Chapter 9: A Farmer's Life?

Li Chunhe stood before his land.

A modest plot, nothing grand—just a small stretch of soil at the village's edge. But to him, it was more than enough.

His reward for slaying the bear had been this land, along with a handful of animals: two pigs, four goats, two pairs of chickens, and a scrappy mutt who had foolishly tried to fight the bear. Chunhe had named him Big D—because why not?

Big D was an enigma. Sharp instincts, boundless energy, but not a shred of common sense. He was fearless, reckless, and undeniably loyal—a creature of pure chaos.

The morning mist clung to the fields, the air crisp and still. Dew glistened on the grass, reflecting the slow brightening of the sky.

Beside him, Big D stretched lazily, yawned, then turned to Chunhe with an expectant look.

"Where's breakfast?"

Chunhe scoffed. "Breakfast? Earn it."

Big D let out an indignant huff but followed as Chunhe grabbed a hoe and stepped onto the land.

The soil was rich, dark, and full of promise. With every swing of the hoe, Chunhe felt a strange satisfaction in the rhythmic motion—dig, turn, repeat. Around him, village elders watched, occasionally throwing out advice.

"You're strong, but strength alone won't make the land yield."

"Dig deeper. Strong roots need strong soil."

"Turn the earth properly, lad. Crops grow better that way."

"Never plant the same thing in one spot every year, or the land will wither."

"A farmer doesn't conquer the land. He works with it."

Chunhe listened, absorbing their words. Farming was new to him, but hardship wasn't. His hands, once callous-free, had already toughened with labor. Every blister, every ache—it was all proof of progress.

Pain was temporary. Growth was permanent.

But just as he wiped the sweat from his brow—chaos erupted.

A blur of motion. Feathers flew. Chickens screeched in terror.

Chunhe turned, his face darkening.

"BIG D! STOP!"

The mutt was tearing through the flock like a rampaging beast, sending chickens flapping in every direction. The goats, caught in the chaos, bolted in circles, their terrified bleats echoing across the field.

Then Big D got too close to the pigs.

The massive swine, unbothered by the frenzy, snorted once and stomped forward.

Big D froze.

A moment of tense silence.

Then the pigs charged.

With a panicked yelp, Big D scrambled backward, tail tucked between his legs, and darted behind Chunhe for cover. He peeked out cautiously from between Chunhe's legs, letting out small, nervous barks.

Chunhe stared.

"…You fought a bear. But you're scared of pigs?"

The villagers erupted into laughter.

"Even a beast knows which battles to pick!" one elder chuckled.

Shaking his head, Chunhe decided that training was necessary. Big D had potential, but without discipline, potential was wasted.

So day by day, he worked with the mutt, shaping him into a proper guard dog.

At first, it was a struggle—Big D's instincts screamed at him to chase, bite, and cause mayhem. But slowly, with patience, Chunhe taught him control. Within weeks, the dog learned to herd the chickens and goats instead of terrorizing them.

The pigs, however, remained his sworn nemeses.

As the sun dipped lower, Chunhe patrolled the village perimeter.

The world beyond the fields was vast, filled with dangers—wandering cultivators, rogue beasts, and threats that lurked in the shadows. He was no fool. Safety was an illusion.

Strangers sometimes passed through the village, their eyes lingering on its simple homes and fertile land. But none dared to cause trouble.

Not when Chunhe was around.

With a final glance at the setting sun, he turned back.

That night, he sat outside his hut, a bowl of rice and vegetables in hand, watching his fields under the dim glow of lantern light.

Big D was a whirlwind of energy, darting back and forth, snapping at grasshoppers and rolling in the dirt. But the moment a pig let out an indifferent oink, the mutt froze, ears flattening.

Chunhe sighed.

This dog had faced a bear with fangs, claws, and sheer brute strength…

But pigs? Pigs were where he drew the line.

A few villagers stopped by, gifting him fresh buns and fruit in thanks.

Children laughed in the distance, chasing fireflies. The night was quiet. Peaceful.

Chunhe leaned back, gazing at the sky.

This life… wasn't bad.

Hard work. Sweat. The slow, steady accumulation of strength. This, too, was cultivation.

Beside him, Big D finally settled down, curling up against his side, his body warm from the day's exertion.

Chunhe absentmindedly ran his fingers through the dog's fur. Big D huffed in contentment, half-asleep.

Chunhe closed his eyes.

A seed had been planted.

And one day, it would bear fruit.