The roosters had barely crowed when Lin Fan stepped outside, a wicker basket in one hand and determination in his chest. A thin mist curled over the paddies, but the first orange band of dawn already peeked above the low hills. Today, he told himself, he would push the field all the way to perfect health and earn that new skill the Spirit Farmer System kept dangling in front of him.
He walked the narrow mud dikes, palms open, letting the faint glow in his fingertips guide him. Here and there a rice shoot still sagged or browned at the edges. Each time he paused, pressed his hand to the soil, and whispered, "Grow." A soft pulse warmed his palm; a system line blinked behind his eyes.
[Growth Touch used. Spirit Energy –1]
[Field health: 91 %]
Lin Fan exhaled and moved on. The work was slow, but it felt honest, and the sunrise on his back was worth all the sweat in the world. By mid-morning he had mended every sickly patch except a stubborn corner near the bamboo fence. The water there was stagnant, tinged with an ugly sheen. He crouched, shoved his arm elbow-deep into the sludge, and churned it until fresh water seeped through the cracks.
[Growth Touch used. Spirit Energy –1]
[Field health: 97 %]
Almost there. He stood, wiping mud onto his trouser leg, and glanced toward the house. Through the open window he saw his mother folding a blanket, her motions slow but far steadier than they had been just a week ago. A tiny smile lit his face. One more push.
He trimmed weeds, realigned a crooked irrigation board, and scattered a handful of compost saved from last season. When he finally straightened, sweat dripped off his chin but every rice blade in sight stood tall and emerald.
[Congratulations! Field health: 100 %]
[Reward unlocked: Spirit Sense]
A soft tingling spread from his forehead across his eyes. Colors brightened; sounds sharpened. It was as though a thin veil had been lifted from the world. He stared at the nearest rice clump and felt not just saw, its quiet thirst and slow contentment. Life itself hummed like faint music.
He blinked, stunned, then turned his gaze toward the house. Even from twenty paces he could sense his mother's energy: a fragile flame, flickering but alive. The system offered no words this time, only silent understanding. Spirit Sense let him read the vitality of living things.
For the next hour he practiced on dragonflies, sparrows, and even a moss-covered stone that turned out to be a sleepy toad. Each reading cost no energy, only focus, yet the insights felt priceless. If he could sense illness in plants, could he learn to sense and maybe heal the sickness in his mother?
The question stayed with him while he washed up, changed clothes, and helped cook a simple millet porridge. He almost shared everything right there at the hearth, but a knock interrupted them.
Bang. Bang.
Lin Fan opened the door to see Village Chief Han accompanied by an unfamiliar man in a neat gray robe. The stranger's beard was trimmed, his boots spotless even after the muddy road. An official, Lin guessed.
"Morning, Lin Fan," Chief Han said in his measured tone. "This is Steward Liu from Magistrate Cao's estate over the ridge."
Steward Liu offered a thin smile. "Word of your miraculous harvest has reached the magistrate. He sends congratulations and curiosity." The man's gaze swept the flourishing field. "Few farmers achieve such vigor so early in the season. The magistrate wonders if your methods might benefit his own lands."
Lin's heart thumped. "I...I just care for the soil carefully, sir. Nothing more."
Steward Liu nodded, but his eyes were calculating. "How admirable. Still, Magistrate Cao requests you visit his manor in three days' time. Share your techniques, perhaps negotiate a… cooperative arrangement." The pause after those last words felt heavy.
Chief Han cleared his throat. "Lin Fan is a dutiful son. Travel may be difficult with his mother's health"
"The magistrate's physician is renowned," Liu interrupted smoothly. "If the boy's methods prove useful, care for his mother could be arranged." He produced a stamped notice and pressed it into Lin Fan's hand. "Three days. Don't be late."
With a polite nod the steward turned, boots somehow avoiding every puddle, and strode off the lane. Chief Han lingered.
"I tried to stall," the chief murmured, voice low enough that only Lin could hear, "but a magistrate outranks any village head. Be cautious, son. Gifts often come with chains."
Lin Fan bowed. "Thank you, Chief." When the older man left, Lin closed the door and unfolded the notice. A crimson seal glared up at him like a drop of blood.
His mother touched his sleeve. "What does it say?"
"An invitation," he answered, forcing calm, "and a promise of treatment for you."
She studied his face. "Do you trust them?"
"I don't know yet." He helped her sit, then ladled porridge into two bowls. While she ate, he extended his new sense, feeling the weak flutter of her life force. It sputtered near her lungs like a candle in wind. He laid a hand on her back, willing warmth to flow, but nothing happened. Growth Touch was for plants; Spirit Sense only observed. Healing a human lay beyond him for now.
Afternoon light slanted through the doorway when Lin Fan headed out again, basket on his arm. "I'm gathering herbs by the creek," he called. The true purpose was practice: if Spirit Sense could detect subtle energies, perhaps certain wild plants carried medicine he'd overlooked.
Down by the water he knelt among reeds, closing his eyes until the world hummed. A patch of broad-leafed herb glowed faintly blue in his mind's sight cool, soothing energy. He picked several leaves, sniffed the sharp scent, and tucked them into the basket. Deeper in the brush a cluster of purple buds pulsed with gentle warmth, different from anything he'd seen. He gathered those too.
"Looking for something special, Lin Fan?" a voice asked.
He jerked upright. Zhang Wei, Auntie Mei's nephew, a lanky youth with sharp cheekbones stood a few steps away, arms folded. "Saw you poking around with your eyes closed. Strange habit."
"Just listening to the creek," Lin lied. He slung the basket over his shoulder and started back toward the path. Zhang Wei fell in beside him.
"People say Chief Han got a letter about your rice," Zhang continued, voice casual but probing. "Say you're headed to the magistrate's manor. Must feel nice, all that attention."
Lin offered a non-committal hum.
Zhang's smile was thin. "Careful, cousin. Spotlight can burn." He veered off toward his family plot, leaving the warning hanging like fog.
By dusk, Lin's head ached from thinking. Steward Liu's summons, Zhang Wei's curiosity, his mother's fragile health all presses closing in. Yet under it all ran a steady current of hope. The Spirit Farmer System had given him power, but also responsibility. If he could master it, perhaps he could negotiate on his own terms, protect his land, even cure his mother without owing anyone.
He sat beneath the spirit tree, letting its calming energy seep into him. Fireflies winked over the paddies, mirroring the tiny green glow in his fingertips. Three days, he thought. Plenty of time to learn something new if he dared.
Overhead, a lone night bird called. The world felt vast and watchful, as though unseen eyes beyond the hills were already judging his next move. Lin Fan squared his shoulders, breathed the warm summer air, and made his silent promise: he would step into that manor not as a helpless farm boy, but as a cultivator of the earth—quiet, steady, and growing stronger with every sunrise.