Jin woke before sunrise, as he'd done for three lifetimes. Old habits persisted, even when qi cultivation no longer demanded them.
He pulled on work clothes—rough hemp that would've horrified his former sect brothers—and stepped outside. Dawn mist clung to the valley floor, turning the distant mountains into charcoal sketches. The air tasted of dew and rich earth.
The radish patch waited.
Jin crouched at the first row, fingers working through loose soil. The radishes had grown faster than expected. He'd planted them barely two weeks ago, yet the greens stood tall and vibrant. When he pulled the first one free, the root came up clean and fat, nearly the length of his forearm.
Spiritual energy pulsed faintly through the vegetable.
Jin sighed. "Can't even grow normal food anymore."
He continued harvesting, filling his basket with radishes that glowed with gentle vitality. The System he'd sealed away had left residual effects—his presence enriched the soil, his touch infused growing things with power. Useless for cultivation. Perfect for farming.
A rooster crowed somewhere in the distance, reminding him of yesterday's chicken coop project.
The disciples had done decent work. The structure stood crooked but functional. Feng Huang's enthusiasm had nearly demolished one wall twice, and Mei had rushed through her sections, leaving gaps Jin would need to patch. But they'd helped.
Jin carried his basket toward the house. The sun crept higher, painting the valley gold. Somewhere along the eastern boundary, his stream burbled over smooth stones. Three hundred acres of possibility stretched in every direction.
The town of Verdant Brook sat two hours' walk from Jin's land. The path wound through pine forests and across meadows where wild herbs grew thick. Jin had made the trip twice since purchasing his property: once to register the deed, once to buy seeds and tools.
Today he needed chickens.
The market bustled with morning activity. Vendors hawked vegetables, cloth, pottery, talismans. A blacksmith's hammer rang against steel. Children ran between stalls, dodging adults with practiced ease.
Jin headed for the livestock section.
"Fresh eggs! Reliable layers! Best chickens in three provinces!"
The vendor was a weathered woman in her fifties, face lined by sun and smiles. She stood beside several bamboo cages filled with birds of varying sizes and dispositions.
"Morning," Jin said. "I need good layers. Six should do."
The woman's eyes sharpened, assessing him. "You're the fellow who bought the old Chen property. Three hundred acres up the valley."
"That's right."
"Big land for one person."
"I like space."
She grunted, apparently satisfied. "These are your best bet." She tapped a cage holding six brown hens, each calm and healthy-looking. "Mixed breed. They'll give you five eggs a day, maybe six if you feed them well. Cost you twelve silver."
Jin pulled coins from his pouch. "Fair."
As she prepared a carrying crate, she glanced at him sideways. "You're the one who gave those radishes to the Flowing Stone disciples, aren't you? The ones with spiritual energy?"
Word traveled fast.
"Gave them vegetables, yes."
"They're saying you're a reclusive master. Testing the younger generation, maybe recruiting."
Jin handed over the silver. "I'm growing food. The disciples helped with construction. That's the whole story."
"Hmm." She didn't sound convinced. "Well, if you need more chickens later, you come find old Wei Lan. I raise the best birds in the region."
"I'll remember."
Jin took the crate—the hens clucked softly inside—and headed back through the market.
He'd barely gone ten steps when someone called his name.
"Senior Jin!"
Feng Huang bounded through the crowd, orange robes flapping, followed by a harried-looking older disciple Jin didn't recognize. The boy's face lit up when he spotted Jin.
"I thought that was you! What are you doing in town? Are those chickens? Are you really buying chickens? Can I see?"
The older disciple—a young woman with her hair bound in a severe bun—caught up and grabbed Feng Huang's shoulder. "Disciple Feng! You can't just accost random people in the marketplace!"
"But this is Big Brother Jin! He's the one I told you about!"
The young woman turned to Jin, cupping her hands in a formal bow. "My apologies, Senior. I'm Lian Xiu, outer sect supervisor. This one tends to forget his manners when excited."
Jin returned the bow, less formally. "No harm done. And it's just Jin. No 'senior' necessary."
