The storm didn't arrive with thunder—it came with a ping.
Lin Feng was sipping tea at home, a rare moment of quiet after a long day in the realm, when his phone lit up with a WeChat notification.
[@LinChenFarm was tagged in a post with 68K views.]
Frowning, he tapped the notification.
The post was from a lifestyle influencer—someone he'd never heard of. Her handle: @GreenGoddessLi. Follower count: 220,000.
The video began with upbeat music and soft filters.
> "Okay, everyone, I have to tell you about this herb box I got. Look at this—look at it! It smells like my grandma's garden, but even fresher…"
The camera zoomed in on one of his produce boxes. It was unmistakably his—the rustic packaging, the microgreens arranged like tiny bonsai fields, and the note:
From soil to soul – Lin Chen Farm.
She lifted a sprig of mint and bit into it dramatically.
> "I've had mint before. I grow it myself. But this—this is next level. Who is this guy?"
The video cut to her looking up the shop, showing the Lin Chen Farm logo, then fading out with the message:
> "Link in bio. Buy it before it disappears!"
Lin Feng's stomach sank.
68,000 views… and counting.
By evening, it had passed 100,000.
His WeChat Mini Program was flooded—80 new orders. Then 200. Then 400. His server crashed twice.
---
He spent the next six hours in a frenzy—sorting, packaging, rotating crops inside the inner realm. For the first time, the time dilation felt like a blessing and a burden.
Each hour outside was more than four real days inside. But the work was no joke.
He harvested basil, trimmed perilla, repotted microgreens, and made over 300 deliveries' worth of produce inside the space.
His arms ached.
His back screamed.
But the sense of control? Exhilarating.
By 3 a.m., he had prepped everything. His courier service would pick up the first 150 boxes by 7 a.m., and he'd stagger the rest over the next three days.
He wrote a polite message on his shop's main page:
> "Due to overwhelming demand, we are temporarily limiting daily orders to ensure quality. Thank you for your understanding."
Then he collapsed into bed, dreaming of leaves and roots.
---
Morning came too soon.
And with it, a knock on the door.
He blinked awake. A courier? No—it was too early.
When he opened it, an unfamiliar woman stood there, holding a phone and a voice recorder.
She was dressed casually, but her badge caught his eye: City Life Journal.
"Hi! You're Lin Feng, right? Founder of Lin Chen Farm? I'm doing a piece on emerging agricultural brands."
He froze.
"…How did you find me?"
She laughed. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not here to expose anything. We got your address from a packaging slip. You don't have a PR contact listed, so I figured I'd come directly."
His mind raced. He couldn't appear too paranoid.
"I'm not looking for media exposure right now," he said as calmly as possible. "Still working out supply logistics."
She smiled, unbothered. "That's fair. Just one quick question then—what's your secret?"
"…Good soil. Quiet location. No pesticides."
She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. "You're telling me those herbs didn't come from a climate-controlled lab?"
Lin Feng shrugged. "You're welcome to visit the field."
She looked delighted. "Really?"
He immediately regretted saying it.
But backing out now would look suspicious.
"Just… don't expect much. It's a basic setup."
---
An hour later, they stood beside his outer field.
He'd made sure to plant some fresh herbs here two days ago just in case, and scattered a few empty crates and tools around to give it a "working farm" feel.
She took notes, sniffed a few plants, and even tasted a leaf of parsley.
"Okay, not as polished as I expected… but you do grow some things here."
"Like I said—small scale."
She took a few discreet photos. "Any plans to expand?"
"Eventually. But I'm not chasing scale. I want sustainability."
That line seemed to impress her.
"Alright," she said, finally pocketing her recorder. "No more questions. But I think your brand is about to blow up."
He forced a smile. "We'll see."
---
By the end of the week, the video had passed 350,000 views.
He gained 900 new followers. His shop maxed out daily orders for seven days straight. Customers from Guangzhou, Foshan, even as far as Hangzhou placed orders.
He'd crossed a threshold—and there was no going back.
But not everyone was clapping.
That evening, a WeChat message came in from Liu Ying.
> [Hey… do you know someone named Zhao Yue? She just posted that your herbs look "too good to be true."]
Lin Feng opened the attached link.
Zhao Yue. A self-proclaimed organic farming consultant. 50K followers. Her post was direct:
> "I've been farming for ten years. I've never seen herbs this uniform, this lush. Unless this 'Lin Chen Farm' is using chemicals or synthetic methods. Watch out, people."
The comments were mixed.
> "Hmm that's true… my basil never looks that green."
"But I bought it and it tasted amazing?"
"Maybe it's just hype."
"Sounds like someone's jealous."
Lin Feng read it all calmly.
He wasn't angry.
If anything, he expected this.
Success always attracted doubt.
---
Instead of replying publicly, he doubled down on transparency.
The next day, he uploaded a video on his shop page—no flashy music, just him in plain clothes, walking through his small outer field, holding a bunch of herbs.
> "Hi everyone, I'm Lin Feng from Lin Chen Farm. I'm not a big company. I farm using simple methods—no pesticides, no chemicals. We harvest fresh, package carefully, and deliver directly. I'm still learning, but I believe in quality over quantity."
The video was short, honest.
Within hours, it went mildly viral on its own—20K views. 1.2K likes. Dozens of comments like:
> "Respect. You don't see that kind of humility anymore."
"Okay, I'm placing an order just for that."
"Ignore the haters. Your produce is amazing."
Zhao Yue didn't reply after that.
Liu Ying messaged again:
> [You handled that really well. Proud of you. Most people panic.]
He stared at the message a little longer than necessary.
Then replied:
> [Thanks. Couldn't have done this without your early support.]
---
That night, inside the realm, he expanded once more.
Not just greenhouses now—but irrigation lines, composting stations, and even a shaded corner for mushroom cultivation. The goats had a proper shed. The ducks and fish shared a restructured pond with bamboo borders.
It was becoming a real ecosystem.
One he could retreat into when the outside world got too noisy.
But also… one he could lean on to thrive.
---
And for the first time in weeks, Lin Feng stood under the starry realm sky, breathing deeply, and allowed himself a small smile.
He wasn't afraid of attention anymore.
Because his roots were deeper than anyone knew.
---
End of Chapter 6