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0.22% A Farmer's Journey To Immortality / Chapter 1: "Nobody Pays for Your Funeral When You Die Poor"
A Farmer's Journey To Immortality A Farmer's Journey To Immortality original

A Farmer's Journey To Immortality

作者: Grayback

© WebNovel

章節 1: "Nobody Pays for Your Funeral When You Die Poor"

"Money… Money matters, my son."

A faint and dying voice.

In a crumbling, weathered wooden dwelling, an ailing, elderly farmer drew his final breaths upon a groaning bed.

The air echoed with raspy coughs and labored breathing.

The warmth once promised by the crackling wood fire on chilly winter nights was fading, threatening to surrender to the encroaching cold.

Yet, within the dwelling, the only two occupants found themselves unable to rekindle the flames for reasons personal to each.

The man was dying, and his only son was too young to chop wood and make his dying father's last moments comfortable and full of warmth.

Of course, the man didn't blame his son but himself.

Who told him to be a doting father?

When his wife died, he shouldn't have tried to pamper his son by doing all the household work alone. He shouldn't have farmed all by himself.

When the farmer was fine, relatively speaking, the work had given him comfort. The more he took care of his son, the better he felt about himself. Being a father was worth it, he would often feel.

However, now, on his deathbed, the dying farmer regretted not teaching his son enough life lessons, survival tricks, and the horrors of the world he was going to be surrounded with for the rest of his foreseeable life.

The dying farmer knew that he would be lying if he told someone that he wasn't looking forward to this very moment after living years on end with chronic pain and sickness.

He was also somewhat glad that he would finally reunite with his dead wife whose memories had already turned him into a living ghost. Yet, he felt bad for leaving his son all alone in such a cruel world full of dangerous and selfish people.

Alas. Life didn't give him a second chance to make a comeback. 

To make amends, the farmer sought to pass on essential life lessons to his son, acknowledging the lateness of the hour.

He hoped that these teachings, uttered as his final words, would linger in his son's memory forever.

"Money matters. The status also matters. However, when you have absolute might, money, and status follow you like your own tails."

The man wasn't that old, barely appearing to be in his 50s. He had amber eyes and a mix of black and gray hair. His skin was wrinkled in some spots but not excessively aged.

However, something had happened to him in the past when he was young—an old injury that had made his life difficult. It was finally about to claim his life.

Yet, there was something intensely fiery about the dying farmer's gaze—a flicker in his eyes that yearned to reach a certain summit that had always eluded him.

It was as if his ambitions were still struggling to stay alive and blaze brightly even when his body was on the verge of giving up.

The amber-eyed man, on the brink of death, then turned and coughed hard for some time and looked at his 9-year-old son, his gaze softening. He placed his hand on his son's head lovingly and caressed his cheek.

"Father…" the kid forced a response, too emotional to say anything else.

The 9-year-old boy looked at his father with teary eyes. Yet, he didn't cry like ordinary kids his age. If the dying father's eyes were full of ambitions, then his son's eyes flickered with a certain intelligence that could only come with maturity.

The kid's eyes didn't suit him. His maturity and demeanor didn't match his age, making him come across as a problematic child who would never listen to his parents.

Yet, the kid had always respected his father. Even at this point, the kid didn't speak and just sat by his father's bed, an earthen vessel in his hand that was half-full of water.

The kid wanted his father to drink water because that's all he had to offer him—to comfort him.

Little did he know, the beads of his tears seamlessly mingled with the liquid. This unintentional mixture blurred the reflection of the boy and the full moon outside the window on the water's surface.

The man also knew that his son was somewhat special, that he carried something unique within him. That's why he decided to pass on his passion and ambitions to him.

"If you die when you are poor, nobody will pay for your funeral.

If you die when you don't have a status, nobody will pay respect to your grave.

And if you die when you are powerless, nobody will provide a ditch for you to get buried in.

Cough cough cough. Sa… Sadly, I'm dying by checking all those boxes.

But don't worry. I'll not be a burden to you.

Here – take… take this," the man moved his left arm and raised his clenched fist in front of his kid. The kid quickly kept the glass of water he was holding to the side before grabbing his father's fist.

The dying farmer opened his fist, and four spirit stones were placed onto the kid's hands.

"Two – two spirit stones. They are for my funeral."

The man's breaths were getting low, his voice and presence thinner by the moment. His body had lost the ability to cough and take breaths. So he gave up breathing entirely and spoke to his son.

"Our neighbor… Aunt Reta will help you with the funeral arrangement, so give it to her when I die. And the remaining two spirit stones are for you.

Besides that, there should be a sack of silver and gold coins. Mortal coins have their own uses. All of this… should last you for a few months. You have this home, rental agreement of the farm, and the family heirloom I... I told you about. All of this, my inheritance, I give to you.

I… I'm afraid you will have to farm on your own after that to make a living."

