Chapter One: Agricultural Service in the Serpent Kingdom

The moon shone brightly in a sky sparsely dotted with stars, while crows and magpies flew southward.

Ji Xun’s thin figure half-leaned against a moss-covered stone by the field. The evening breeze caressed his face, stirring the strands of hair at his temples. He had crossed into this world half a day ago. Drawing on the memories of the body’s original owner, Ji Xun had gained a preliminary understanding of his situation.

The man whose body he now inhabited was named Wang Dali, residing in a small rural farmstead within the Serpent Kingdom. In this realm, the ruling class was made up of snake demons, while other demon tribes, humans, and mixed-blood demon descendants held a lower status.

Wang Dali’s work was to cultivate food for the snake lords. Ordinarily, snake demons, as carnivorous creatures, would not be interested in grass, but some peculiar demon had invented a plant called “Beastgrass,” which was beloved by the lower classes of demons in all nations.

“Am I truly transmigrated, or have I awakened some latent wisdom?” Ji Xun mused. “Well, whatever the case, I must accept what fate has brought.”

He rose and picked up a battered wooden bucket by his side. Inside sloshed a thick red liquid, pungent and fishy, refined from the blood of various wild beasts—rumored to even contain demon blood. Every few paces, Ji Xun would pour a bit of this blood onto specific spots in the field.

After nearly half an hour, sweat-soaked and weary, he leaned once more against the stone to rest. It was not that he was driven by a wild ambition to outdo the other farmhands in the dead of night. Rather, the body’s previous owner had been injured and unconscious for a day and a half, neglecting the Beastgrass, which now showed signs of withering.

Ji Xun could not help but sigh, thinking, “If the harvest fails, the demon money paid at month’s end will barely be enough to survive. If I go hungry, I’ll be too weak to work the fields.”

Life was hard; even after transmigration, he had to toil and sweat.

Just as Ji Xun was about to return to his shabby thatched hut, a rustling sound came from behind. Turning in the moonlight, he could barely make out a white shadow, the size of a fingertip, darting toward him.

“Bold creature!” Ji Xun cried out in anger, summoning all his strength to swing the long-handled wooden ladle in his hand. It struck the white shadow, sending it flying against the stone with a sharp smack.

The blow left his right hand numb, yet the white shadow seemed unaffected and charged at him again. This time, Ji Xun was ready. He grasped the bucket with both hands and smashed the creature against the stone once more.

Once, twice, three times...

At last, the bucket split with a crack, and the white shadow lay motionless. In the moonlight, Ji Xun examined it carefully and saw that it was a bug, no larger than his fingertip.

The insect’s body was covered in strange markings, its mouth lined with ferocious little fangs. The original Wang Dali had been knocked over by this very bug, striking his head on the stone and losing consciousness. Fortunately, he was carried home in time and avoided being bitten.

“So this is a Beast Bug. It’s tough as nails.” Ji Xun watched as the bug stirred again, snatched up a stone, and pounded it repeatedly until, finally, the bug was dead.

Although this body was thin, it was stronger than most farmhands, and Ji Xun’s calm and precise strikes made the task easier. Few could kill a Beast Bug so effortlessly.

“These bugs are dangerous, but their corpses are worth five demon coins—enough to buy some grain.” With this in mind, Ji Xun picked up the Beast Bug.

At the moment he touched its corpse, he seemed to “see” an ancient, battered little pot, engraved with two archaic characters. Ji Xun instantly recognized the words, though he was certain he’d never seen them before; it was as if he’d gained a new linguistic ability.

The pot was called the Demon Refining Vessel.

This vessel existed in a place neither real nor unreal—unseen by the eye, untouched by the hand. In Ji Xun’s perception, the lid opened slowly, and a force sucked the bug’s corpse inside.

Suddenly, his consciousness entered a vast space, its boundaries shrouded in chaos, thunder rumbling within, giving rise to endless transformations.

Gazing at the bug’s corpse, Ji Xun acted on instinct, shrinking the body smaller and smaller. Its skin and fangs melted away, until only a thread of blood remained.

His awareness returned to his body, and with a thought, a fine thread of blood appeared in his palm, exuding a faint exotic fragrance.

[Beast Essence Blood (1/10): Unclassified. Refined from a Beast Bug. Strengthens the body when consumed.]

Hunger gnawed at him, so Ji Xun placed the blood thread in his mouth. It mingled with saliva, sliding down his throat and into his stomach, then further into his intestines. Soon, he felt a vitality stir within him, sweeping away the weakness he’d known.

“With this, I have a sliver of hope in the Serpent Kingdom,” Ji Xun thought, a smile appearing on his face for the first time since arriving.

Following the path between the fields, he returned to his thatched hut, pondering the dreamlike events, before finally lying down and drifting into sleep.

Late autumn had arrived, and the night wind slipped through the hut, prompting Ji Xun to burrow deep into his reed quilt for warmth.

...

Dawn had not yet broken when shouts echoed across the fields.

“I don’t care how you do it—by the end of the month, the yield of Beastgrass must be up by ten percent, or none of you will get a single demon coin!”

The speaker was the local headman, responsible for collecting grain from over a hundred households nearby.

The farmhands listened, dissatisfied, but seeing the seven or eight burly men flanking the headman, most fell silent.

Still, someone couldn’t help but speak up.

“But Headman, it’s already almost month’s end. How can we possibly manage? Please, could you give us more time?”

“I swear, even if I work myself to the bone, I can’t grow more. Are you trying to kill us?”

The headman glared, snorting coldly. “That’s not my concern. If the harvest falls short, you won’t get paid. Besides, why wouldn’t you manage? Use your brains—you could pool your coins and buy some, couldn’t you?”

The crowd felt stifled, but dared not argue further.

Among them, a girl of eleven or twelve stood out, her cheeks flushed with anger.

“Hmph, all that extra Beastgrass you collect is sold for demon coins and spent on Widow Wang! I saw you last time—you…”

The headman laughed instead of showing anger. “Well, well, brat. Your father’s not here today, so I’ll teach you on his behalf.”

A quick-witted man handed over a cane whip; the headman gripped it and swung it at the girl.

No one dared intervene. The whip was about to strike her face.

A strong hand caught the cane, its thorns tearing the palm and dripping blood.

The one who intervened was none other than Ji Xun.

The girl was named Lin Xiaoyun. Her family was known for kindness, often helping other farmhands. When the original owner had fainted, it was Lin Changshan, her father, who discovered him and sent Lin Xiaoyun to care for Ji Xun.

Regardless of Ji Xun’s origins—whether soul-transferred or awakened—her family had shown him great kindness. He could not let the girl’s face be scarred, ruining her prospects and subjecting her to ridicule.

“Headman, Xiaoyun is still young and doesn’t know better. I’ll have her apologize to you right now,” Ji Xun said sincerely.

With his prompt, Lin Xiaoyun bowed her head and apologized, then began to sob, clearly frightened.

“So, Wang Dali, since you’re so righteous, you can hand over fifty percent more Beastgrass this month—how does that sound?”

“Let it be as the headman says,” Ji Xun replied.

The headman paused, surprised at Ji Xun’s compliance. After all, giving fifty percent more was nearly a death sentence. He swallowed his prepared retort and merely scolded the farmhands once more.

Before leaving, he threw Ji Xun a cold smile, then departed with his men.

Watching the headman’s retreating figure, Ji Xun’s gaze grew cold and sharp.