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The summer breeze swept across the hillside, stirring the thriving rice in the Spirit Fields. The verdant leaves danced along, brimming with vibrant vitality.
Wang Chen, wearing a straw hat, stood beside the ridge, his heart welling up with joy as he looked over the dozens of mu of flourishing Spiritual Rice.
He had been in the Haotian Realm for over two months now, and Wang Chen had gradually integrated into this new world.
However, his method of integration was different from most, farming from dawn to dusk, engaged in the agricultural work that other cultivators disdained, yet finding joy in it.
He stood out decidedly as an oddity.
But Wang Chen was well aware that he had a unique talent in the realm of spiritual plants.
The rice he had planted and cultivated with his own hands was sentient, and it contained a hint of spirituality.
He could sense the happiness, joy, sorrow, pain, and fear of the rice plants.
