Bringing a Dead World Back to Life

A divine war ten thousand years ago shattered the world into the "Withered Realms," drifting across a sea of gray mist.

After his soul transmigrated into Withered Realm Number Thirty-Seven, Lin Yuenong became the last Seedkeeper. His assets: six mu of dead land, a spring nearly run dry, nine days' worth of grain, and a sharp-tongued squirrel.

Beyond the realm, the tides swallow people whole. The person next door who traded seeds with you yesterday might shove you into the mist today. Within the realm, the barrier is as thin as paper. Old Gray says this realm has ten years left.

While others risk their lives to seize what they can, he bends down to farm.

Every bit of cultivated land opens the storehouse a little further, and strengthens the barrier a little more. Farming means reinforcing the door to his home.

The hands passed down from his grandfather, six years of agricultural studies, and a couple hundred old seeds: he starts by turning over a patch of living soil barely two paces across.

A mother and her child kneel outside, begging for help. The door recognizes only his hand. Will he open it or not?

"Ten years from now, you will be her."

No System, no status screen, and every account adds up. Fantasy farming, slow simmered and hearty.