A day later.
"Hey—slow down, you little gluttons."
Chen Nianzhi couldn't help but chuckle as he looked at the dozen fuzzy ducklings waddling and chirping around him.
All twelve Purple-Feathered Geese had hatched successfully. They were round, soft, and adorable—almost indistinguishable from ducklings of his past life.
But their cuteness came with a heavy cost.
The newly hatched chicks were fragile. A single misstep could kill them.To keep them alive, Chen Nianzhi had no choice but to cook porridge with Spirit Rice—the most precious food he possessed.
Spirit Rice was expensive beyond reason.One spirit stone could buy only three jin of it in the markets.
Back when the Chen Clan had been stable, his family stipend included thirty jin of Spirit Rice per year—worth ten spirit stones—plus additional stones for cultivation. That had been more than enough.
But now, with the family deeply in debt, nearly all their rice had been sold off.Even his own stipend had been cut.If not for the Third Elder, who had insisted on giving him ten jin before his departure, he wouldn't have had any left to feed his new flock.
Those ten jin were supposed to be his personal ration, vital for sustaining his spiritual energy.He'd been rationing it carefully—one or two taels every three days—and after four months on Linghu Isle, only six jin remained.
And now, with twelve hungry mouths, his careful savings were vanishing fast.The fluffy creatures fought and squeaked over the Spirit Rice porridge, spilling half of it on the ground, then waddled over to beg for more, chirping until his head throbbed.
"Eat, eat, eat," he muttered. "At this rate, I'll be bankrupt before you can fly."
Still, grumbling aside, he scooped another handful of Spirit Rice and boiled a pot of porridge.He watched them devour it with innocent joy, their downy wings fluttering, and despite himself, smiled.
When they were finally full and napping, he sat cross-legged outside the bamboo hut and laughed softly to himself.
"In the novels of my last life," he said, "cultivators were graceful as immortals—Sword in hand, stepping through the heavens.Who would've thought I'd end up farming, feeding fish… and raising ducks?"
He shook his head, amused and resigned.
"If someone wrote this as a cultivation story, no one would believe it."
His eyes drifted to the ancient zither resting on the loft of his hut—the only memento of his artistic youth before reincarnation.
He smiled faintly.
"No one ever said cultivation had to be about slaughter.To play the zither, grow fields, feed fish, and raise spirit beasts…Isn't that also a path toward enlightenment?"
His heart felt peaceful.
Cultivation, he reflected, was inseparable from resources.Without cultivation fields, without renewable harvests, the world would collapse into endless robbery and war.
The Demonic Cultivators had proven this time and again—parasites of heaven and earth.They produced nothing, slaughtered mortals and cultivators alike, refining human blood and souls into vile artifacts.Such people were the true destroyers of the cultivation world's foundation.
If the Chen Clan ever fell, its hundreds of thousands of mortal descendants would surely be devoured—blood, flesh, and spirit alike.That was why the family elders guarded Pingyang City year after year—to protect those powerless lives.
"Three taels of Spirit Rice per day…" he muttered, calculating in his mind."With only six jin left, that'll last twenty days. Luckily, once they survive that long, they'll no longer be fragile. After that, they can live on ordinary rice—or forage in the lake."
Indeed, once the geese grew stronger, they could swim freely in Linghu Lake, hunting small fish and insects.The lake was safe, guarded by formations and the docile Azure Spirit Fish. There were no predators left.
Time passed in quiet rhythm.
Each day, Chen Nianzhi cultivated at dawn, tended the spiritual fields, checked on the medicinal herbs, counted the fish, and fed his little flock.Life was simple, peaceful, and strangely fulfilling.
The Summer Harvest
By late July, the Spirit Peach Tree was heavy with fruit.Fifty-six peaches hung from its branches, glowing softly under the sunlight like carved jade.
"They've ripened," he breathed, eyes bright with excitement."Fifty-six fruits—that's two hundred and eighty spirit stones in value."
Grinning, he plucked one and bit into it.The sweetness burst across his tongue, rich with spiritual energy.
"Incredible," he murmured. "No wonder they sell for so much."
Within moments, warmth surged through his meridians. The fruit's energy refined itself into his qi, pushing him against the barrier of the eighth layer of Qi Refinement.
It had been eight months since his last breakthrough. By normal progress, it would take him another two years to reach this point.
But after hunting the two Purple-Feathered Geese months ago—and feasting on their flesh, rich in vitality—his progress had accelerated.Now, with the added energy of the Spirit Peach, the barrier trembled.
"One peach isn't enough," he realized.
He ate another—then a third, a fourth, until seven or eight peaches' worth of energy swirled within him.
Then, sitting cross-legged beneath the peach tree, he began to circulate his qi.
Half an hour later, a white mist escaped his lips as the energy stabilized.He opened his eyes, light glimmering in their depths.
"Qi Refinement—Eighth Layer."
A bright smile spread across his face. His cultivation base felt stronger, more condensed than ever.
At just sixteen years old, reaching the eighth layer was extraordinary—Even among disciples of major sects, few could match such progress.
At this rate, he might reach the ninth layer before twenty—then begin his preparations for Foundation Establishment.
"With fifty peaches each year to aid me, I can advance far faster," he mused."This tree alone might save me years of training."
Looking up at the Spirit Peach Tree swaying in the wind, he felt genuine gratitude.For the first time since coming to this world, his path no longer felt uncertain.
Even if the clan sent no more stipends, he could sustain himself—and perhaps, in time, grow strong enough to repay the debt his family bore.
The months flowed like quiet water.He cultivated, farmed, played the zither, raised geese and fish—and in that stillness, his spirit deepened.
By late autumn, the golden leaves of Linghu Isle drifted across the lake like tiny lanterns.One afternoon, a small boat appeared on the horizon, cutting across the tranquil surface.
A familiar voice called from afar:
"Xiao Nianzhi! I've come!"
Chen Nianzhi stepped out from the bamboo grove, spotting three figures approaching the shore.
Recognition dawned, and he smiled warmly.
"Sixteenth Granduncle."
The man in front was Chen Changlu, sixteenth among the "Chang" generation.Behind him stood his two cousins, Nianqian and Nianyuan, the same pair who had once guarded the island.
Changlu was eighty-nine years old, his cultivation only at the seventh layer of Qi Refinement—low enough to have survived last year's disaster by sheer chance.
As he drew close, his eyes widened, and disbelief flickered across his face.
"Nianzhi… have you reached the Eighth Layer?"