Spirit Realm. The morning sun had just risen, and the autumn wind carried a slight chill.
Wisps of cooking smoke curled through the air. Out in the fields, figures at work began to appear one after another.
Spiritual light flickered as all manner of Technique Arts and dharma artifacts descended upon the farmland—some weeding, some driving off insects, some turning the soil...
Along one side of the fields ran a small river. Its waters were emerald green and brimming with rich vitality, proving that this was no ordinary river.
On the riverbank stood houses arranged in an orderly scatter.
At a glance, they resembled ordinary mortal dwellings—some wooden, some piled from mud—yet faint threads of spiritual light shimmered around them, revealing traces of formations, restrictions, and inscriptions.
It was still early. Within the town, some carried shovels and hoes toward the outskirts, some gathered in twos and threes to chat idly, while others kept their doors tightly shut, still deep in sleep.
At the town's northwestern corner stood a simple blue-brick house. Its door was wide open, allowing the furnishings within to be seen at a glance.
Outside the door, the man wore a green robe as he chatted with several neighbors. Their relations seemed quite harmonious.
After roughly a quarter of an hour, the man finally strolled back inside. White porridge bubbled hotly atop the stove, giving off a faint fragrance.
The man ladled out a bowl of white porridge, picked up a small dish of vegetables, and sat at the table, tasting it one mouthful at a time. His lazy, unhurried bearing was clearly somewhat out of place with this little town's rhythm of rising at dawn to work and resting at sunset.
And indeed, that was the case.
It was the autumn harvest season, the busiest time