Chapter 5: First Visitors
By the time dawn broke the next day, the small village at the base of Still Wind Hill was buzzing.
Alex had become the center of whispers. A man who fell from the heavens—or perhaps rose from the earth—living alone on the hill, cultivating spirit crops and handing them out freely. Not through trade or favor. Just… as a gift.
"Who gives spirit food away?""Maybe he's testing us.""No, old Mei ate one of his carrots. She hasn't needed her walking stick since.""I heard he speaks to plants. The cucumbers bowed to him."
Alex, of course, had no idea about these wild stories.
He was busy watering his crops again, kneeling in the field with a gentle rhythm. Though the system offered full automation, he preferred this. The simplicity of the task, the connection to the land, the grounding presence of soil and roots—this was the peace he had never known in his past life.
"First harvest complete. Spirit crops stored: 36 Moonleaf Lettuce, 28 Crimson Root Carrots, 17 Blue-Gold Cucumbers, 14 units of Spirit Rice."
"Surplus storage nearing limit. Recommend constructing Spirit Cellar or initiating trade."
"We'll build the cellar later," Alex murmured. "I'm not in a rush."
He stood and stretched, wiping his hands on his robe. Then, he sensed them—approaching footsteps. Not one, but many.
He turned.
Climbing the path toward Still Wind Hill were a small group of villagers—five adults and three children. They were holding baskets and jars, all full.
As they reached the edge of the formation, Alex stepped forward. "Morning."
The woman from before bowed again. "We… came to thank you, Immortal Li."
"Just Alex," he replied with a warm smile. "Please."
An older man stepped up next. "The food you gave us—my wife's cough vanished overnight. And the children slept without night terrors. We cannot repay you, but…"
He held out a jar of preserved plum wine, trembling slightly.
Another offered pickled roots. A third, woven cloth. One of the children shyly extended a small carved wooden bird.
Alex's heart softened. "You don't need to give me anything."
"But we must," the woman said. "That is the way of balance. Even if you are beyond us, kindness must be returned."
He nodded slowly, accepting the gifts. "Then… I'll gratefully accept."
"Emotional resonance detected. Host's spiritual field stabilizing. Local karma points increased."
"Village affinity: 38% → 74%."
Alex gestured toward the porch. "Come. Rest. I can make tea."
They hesitated—then followed.
The villagers sat on mats beneath the shade of the porch roof, wide-eyed as Alex poured tea that brewed itself, its scent wafting with notes of moonflower and cinnamon bark. They sipped, their postures easing.
They asked questions—polite, cautious, but curious.
"Are you from the Azure Sky Sect?"
"No sect," Alex replied.
"Do you cultivate sword or spell?"
"Neither. Just soil."
"Why here?"
He looked over his shoulder, toward the waving fields behind his home. "Because it's quiet. Because nothing here asks me to fight. And because I want to live without stepping on others to stand tall."
They were silent for a moment.
Then one of the children spoke.
"Can we come help you plant sometime?"
Alex blinked. Then smiled. "Of course."
From that day, Still Wind Hill was no longer silent.
Children came to play near the fields, running through rows of glowing vegetables while Alex laughed and chased them with buckets of water. The elders offered wisdom on seasonal growth. The women brought him herbal recipes and asked for Moonleaf in return.
Alex taught them not how to fight, but how to grow.
He shared tools from the system—carefully dulled of their power, shaped to appear modest—and helped expand the village's own small plots. Within days, the town's tiny farms began to yield food of a quality no one had seen before.
The village changed.
So did Alex.
He wasn't just a wanderer or an outsider now. He was Alex of Still Wind Hill. A strange cultivator who never left his hilltop, who smiled more than he spoke, and who never turned away a child in need of food or a family in need of help.
At night, he sat on his porch and watched the lanterns in the village flicker like stars. The wind carried laughter up the slope.
He whispered to the sky, not expecting an answer:
"Isn't this enough?"
And the stars above, silent and serene, said nothing—because they knew the truth.
It was only the beginning.