The man spoke as he lost his ability to look at his son, his vision fading.

The kid helped him lay flat on the bed. The man touched his son's hand, wanting him to pay attention to him some more.

The man's faint words echoed in the kid's mind as the latter brought his ears closer to the man's mouth.

"I don't know how you will live, my son.

But promise me – promise me that you will not die like me.

I… I want you to stand at the apex… whatever it may be."

The man's left arm caught his son's wrist as if he was waiting for his answer.

For some reason, the dying farmer's grip was way firmer than it should have been for his condition. It was as if the dying flame was trying to burn bright just when it was about to get extinguished.

"I— I promise."

The boy said with a shaky voice, his words punctuated with emotions.

A soft chuckle was heard from the man for one last time as he let go of his son's wrist. The man's arm lost its strength and dropped on the bed. He had clearly succumbed to his illness and injuries.

"I promise," the kid mumbled repetitively as he pressed his ears against his father's bony chest. It was as if he was trying to listen to the voice of the heartbeat that was no longer there.

He stayed there for some time, his red eyes finally couldn't hold onto the tears he was trying so hard not to shed. He cried without making a sound.

As the night deepened, the kid eventually got up and sat straight on the bed, looking at his father's lifeless figure. He hadn't bothered to wipe the tears so their downward path was still traceable on his face.

The nine-year-old kid opened his fists and looked at the four spirit stones he was holding. This was all his father could afford to give him.

The kid's face was dead serious. And his amber eyes – same as his father's – it was as if they had inherited his father's ambitions after his death.

Step. Step. Step.

The kid got up and went by the window. Looking outside, he stared at the star-studded sky and the full moon before reiterating the words he had last spoken to his father.

"I promise," he said as he clenched his fists.

***

Seven years later.

Same chilly winter. Same star-studded sky and full moon. And the same weathered wooden dwelling.

However, someone had clearly made some shoddy repairs to the farmhouse, so it wasn't as prone to complete collapse as it was before.

At the midnight hour, in a meditative position, a 16-year-old boy was practicing a Tantra that all the spirit farmers had been given.

With his black hair and amber eyes, the boy looked somewhat like his dead father. Puberty had treated him well, and he looked somewhat handsome.

The boy's eyes were half-shut, and his breaths were controlled. He was making Mudras as he chanted some Mantra in a fixed sequence, falling deep into a trance-like meditative state.

However, suddenly, a foreign beep sound echoed in his mind, audible only to him. It made him open his eyes and look at a Spectral Prompt in front of him.

[ Basic Greenwood Tantra has been analyzed and recorded completely.

The sequences of Mudras, Mantras, and Essence routes have been saved as macros.

Proceed with the automated cultivation? ]


創作者的想法
Grayback Grayback

In the dance of chaos, let your spirit be the unwavering melody, weaving destiny with every step of your cultivation.

章節 2: Neural Link Fabric & Automated Cultivation

[ Proceed with the automated cultivation? ]

Aksai Alden Everwood opened his eyes and saw a Spectral Prompt floating in front of him.

He smiled lightly and hit pause on his Tantra practice, taking this time to indulge in his memories.

No, Aksai wasn't seeing things. He had tested it himself by conducting some experiments.

Of course, this prompt, or the supposed mysterious ability he possessed, didn't belong to this world. It shouldn't.

This was a neural link fabric that had been transplanted into his body and attached to his cerebral cortex in his previous world when he was living his life as Arman Arlott.

In his previous life, Arman was suffering from a chronic illness. He was dying slowly and with excruciating pain.

So he decided to fast-track his death by voluntarily participating in a radical experiment that was still in its trial phase.

The neural link fabric was successfully attached to Arman's cerebral cortex, but he didn't get to use it for long and died within a few days due to his body reacting with an extreme adverse reaction to the foreign object transplanted into his body.

Despite dying in his youth, Arman had a smile on his face. At least he found respite from his chronic illness.

He thought that his thoughts would be blown into oblivion after he stopped breathing. And that did happen for some time.

But then, as if undergoing a reboot, Arman opened his eyes once again.

He had been reborn with his previous memories and experiences intact in a new body, in a new world. This time, he carried the name of Aksai Alden Everwood.

Arman or more correctly Aksai didn't take long to assimilate with his new reality. 

However, because his personality and memories were retained by the neural link matrix, he found it a bit difficult to act like a child.

'A small problem,' he thought. He thought he solved it with his superb acting skills. However, if one were to ask his dead father, he would have different opinions.

Nevertheless, Aksai had a loving father.

His mother from his second life had already passed away by the time he started understanding himself and the new world he was in, so he didn't miss her as much. 

After all, you only miss things you had previous memories of.

***

"Let's take a small break, shall we?"

With countless thoughts swirling inside his mind, Aksai decided to take some rest before activating automated cultivation.