Lian Xiu straightened, studying him with sharp intelligence. She was maybe twenty-two, with the bearing of someone used to responsibility. "You're the gentleman who fed our disciples spiritual radishes?"
"Regular radishes. They grew on their own."
"The entire outer sect has been talking about you for two days." A note of exasperation crept into her voice. "Elder Qian wants to invite you to dinner. Half our disciples think you're a hidden master. The other half think you're insane for giving up cultivation. Feng Huang won't stop pestering anyone who'll listen about your 'wisdom of simplicity.'"
Feng Huang beamed. "It was really wise!"
Jin shifted the chicken crate. "I'm a farmer. That's all."
"A farmer who radiates spiritual energy strong enough to infuse vegetables through proximity alone." Lian Xiu's expression remained neutral, but her eyes held questions. "Forgive my directness—are you truly content living as you do? You've clearly reached profound cultivation realms. Aren't you wasting your potential?"
Jin looked at the chickens in his crate, calm and quietly clucking. He thought about his radish patch, his crooked coop, his morning walks through mist-filled valleys.
"I spent two lifetimes chasing power," he said. "Killed who I needed to kill. Broke what needed breaking. Reached the top. And when I got there, I was empty. Just strong. Just alone." He met Lian Xiu's gaze. "This life, I chose peace. That's the opposite of waste."
Lian Xiu studied him for a long moment. Something shifted in her expression—not understanding exactly, but perhaps the beginning of it.
"I see," she said quietly.
Feng Huang tugged her sleeve. "See? I told you! Big Brother Jin understands what matters!"
"Yes, yes." Lian Xiu patted his head absently, still watching Jin. "Would you... actually be willing to speak with Elder Qian? Not as a recruitment matter. He's genuinely interested in alternative cultivation philosophies. He spent twenty years studying daoist hermit traditions before joining the sect."
Jin considered. Meeting sect elders meant questions, expectations, possible complications. But he'd already drawn attention. Refusing might create more trouble than accepting.
"One dinner. Conversation only. I'm getting my chickens home first."
Relief crossed Lian Xiu's face. "Of course. Would tomorrow evening work? I can come collect you if you'd like."
"I'll find my way. Sunset?"
"Perfect. Thank you, Senior—ah, Jin. Thank you, Jin."
They exchanged bows again. Feng Huang waved enthusiastically as Jin headed toward the market exit.
"Bring more radishes if you grow any!" the boy called.
Jin smiled despite himself. The kid's energy was exhausting, but genuine.
The walk home took longer with the chicken crate, but Jin didn't mind. The weight felt satisfying. Real.
When he reached the property, afternoon sun slanted through the trees. His house waited, small and imperfect. The crooked coop stood ready for new occupants. The radish patch glowed faintly with residual spiritual energy.
Jin released the chickens into their new home. They immediately began exploring, pecking at the ground, settling into corners. One particularly bold hen claimed the highest roosting spot and announced her dominance with a loud cluck.
"Good," Jin said. "Make yourselves comfortable."
He scattered feed he'd bought in town, filled the water trough from his well, and stepped back to watch. The chickens went about their business, unbothered by his presence or his legendary reputation.
Jin sat on his porch steps, watching shadows lengthen across his land. Tomorrow he'd meet this Elder Qian, answer whatever questions the old cultivator wanted to ask. After that, maybe he'd expand the vegetable garden. Plant some fruit trees along the southern boundary. Build a proper storage shed.
Small projects. Manageable goals.
Just a man, his land, and six chickens who didn't care that he'd once been Jin the Destroyer.
The sun touched the mountain peaks, painting everything amber and gold. Somewhere in the distance, his stream sang its quiet song.
Jin closed his eyes and breathed.
He'd fought two lifetimes for this moment. He'd earned it.
And he'd defend it, if necessary—but quietly, without drawing more attention than absolutely required.
The chickens clucked softly in their new home. Jin smiled.
Tomorrow would bring what it brought. Tonight, he had everything he needed.