The Ironheart Sect was one of the largest sects in Hong Chen, a power so entrenched that even the Imperial court treated it with cautious respect. Within its grand hall, the Sect Master sat in silence. His face was calm, but his fingers tapped the armrest of his throne with measured rhythm.
Before him knelt the elder who had fled from the tournament, sweat still dripping from his brow.
"You said… he looks like a farmer?"
The elder trembled. "Y-yes, Sect Master. A plain farmer. But behind him—monsters. His disciples… I dare say, they eclipse our very foundation."
The hall fell silent. The Sect Master's brows furrowed as he began his analysis. Unlike hot-blooded sect leaders, he was cautious, deliberate, a man who preferred strategy to impulse.
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The Farmer's Shadow
"A farmer," the Sect Master murmured. "Yet the signs…"
He closed his eyes and recalled what intelligence they had gathered over the past few months.
—The destruction of the Chen family, once deeply tied to the Empire's military.
—The sudden rise of Long Fei, a boy rumored to be a mere mortal three months ago, now a peak Foundation Realm cultivator, defeating Ye Tianlong himself.
—Garfield, the so-called disciple-brother, radiating the aura of an early Soul Transformation Realm—a level equal to the ancestors of the Three Holy Lands of Hong Chen.
—The Naga girl, whose cultivation could not be gauged, yet who emanated a pressure so suffocating that even his divine sense faltered. And everyone knew the stories: her homeworld was obliterated not long ago.
And finally… the farmer.
A farmer, whose cabbages seemed to whisper of death. A farmer linked to the annihilation of the Chen clan, the disappearance of the Azure Sect, and the whispered rumor of the Immortal Sword King's bizarre death.
The Sect Master's hands tightened on his throne.
"A farmer…" His voice was barely a whisper, but the word carried through the hall. "…is far more terrifying than any demon."
The elders present exchanged uneasy glances.
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The Tournament's End
Back at the tournament grounds, silence still hung after Ye Tianlong's crushing defeat.
The referee, after recovering from his shock, finally declared the results.
"Third place… disciple of Ironwood Valley!"
"Second place… Ye Tianlong of Eastern Plains!"
"And first place…" The man hesitated, then raised his hand. "Long Fei, of Fallen Town!"
The crowd erupted.
"Impossible! A boy from a backwater village took first place?!"
"This is… this is absurd!"
"But you saw it—Ye Tianlong himself fell!"
Long Fei stood dumbstruck. He had entered hoping merely to test himself, perhaps reach the top ten. To take first place—and in front of the entire sect world—was something he had never imagined.
But when he looked toward his master, all he saw was a faint smile, as though Lai had been expecting this from the very beginning.
To the farmer, this victory was nothing more than a sprout finally breaking through the soil.
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Ye Tianlong's Choice
In the aftermath, Ye Tianlong sat slumped, his eyes burning with rage and humiliation. His fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.
Lai approached him, hands tucked behind his back, casual as though he were strolling through a cabbage patch.
"You want revenge," Lai said softly.
Ye Tianlong froze. His head snapped up. "…What?"
"You want revenge for a betrayal," Lai continued, eyes glinting. "The girl you swore to protect. The lover who abandoned you for power. You trained, you clawed your way back, but deep inside…" He smirked. "You burn with hate. Hate for her. Hate for yourself."
Ye Tianlong's pupils contracted. His entire body trembled. "How… how do you know?"
Lai chuckled. "So cliché. Every Heaven's Chosen has the same story." He patted the boy's shoulder. "If you truly want revenge… then come farm with me. Sow the dao. Harvest your hatred."
Ye Tianlong stared blankly, words caught in his throat. Never in his nightmares had he expected such an answer. Yet deep in his bones, a whisper told him: this man was not offering mockery, but destiny.
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The Farmer's Hell
When the tournament ended and the crowd dispersed, Long Fei was congratulated, Garfield grinned proudly, and Blanca hummed with amusement.
Ye Tianlong, however, found himself dragged back to the farm.
And there, beneath the shadow of vast cabbages and endless rows of vegetables, his nightmare began.
"Meet your new sparring partner," Lai said cheerfully.
The ground rumbled. An earth golem, forged of stone and iron, lumbered forward. Its eyes glowed faintly, fists the size of boulders.
Ye Tianlong blinked. "What… what is this?"
Lai smiled. "Your training. Survive. Or don't."
The golem's fist came crashing down.
"W-WAIT—!" Ye Tianlong screamed as he was sent flying into the fields, blood spraying from his mouth.
Garfield laughed from the sidelines. "Welcome, little brother! The golems have been waiting for fresh meat!"
Long Fei only gave a sympathetic glance. "Don't worry. Dying only hurts the first hundred times."
Blanca, balancing a bucket of water on her head, muttered, "Weaklings."
Lai whistled cheerfully as he tended his cabbages, not sparing a single glance at Ye Tianlong's torment. To him, training was just another harvest—pain and suffering the fertilizer of greatness.
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Cliffhanger
That night, as Ye Tianlong lay in the dirt, coughing blood and cursing the heavens, the farmer's words echoed in his mind.
"Farm the dao. Harvest your revenge."
A new punching bag had been delivered to the earth golems.
And somewhere, in the Ironheart Sect's great hall, the Sect Master stared into the darkness, whispering a single phrase that made his elders tremble.
"A farmer… we must never provoke that farmer."
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