He lay back flat on a rattan mattress, used his folded arms as a pillow, and took a deep breath.

There was a reason Aksai wasn't practicing his Tantra on the bed. That's because he didn't have any. He had decided to scrap the old bed after his father died in it. He couldn't bring himself to sleep without having nightmares.

In fact, his farmhouse was basically empty except for a few necessities.

A Spirit farmer dedicated to the path of cultivation didn't need distractions. At least that's what he told himself when he decided not to splurge on new furniture.

Of course, Aksai could have shifted to a mortal city and lived like a prince. Although he wasn't much in the immortal cultivation world, he was still a 6th-stage Spirit Refining Expert.

With such qualifications, he could easily get employed under a rich mortal clan and enjoy all the niceties life had to offer him. And Aksai would have indeed liked that.

However, a promise was a promise. Aksai was a lot of things. But he wasn't an oathbreaker.

"Pull up my report card," Aksai mumbled to himself. And in the next moment, some information about him was displayed on an updated Spectral Screen.

[ Name: Aksai Alden Everwood (Previously Arman Arlott)

Age: 16 years

Estimated lifespan remaining: 78 years

Spirit Cultivation: 6th Stage Spirit Refining Realm

Spirit Sense coverage: Nascent (limited to host anatomy)

Cultivation Technique: Basic Greenwood Tantra (optimization possible. Virtual sandboxing of the revised Tantra is recommended)

Spirit Root: Wood, Earth, and Water Triple Affinity Spirit Root

Spirit Root Aptitude: Low

Talisman Creation Expertise: 1st Order (Low level. Needs more data to rank up to the mid-level. Current estimated progress 12%)

Array Formation Expertise: 1st Order (Low level. Needs more data to rank up to the mid-level. Current estimated progress 3%)

Alchemy Concoction Expertise: 1st Order (Low level. Needs more data to rank up to the mid-level. Current estimated progress 1%)

Artifact Creation Expertise: 1st Order (Low level. Needs more data to rank up to the mid-level. Current estimated progress 0.7%) ]

"Hmm. Considering I have low aptitude Spirit Root, I have come very far in just a few years," Aksai thought to himself and immediately sighed.

"On the other hand, I have been stuck in the 6th stage for quite some time now. I wanted my progress to not be eye-catching. But I didn't expect that it would stagnate this way.

This low-aptitude Spirit Root is going to cause me more trouble the further my cultivation increases," Aksai shook his head in dejection. After all, one's Spirit Root aptitude was fixed and couldn't be changed. He was helpless.

He then chided himself before assigning a task to the neural link fabric.

"Use Basic Greenwood Tantra and Advanced Greenwood Tantra stored in core memory as reference points. Start sandboxing the revised Tantra. Check for any potential Spirit deviation and debug the same.

Monitor the execution in real time. Targeted optimization: 3-10%," Aksai said without giving much thought.

If Aksai's next-door neighbor, Aunt Reta, were to hear him at this point, she would surely take him to the nearest alchemy expert to treat his head injuries.

Aksai also wanted to avoid such accidents. Thus, he often practiced the Basic Greenwood Tantra at night, when everyone around him went to sleep and did not come by his door to bother him.

[ The virtual sandboxing of the revised Tantra has been started ]

A Spectral Screen displayed a void human shape sitting in a meditative pose in front of Aksai. The Spirit network inside his body was visible to him.

As the void human shape started performing Mudras AKA hand-signs and chanting Mantras AKA chants given in the Basic Greenwood Tantra, the Spirit pathways were getting lit one after another.

It was like watching a bunch of LED strips getting lit in a certain rhythm as the sandboxing progressed.

It took a while for the neural link fabric to run tests and debug all the potential problems in the revision.

Thankfully, Aksai had learned from his past mistakes and gave the neural link fabric plenty of buffer by setting the optimization requirement low and feasible.

[ Virtual sandboxing successful. Optimization achieved: 5.7%

The host doesn't need to perform Mudras anymore. Deep slumber is possible.

Proceed with automated cultivation?]

Aksai's lips curled into a smile as he read the prompt.

While others cultivated day and night, he didn't need to do so because he had the neural link fabric. It could allow him to cultivate in his sleep, thanks to the automated cultivation.

"I spent a total of five spirit stones to rent that Advanced Greenwood Tantra for five minutes. Totally worth it. So it's fine if that mongoose thinks that he has basically robbed me."

Aksai thought to himself and chuckled before giving a command to the neural link fabric.

"Initiate automated cultivation," he said to nobody in particular and closed his eyes. 

As his body engaged in the cultivation process, Aksai indulged in a well-deserved rest. 

The subtle touch of handsomeness about him had to have its origins. Some might argue that it was the result of the beauty sleep he frequently enjoyed.


創作者的想法
Grayback Grayback

Why did the cultivator bring a ladder to meditation class?

Because he heard it's the key to reaching higher levels.

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