The rainy season deepened its grip on Chen Valley. Light showers gave way to long, soaking rains, turning the footpaths between fields into narrow streams. The villagers didn't complain; they'd seen worse. But within the operations of Lin Feng's empire, every drop of water was calculated, redirected, and used with precision.
Underneath a storage unit marked "Equipment Only," a complex rain-harvesting system funneled thousands of liters into underground reservoirs. These weren't ordinary tanks—they were connected to the Inner Realm through a filtration matrix that allowed Lin Feng to purify and transfer water silently between dimensions.
He stood beside the reservoir that morning, watching the digital flow meter. "Four thousand liters in the last forty-eight hours. Efficient."
Xu Yuhan entered with a thermos of ginger tea. "You're collecting rain like it's gold."
"It is," Lin Feng replied, eyes still fixed on the flow. "Clean water is future currency. Better stockpile it now, when no one is watching."
---
News of the burned check had reached back to the source.
In a heavily encrypted conference room in Hangzhou, Director He sat at the head of a virtual roundtable. On the screen were six other men and one woman—leaders of regional agricultural holdings, biotech firms, and rural logistics giants. None used real names.
"Phase One failed," Director He said. "As expected."
A man with glasses leaned forward. "Then we escalate?"
Director He nodded. "Begin Phase Two. Send the Plum Blossom Team. Quietly. No disruption, only surveillance."
The woman on screen chuckled. "And if he notices?"
"He won't confront. He's the quiet kind. But if he leads us somewhere... we follow."
---
In the Inner Realm, Lin Feng was experimenting with the Nightroots again.
After noticing their response to intention, he had started "testing emotions." He played traditional zither music near them. The roots swayed slightly.
He shouted once. They recoiled.
Then he sat in meditation for an hour, completely silent.
The roots reached toward him.
They weren't plants.
They were mirrors.
He documented everything meticulously, even drawing diagrams of the root networks and noting the pulse patterns. When combined with compost from his Silverleaf beds, the roots released faint traces of heat—enough to warm a small enclosed space.
Self-heating crop? he wrote in the margin.
Possibly applicable in high-altitude farming.
Test in Inner Realm Winter Pod.
He was building more than a business.
He was engineering an agricultural revolution—with no blueprints but instinct.
---
Three days later, an unfamiliar sedan pulled into the village outskirts. Inside were two men dressed like field researchers—khakis, cameras, notepads. They introduced themselves as PhD candidates from a provincial university studying sustainable rural models.
Xu Yuhan met them first.
"Are you from Green River Agricultural University?" she asked.
The taller one nodded. "Yes. We're compiling a case study on natural farming cooperatives. We heard Chen Valley has a unique model."
She smiled politely. "We've had a lot of visitors lately."
Lin Feng joined them moments later, dressed simply in jeans and a navy jacket. His handshake was firm, but his eyes studied them deeply—memorizing facial tics, observing the camera's model, the wear on their boots.
"Welcome to Chen Valley," he said. "You're free to observe the surface."
The shorter man raised an eyebrow. "Surface?"
"I mean anything publicly visible," Lin Feng clarified, smiling faintly.
They spent the day touring the composting station, community fields, and the solar greenhouse. The visitors took notes, asked questions, but never pushed too hard.
Yet Lin Feng noticed something.
Their questions were too safe. Too polished.
At the end of the tour, he offered them fresh radish soup and seasonal fruit.
"Come again if you need more data," he said as they prepared to leave.
The taller one gave a slight bow. "We appreciate it."
But as they walked away, Lin Feng turned to Xu Yuhan. "Memorize their plates. And log the GPS timestamps of their stay."
"Think they're corporate?"
"Worse," Lin Feng said. "They're coordinated."
---
Back inside his command room—what had once been a goat shed but now held five screens and a subterranean fiber line—Lin Feng activated a security subroutine coded by a friend from university. It traced pings from non-local devices in the area.
A match.
The sedan had relayed a signal to a data center in Hangzhou. Not public. Military encryption layers.
He leaned back.
"They're getting smarter."
---
But Lin Feng wasn't without resources.
A call to a contact in Wuyuan brought results.
"Those two? Not students. Former logistics analysts from a dissolved military-affiliated lab. They work on freelance contracts now—for whoever pays the most."
Lin Feng scribbled two names on paper, then burned it in his stove.
"Let them follow," he muttered. "I'll teach them the wrong trail."
---
The next week, a new story began circulating online. A farmer in Gansu had reportedly developed a strain of salt-resistant barley. Another, in Anhui, was selling worm castings that regenerated soil pH. Articles spread, referencing vague "mentorship" from an anonymous agricultural group.
Every lead pointed far from Chen Valley.
Lin Feng's real work continued undisturbed—camphor trees growing tall, Inner Realm fish farms stabilizing with new herbal filters, and the first export-ready batch of Silverleaf Greens packaged under a new label: SnowTrace Origins.
Each label carried only one QR code.
No website. No contact.
When scanned, it played a simple, one-minute video:
A woman planting seeds beside her grandson.
A hand pulling radishes from rich soil.
A whisper: "Soil remembers those who love it."
---
Meanwhile, Xu Yuhan received a call from a high-level producer of a national food documentary.
"We'd like to feature Chen Valley," the producer said. "It's time people knew the face behind the silver leaf."
She hesitated. "We don't show faces."
There was a pause. "But your impact is growing. Sooner or later, someone else will claim your work."
"We'd prefer that to becoming a target," she replied gently.
After the call, she sat beside Lin Feng on the porch of the eastern hut.
"They want a story. A hero. A face," she said.
He stared at the mist-shrouded fields.
"They'll get a fable," he replied. "Not a statue."
---
At the northern ridge, an old farmer named Uncle Zhao began planting a new plot—five rows of Silverleaf seeds Lin Feng had given him. It was a test: to see how the plant fared in natural soil without the Realm's enhancements.
Three days in, the shoots emerged—slower, smaller, but vibrant.
The old man beamed. "It lives," he said softly.
Lin Feng watched from a distance.
If Silverleaf could adapt to normal soil, it meant phase three of his plan could begin: rural empowerment through franchise farming, not industrial control.
No tech needed. No capital.
Only soil, patience, and a little guidance.
---
In a distant city, Director He received a final report from the Plum Blossom Team.
"Target has shifted primary operations underground. All visible activity appears philanthropic or low-scale. Supply chain is obfuscated through layers of proxies. No leverage found."
He stared at the report, unmoving.
Finally, he murmured, "Then we wait."
He opened a drawer, revealing an aged file marked HUA TANG INITIATIVE—CLASSIFIED—1996.
Inside was a grainy photo of a younger Lin Feng's grandfather—Professor Lin Qiming.
A former soil scientist. Blacklisted during reforms. Disappeared.
Director He smiled grimly.
"So the bloodline continues."
---
That night, Lin Feng dreamed of roots.
Vast, glowing tendrils stretched across the Inner Realm, threading through water, stone, and fire. At the center stood a tree unlike any he had planted—a colossal silver-leafed giant with bark like jade and branches humming with energy.
He touched it, and felt... time.
The whisper came again.
"You are not the first. But you may be the last who listens."
He awoke with tears on his face.
End of Chapter 33