Night had fallen inside the spatial farm.
The air was chilly, and a bright full moon hung high in the mist-wrapped sky.
Fire lamps hung from twisted vine poles, burning with steady orange-yellow flames that did not flicker in the wind. Elegant fireflies floated gently across the air—bright as cinders, soft as cotton—trailing delicate patterns through the dreamy night.
Around the feeding area, clusters of giant glowing mushrooms bloomed—some wide as umbrellas, their caps pulsing with an inner light. Nearby, luminous spirit flowers swayed slowly, their petals releasing sweet, almost hypnotic scents that soothed the weary and heightened spiritual sensitivity. Shining vines coiled along the trees, dripping faint green light like glowing rain.
It was a world between illusion and dream.
And Chunhe cooked within it.
Still masked and cloaked in darkness, he stood by the black cauldron, flames crackling below, casting monstrous shadows behind him. The Lizard Stone Mask concealed all humanity—its gaze dead, its voice distorted, cold, and terrifying.
Steam curled into the air like smoke from a dragon's mouth.
He cooked slowly. Meticulously.
The fire rose and coiled, danced and died low, only to flare again.
The cauldron boiled with thick soup—dense and nourishing, made from wild roots, morning dew, spiritual herbs, market meat, and fresh-picked vegetables. Beside it, skewers of beast meat sizzled over a tri-rack of iron, their juices dripping onto glowing stones. Wild fruits had been sliced and arranged atop a wide leaf platter. A salad sparkled with crushed crystal salt and herb-dust.
Every dish emitted soft Qi, thick enough to sense from meters away.
Then, without a word, Chunhe served.
He stepped through the glowing garden light, a demon king surrounded by otherworldly brilliance.
The Flower Demon stood still, entranced.The Rose Demon, Xiaohua, blinked in awe—watching him closely, then mimicking him, playing in the mud and grass, shaping little pretend dishes of her own.
To them, Chunhe personally handed steaming bowls of soup—offering it with a warm-like grace.
They took the first bites.
The warmth rushed through them like smelted sunlight. Qi surged in their dantian. Their eyes widened at the richness. Xiaohua smiled dreamily. The Flower Demon's lips trembled—but she said nothing.
Behind them, the slaves—bones protruding from thin flesh—trembled at the scent. They looked like ghosts, eyes bloodshot and wild.
Chunhe's hand flicked sideways.
"Go."
They didn't hesitate. They pounced.
Like starved ghouls, they devoured the food—burning their tongues on hot soup, fighting the heat to gulp it down. Skewers were snatched in handfuls. Fruits and salad vanished in minutes. Many wept while chewing, some choking from how fast they ate.
Even the beasts groaned and whimpered, bowing instinctively as they too were fed.
The fireflies danced above the chaos.
Mushrooms shined gently.Vines glowed.Flowers turned slightly—as if to watch.
Chunhe stood amidst the garden of a mess.
And in the corner of his lips, a small grin appeared.
Not a saint.
A tyrant—who fed his slaves like livestock… yet with the finest he could conjure.
This land… no. Not yet a home. It will be a crucible.
His gaze swept the untouched fields, forests, mountains.No buildings.No formations.Just foundation.
I will need more. More hands. More lives. More clay to shape.
His mind burned with the image of what would come—an empire born of roots and stone, sweat and spirit.
He turned to the Flower Demon.
From his cloak, he pulled a set of spatial rings—filled with robes, preserved food, spiritual supplies, seed packets, and a few emergency talismans.
He gave it to her.
Then, he walked to the side of the nearby mountain.
He raised a single hand.
Stone groaned.
A small cave opened in the cliff wall, smooth and clean, perfectly carved. From that entrance, a network of tunnels and chambers extended below, hidden from aerial view—storage, cultivation space, rest areas.
All created by his will.
Then, without fanfare, Chunhe turned.
And vanished.
Outside the Farm
The outside world was colder.
He reappeared under the true moonlight—far less majestic than the eternal dusk of his domain. His cloak breathed as he walked through the silent alleyways, heading toward the inn.
Above the building, a few red fire lamps swung gently in the breeze.
Chunhe changed his clothes—from mask and cloak to simple robes. A booze gourd slung over his shoulder, he walked like a carefree idiot, muttering nonsense under his breath, acting harmless.
Inside the inn—
Hong Xian sat at a table, a book open in front of her, eyes unmoving.Xu Mei scribbled in her journal near the window, but paused as she felt the chill enter.Liu Fan had dozed off sharpening his blade, fingers resting on the hilt.Li Chen meditated in the corner, but opened one eye at the sudden drop in air pressure.The rest of the group stirred quietly, but dared not speak.
Chunhe entered.
His eyes squeezed shut briefly, then opened—calm, unreadable.
Fireflies floated outside the window.
And silence prevailed.