The Immortal Ancestor's Modern Farming Diary

I woke up as the founding patriarch of a cultivation sect.

I thought I could throw my weight around, but the Heavenly Dao had collapsed and spiritual energy had dried up.

The mount that once dominated the eight wildernesses had died of old age in a field. To save on spirit stones, my only great-granddisciple ordered the patriarch himself to farm and support himself.

As I crouched in a wasteland, studying wheat crossbreeding, the village beauty at the foot of the mountain blushed and brought me lunch:

"Immortal, I... my family's spirit pig just had piglets. Would you... like to come see?"

The sword cultivator sect master on the neighboring mountain quietly put away his flying sword, slung a hoe over his shoulder, and walked along the field ridge:

"Today's Dao discussion is postponed. I have to go milk the sacred beast that guards my mountain."