amount of your harvest taken by the sect is significantly reduced."
Ning's eyes immediately sharpened at that.
"Then why haven't you taken the examination?"
Old Zhou's smile thinned.
"Because passing isn't easy. For the farming examination, you need to cultivate three planting spells to Great Success."
He raised two fingers.
"I only have two. The Small Cloud Rain Technique and the Soil Refining Art."
"What about the third?"
Old Zhou shook his head with a helpless smile. "Never managed it. No matter how many years I practiced, I couldn't cross that final threshold."
He tapped his chest.
"I was born with only the earth elemental attribute. Learning techniques aligned with it comes naturally enough, but anything outside it..." He sighed. "That third spell simply wasn't meant for me."
There wasn't a trace of resentment in his voice. He spoke as though he were stating an ordinary fact, one he had accepted long ago.
Ning fell silent.
Seeing the atmosphere grow heavy, Old Zhou suddenly clapped his hands and laughed, the gloom disappearing from his face almost instantly.
"So I stopped worrying about it!"
Ning blinked. "You... stopped worrying?"
"I may be getting old," Old Zhou continued cheerfully, "but a cultivator's vitality doesn't begin declining until around sixty. Once I've had enough of this place, I'll return to the mortal world, marry a few concubines, and hope one of my descendants has some talent."
He sighed and shook his head.
"My low-grade spiritual root has already kept me stuck for twenty years. Reaching the late stages of Qi Condensation with it is harder than ascending the heavens."
"Spiritual roots, huh..." Ning murmured.
Compared to Old Zhou, he really was fortunate. A mid-grade spiritual root might not have been heaven-defying, but with enough effort and resources, reaching the later stages of Qi Condensation was at least a realistic goal.
"To be honest," Old Zhou added, narrowing his eyes enviously, "I'm rather jealous of you, Junior Brother. Not only do you have a mid-grade spiritual root, but you also possess all five elemental attributes as well. When it comes to farming, you could practically be called..."
He stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"The Congenital Holy Farming Body."
Ning's lips twitched.
Oh, for heaven's sake.
Why did cultivators insist on giving ridiculous names to everything?
Holy Farming Body? Really?
Still, beneath Old Zhou's easy smile, Ning could sense a trace of genuine regret.
He hesitated before speaking. "Old Zhou, I-"
"But enough of that!" Old Zhou waved him off before a broad, thoroughly lewd grin spread across his face. "Once I retire, I'll return home and live like an emperor. Ten beautiful mortal wives... no, make it twenty! If the Dao refuses to let me ascend, I'll spend the rest of my years surrounded by beauties instead!"
Ning stared at him.
The sympathy he had painstakingly gathered vanished without a trace.
Fudge.
Give me back my concern, you shameless old goat.