The dawn light crept over the Verdant Lotus Valley, bathing the barren fields in a soft, golden haze. Arin Jinhwan knelt in the dirt, his hands sifting through the cracked soil, feeling for the faint pulse of qi that had greeted him the day before. The events of his first day in this strange new world—the Murim world—still felt like a dream: his transmigration from Rajasthan, the starving girl he'd fed with qi-infused grains, the Iron Fang Sect's ultimatum, and the vines he'd summoned to defend the village. Yet, the weight of Naya Seorin's journal in his satchel was real, its prophecy of the Jade Farmer echoing in his mind. He wasn't sure he was the savior these people needed, but the land called to him, and he couldn't ignore its plea.
The village stirred behind him, the faint hum of morning activity blending with the chirp of birds nesting in the sparse trees. Arin glanced back, watching as smoke curled from chimneys and children darted between huts, their laughter a fragile melody. The celebration from the previous night had left a warmth in his chest—a shared meal of dried lotus seeds and thin broth, a song that echoed the Pongal chants of his childhood. But the warmth was tempered by reality. The Iron Fang Sect's threat loomed, and the valley's soil was weak, its qi drained by years of war. If he was to help these people, he needed to start small, to coax life from the earth one seed at a time.
He opened Naya's journal, its pages worn but glowing faintly with qi, and studied the sketches of crops he'd never seen on Earth: Amrita Grains, said to restore energy; Whispering Vines, which could sense danger; and Lotus of the Dawn, a flower that bloomed with healing light. The journal's notes were detailed, written in Naya's mother's elegant script, but they assumed a knowledge of qi that Arin lacked. He'd channeled qi instinctively to revive the rice stalk, but sustaining that energy for larger fields was another matter. The valley's qi was thin, like a riverbed after a drought, and he'd need to strengthen it before anything could grow.
A soft rustle broke his thoughts. Naya approached, her robe shimmering with lotus patterns, a basket of tools slung over her shoulder. Her dark hair was tied back, the bindi-like qi rune on her forehead glowing faintly in the morning light. "You're up early," she said, her tone light but her eyes sharp, taking in the journal in his hands. "Planning your first harvest already?"
Arin managed a small smile, brushing dirt from his hands. "Trying to," he said. "The soil's weak. I can feel the qi, but it's… scattered. I don't know how to gather it." Naya set the basket down, pulling out a small spade and a pouch of seeds. "You'll learn," she said, her voice steady. "Qi is like water—it flows where you guide it. My mother taught me a few techniques, though I'm no cultivator. I can show you."
She knelt beside him, her movements graceful, and pressed her hands into the soil. "Close your eyes," she instructed. "Feel the qi, but don't pull it. Let it come to you." Arin followed her lead, his hands sinking into the earth, the mantra "Om Bhumi Namah" whispering through his mind. The qi pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat struggling to find its rhythm. Naya's voice was a soft guide. "Imagine a stream," she said. "You're not forcing it—you're clearing the path. Let it flow to your hands."
Arin focused, picturing the irrigation channels he'd built with his grandfather, the way water would trickle through the dirt, finding its way to the roots. The qi responded, a gentle warmth gathering in his palms, stronger than before. He opened his eyes, a faint golden glow shimmering around his hands. Naya nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. "Good," she said. "Now channel it into the soil. Small amounts, like watering a plant." Arin did as she said, the qi seeping into the earth, the cracked soil softening beneath his touch. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
They spent the morning preparing a small plot near the village, clearing rocks and breaking up the hardened earth with the spade. Naya handed him the pouch of seeds—Amrita Grains, their husks shimmering with a faint silver sheen. "These were my mother's," she said, her voice softening. "She saved them before the last raid. They're hardy, but they need qi to grow." Arin took the seeds, their weight light but significant, and planted them in the softened soil, murmuring his mantra with each one. The qi flowed from his hands, a steady trickle, but it was exhausting. By the time the plot was seeded, sweat beaded on his forehead, his breath coming in short gasps.
Naya handed him a clay cup of water, her expression a mix of concern and encouragement. "You're pushing too hard," she said. "Qi-farming is like cultivation—you can't rush it. Your body needs to adjust." Arin drank deeply, the cool water soothing his throat. "I can't wait," he said, his voice firm. "The village needs food. If the Iron Fang comes back…" He didn't finish the thought, but Naya's eyes darkened. She knew the stakes as well as he did.
The villagers began to gather, drawn by the sight of Arin and Naya working the field. Kael, the elder from the night before, approached, his gnarled hands clutching a staff. "You're planting already?" he asked, his voice a mix of hope and skepticism. "That land hasn't grown anything in years." Arin nodded, wiping his brow. "It will," he said, his tone steady. "The qi is there. It just needs help." Kael's eyes softened, but others weren't so convinced. A burly man named Torin, his arms crossed, scoffed from the crowd. "You'll bring the Iron Fang down on us," he said, his voice gruff. "They don't like defiance. We should've paid their tribute."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, a mix of fear and frustration. A woman with a child on her hip spoke up, her voice trembling. "He fed my daughter," she said, her eyes on Arin. "He gave us hope. Isn't that worth trying?" Torin shook his head, his jaw tight. "Hope doesn't stop swords." Arin met his gaze, his voice calm but resolute. "I'm not here to fight. I'm here to grow. If the Iron Fang comes, I'll protect the fields—my way." Torin snorted but said nothing more, turning away with a scowl.
Naya touched Arin's arm, her voice low. "They're scared," she said. "Give them time. They'll see." Arin nodded, though the weight of their doubt settled on his shoulders. He turned back to the plot, focusing on the Amrita Grains. He couldn't force their trust, but he could show them what the land was capable of. Over the next few hours, he and Naya worked side by side, planting more seeds and channeling qi into the soil. The villagers watched, some helping with small tasks—fetching water, clearing stones—while others kept their distance, whispering among themselves.
By midday, the plot was finished, a small patch of hope amidst the barren expanse. Arin sat back, his hands caked with dirt, and felt a flicker of satisfaction. The qi in the soil was stronger now, a steady hum that promised growth. Naya handed him a piece of flatbread, her smile warm. "You did well," she said. "Now we wait." Arin took the bread, their fingers brushing briefly, a spark of warmth passing between them. He pushed the feeling aside, focusing on the task at hand, but it lingered, a quiet seed of connection taking root.