Chapter Forty-Two: A Modest Harvest

At the foot of Changling Mountain.

It was as if by silent agreement—many spirit farmers had decided to harvest their Spirit Grain Rice on this very day.

Thus, from early morning, numerous spirit farmers hurried to their fields.

Especially Old Xu, whose entire family, young and old alike, joined the effort.

Ten acres of spirit fields—how could one not be busy for quite some time?

Some spirit farmers who lived alone spared no expense, hiring one or two innate martial artists to help with the work.

Though the stalks of Spirit Grain Rice were tough, the sickles were sharp, and with innate true energy from the martial artists, harvesting the grain was no challenge.

“Let’s begin. Let’s try to harvest all the spirit rice today,” Zhou Qiankun said in a low voice, grabbing a sickle and heading into the fields.

Zhou Changwang did not shirk, taking his own sickle and entering the fields from the other side.

He stirred the spiritual energy within, channeling it into the sickle. Grasping a stalk, he sliced forcefully.

The stalk was severed, and he placed it aside, moving on to the next, harvesting one after another. After a dozen stalks, he paused briefly, gathering all the stalks together.

Compared to Zhou Changwang, his father Zhou Qiankun was much faster.

He simply stood in place, aiming the blade at the Spirit Grain Rice. True energy surged, and the blade flashed.

A muffled sound—before him, a swath of Spirit Grain Rice fell to his sickle, which he gathered and stacked neatly to the side, then stepped forward and struck again.

Each stroke harvested a patch; each patch formed a pile.

Repeating this process.

By the time Zhou Changwang finished a bundle, three piles had already appeared at his father’s side.

Picking up the grain took some time—otherwise, the pace would be even swifter.

Seeing this, Zhou Changwang quickly stepped forward. “Father, you harvest, I’ll gather—it’ll go faster.”

Hearing this, Zhou Qiankun nodded and surged his true energy, swinging his blade.

With each sweep, a swath fell, and Zhou Changwang followed, swiftly collecting the stalks.

Their teamwork was seamless; the speed astonishing.

In less than half an hour, an acre of spirit fields was harvested.

Next, Zhou Changwang dragged over a cart, preparing to thresh the grain. Zhou Qiankun stopped him. “No need for all that trouble.”

He placed the stalks in the cart, then shook his body slightly. With the transmission of force, the Spirit Grain condensed atop the stalks flew off, cleanly separated.

On the stalks, save for one or two shriveled grains, not a single kernel remained.

“Father, what martial technique is that? And the blade method you used earlier to harvest—it seemed powerful as well,” Zhou Changwang asked curiously.

“That’s the Spirit Rhinoceros Shake. By transmitting force and utilizing the shaking motion, the grains at the tip of the stalk are shaken off. It’s nothing special—most innate martial artists can easily master it.

“As for the blade technique, it’s called Windward Slash. It embodies the idea of advancing against the wind, slashing in defiance of its force. If one’s mastery is high, they can even harmonize with heaven and earth, slashing with the wind.

“In other words, even if the wind blows against the blade’s edge, the martial artist can meld with it, borrowing its force to enhance the power.”

At first, Zhou Qiankun spoke with some pride, but upon glancing at Zhou Changwang, he quickly changed his tone. “These are minor arts. Compared to spells, they’re nothing. Don’t waste your time on them. Mastering spells and increasing cultivation—that is what matters most.

“Once you reach the fourth layer of the Qi Refining stage, no matter what martial artist you face, they’re nothing but chickens and dogs—not worth mentioning.”

“I still believe the way of martial arts has its own merits,” Zhou Changwang replied. He knew his father’s martial skill was truly remarkable—a peak martial artist in the truest sense.

But alas, this was a world of cultivation. With the path forward cut off, even the pinnacle of martial arts could not stand against a cultivator at the fourth layer of Qi Refining.

Once a cultivator reached the fourth layer, their spiritual force could merge with their spirit, becoming spiritual perception. No matter how exquisite the martial arts, before spiritual perception, they could not hide. Moreover, cultivators at this stage could freely control magical artifacts, making them powerful and elusive. Even innate martial artists, protected by true energy, were ultimately mortal bodies, unable to withstand the power.

Thus, Zhou Qiankun had always opposed Zhou Changwang practicing martial arts, not wanting him to waste time.

“In the end, it’s merely the skill of mortals—of no consequence,” Zhou Qiankun shook his head with a sigh.

Zhou Changwang wished to offer some comfort, but could only remain silent.

There were body cultivation methods in the world of immortals, but even those required a spiritual root to train. Mortal flesh could not bear the cleansing of spiritual energy.

Perhaps there might be genius in martial arts who could forge a new path, stepping onto the road of entering the Dao through martial arts—but at least within Fengming Manor’s market, such a figure had never appeared.

Twenty years Zhou Qiankun had searched, and never heard of such a person.

Afterward, Zhou Qiankun continued his work.

With the Spirit Rhinoceros Shake, he threshed the Spirit Grain Rice at astonishing speed.

Zhou Changwang simply needed to take out sacks and fill them with the threshed grain.

Soon, another acre was harvested, with three sacks of spirit grain beside him.

“One sack is about two hundred pounds—three makes six hundred. Subtracting the husks, that’s roughly five hundred fifty pounds,” Zhou Changwang calculated, satisfied.

Five hundred fifty pounds—more than his planned yield.

The surplus was pure profit.

The second acre, however, had been ravaged by the Ironclad Boar. Though later aided by the Withered Wood Revitalization Spell, some of the eaten grain could not regrow.

In the end, barely two sacks were harvested—about four hundred pounds, and after removing the husks, the yield was around three hundred seventy pounds.

The third acre brought a pleasant surprise to Zhou Changwang—six hundred seventy pounds of grain, yielding six hundred twenty pounds of rice after husking.

“All told, I’ve harvested a total of one thousand five hundred thirty pounds of spirit rice. Even without accounting for the Ironclad Boar’s rampage, the average per acre reaches five hundred pounds—a modest bounty.

“It’s a fair reward for all my efforts.”

Looking at the sacks of spirit grain piled in the field, Zhou Changwang smiled.

As for the underperforming acre, he received compensation another way.

The Ironclad Boar, sold by Zhou Qiankun, brought him one hundred ten lower-grade spirit stones.

Now, his total spirit stones had reached over eight hundred eighty.

The thousand-stone mark was within sight.

…

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