Chapter 323: Spirit-Eroding Fungus King (1) |
A dozen or so figures leaped down from the Demon Dragon Water-Avoiding Boat. They were all clad in simple gray robes, and not a single one possessed a Storage Bag. These were, without a doubt, the newly promoted Outer Peak disciples.
“In the past, we were lucky to see five promotions a quarter!”
“The numbers have shot up ever since Spirit Envoy Jiang took over the assessments!”
“I remember there were thirteen last time. Are there really fifteen this time?”
The nearby Spirit Farmers murmured in awe. It seemed the record Jiang Chen had just set was about to be broken by the man himself.
Led by Jiang Chen, the fresh-faced disciples began their ascent up the mountain. Seeing the procession, many other Spirit Farmers fell in behind them, their curiosity piqued. The small group of a dozen soon swelled to dozens, and by the time they reached the open plaza at the summit, a crowd of over a hundred had gathered.
Suddenly finding themselves the center of attention for so many formal disciples, Miao Huayu and the others shifted nervously, their eyes wide with apprehension.
Jiang Chen’s calm voice cut through their anxiety. “Do not forget, you are formal disciples now. You are their equals.”
His words were a steadying balm. The new disciples took a collective breath, their shoulders straightened, and they crossed the threshold into the grand palace. For all but Miao Huayu, it was their first time inside, and their gazes darted everywhere, taking in the unfamiliar splendor.
The disciples immediately bowed, cupping their hands in respect. A few, overwhelmed, even dropped to their knees.
Elder Mu’s eyes crinkled in surprise. “This batch is even larger than the spring one. Little Jiang, have you broken the record again?”
“Their success is the fruit of their own labor,” Jiang Chen replied, his expression impassive.
Elder Mu’s gaze sharpened, a newfound respect dawning in his eyes. Any other formal disciple would be preening, frantically taking credit for such an achievement. Yet here was Jiang Chen, not only deflecting the praise but deliberately remaining humble and low-key, ensuring the spotlight remained on the disciples he had brought.
Sensing it was time to depart, Jiang Chen offered a bow. “Manager, I have delivered them. I have other matters to attend to this evening, if you’ll excuse me.”
Elder Mu understood perfectly and gave a curt nod. “You may go.”
Jiang Chen turned back to the new disciples. He produced copies of the *Spirit Farm Hundred Records* and handed them out, his tone firm. “Remember to study. Read these texts diligently. A Second-Grade Spirit Farm offers a greater yield, but it also presents far greater challenges. You must be prepared.”
As Miao Huayu and the others accepted the records, their faces filled with gratitude.
Jiang Chen paused, then added, “If you run into any real trouble, seek out Xu Linshan’s group. They were promoted a quarter before you and have more experience. They’re familiar faces; there’s no shame in asking for help.”
With a final word of advice, he turned and left.
There was less than an hour until nightfall. He immediately summoned his Demon Dragon Water-Avoiding Boat, which shot toward his home like a black arrow. As expected, the vessel was leagues faster than his Giant Leaf, and he arrived in a fraction of the time.
He spent the remaining daylight washing vegetables and preparing his meal. As time bled away, the sun dipped below the western mountains, and the moon began its ascent in the east. Soon, a tranquil darkness enveloped the Spirit Farm.
Jiang Chen emerged from his stone house and walked to the kennel. Da Huang was inside, gnawing contentedly on a bone. “I’m heading out,” Jiang Chen said. “Not sure when I’ll be back. You’re in charge of the chickens, the turtle, and the fish in the pond. Keep them safe.”
Da Huang stopped chewing, tilting its head to look up at its master. Whether the dog understood was anyone’s guess.
Jiang Chen gave the dog’s head a firm pat, then leaped into the air. Mid-flight, he summoned the Giant Leaf, and the massive leaf propelled him into the night sky, disappearing in a flash.
Before long, he arrived at the newly cultivated fields belonging to the Zhao Clan. The Grain Master, Zhu Fuxian, was there, as was the Earth Vein Abyss Master, Shi Yuan. Zhao Feng stood beside them, accompanied by an older man from his clan.
Jiang Chen landed gracefully and cupped his hands. “Greetings, Grain Master, Abyss Master.”
Zhu Fuxian offered a faint smile. “You arrived quickly.”
Jiang Chen blinked. “I thought I might be of some assistance.”
At that moment, Zhao Feng pulled the older man forward. “Fellow Daoist Jiang, this is my third uncle, Rong Fa. He is one of our Spirit Farm’s most veteran farmers, with decades of experience, particularly in tending to mutated spirit plants.”
Ordinarily, Jiang Chen would be expected to greet the elder first out of respect for his age. But here, status trumped seniority.
It was Rong Fa who bowed respectfully. “Spirit Envoy Jiang!”
Jiang Chen’s eyes lit up, not with friendliness, but with calculation. An asset. “An expert in mutated plants? We will have much to discuss in the future.”
Rong Fa blinked, taken aback by the intensity, before nodding awkwardly. “Of course, of course.”
Jiang Chen then turned his full attention to the field before them. Three stalks of Thousand-Ear Golden Light Rice had been planted as bait. They were immature, standing just over two meters tall, a far cry from the five-meter height of a mature plant. Their pale green stalks looked almost fragile under the moonlight.
He finally understood the Grain Master’s envy. So this was the power of the Spirit Farm’s First Family, a legacy of a thousand years. While others hoarded a single mutated plant like a family heirloom, the Zhao Clan could casually plant three as bait. Judging by their calm demeanor, this was just the tip of the iceberg.
They waited.
The hours crawled by, from late evening into the deep of night, yet the field remained utterly still.
“Perhaps it’s not coming,” someone whispered. “After all, the Meridian-Reversing Worm Mother was captured.”
“Should we keep waiting, then?”
Besides Jiang Chen and the two masters, a number of Zhao Clan members and their hired hands were also standing vigil. As midnight approached with no sign of movement from beneath the earth, murmurs of doubt began to ripple through the crowd.
Zhu Fuxian’s gaze, sharp as a blade, swept across them, and the whispers died instantly. “All non-essential personnel will leave this area at once,” he commanded, his voice laced with ice. “Return at dawn.”
The Zhao Clan members and their tenant farmers hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances.
The faces of Zhao Feng and Rong Fa darkened. “Did you not hear the Grain Master’s command?” Zhao Feng snapped.
Jiang Chen watched the exchange with cold amusement. So much for the Grain Master’s authority. The Zhao Clan’s dogs only answer to their true masters. Only a direct order from their own clan’s leadership could move them.
Soon, the crowd dispersed, and an abrupt silence fell over the field. The lively chatter was replaced by a tense, waiting stillness.
Those who remained settled in for the long haul.
Time slipped by until the fifth watch, the dead of midnight. The world was utterly silent; not even the chirp of an insect could be heard.
And then, it happened.
On the three stalks of Thousand-Ear Golden Light Rice, a sickly, bluish-purple luminescence bloomed across their stems and leaves, spreading like a visible plague. The change was terrifyingly fast. Simultaneously, a faint, dry skittering echoed from beneath the soil—the sound of a thousand tiny legs scrabbling through the dirt.
It was here. The Spirit-Eroding Fungus King had come for its prize.
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