The morning haze blanketed Qingyuan Town in a soft mist as Lin Feng parked his tricycle near the newly leased plot. The air smelled of damp earth and overgrown weeds. With a scythe in hand and a backpack of tools, he began his first day of work on the land—his "cover farm."
He wasn't here to grow crops, not seriously. The real production happened inside the space. But to outsiders, this needed to look like the origin of his success.
Within hours, the weeds were cleared, at least on the surface. He carved narrow footpaths through the dry patches, planted a few visible rows of spinach and spring onions near the front edge of the field, and brought over some seedlings he'd grown in trays from home.
He wanted just enough to make it look lived-in, farmed… plausible.
By noon, a few villagers had wandered by, peering curiously at the field.
"You the one who leased this place?" a man in a gray jacket asked. He had sharp eyes, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and a notepad in hand.
Lin Feng nodded cautiously. "Yeah. Just doing some small farming. Trying to stay busy."
The man crouched, tugging at one of the new seedlings. "These look better than mine."
Lin Feng smiled politely. "Bought them from a nursery."
The man stood and offered a hand. "I'm Zhang Jian from the township agricultural office. Just making rounds. This land's been unused for a while."
Lin Feng shook it firmly. "Nice to meet you. Yeah, I'm starting small."
Zhang Jian tilted his head. "You got a license? If you're selling at volume, we'll need to record that. Safety checks, you know."
"Not selling. Personal use mostly. Maybe give some to friends."
Zhang Jian studied him for a second too long.
"Alright then. Just don't start building anything illegal, okay? We've had people put up warehouses or dig ponds without approval. That gets messy."
"No worries. I'll keep things clean."
Zhang Jian scribbled in his pad, nodded, and walked off. Lin Feng exhaled.
That was close.
He made a mental note to lay low for a while. But this visit also confirmed one thing—people were starting to notice.
---
That night, in the inner realm, he doubled down.
The second greenhouse was underway. Using wood from the space's own forest and thick plastic sheeting he'd snuck in through real-world purchases, he constructed a slightly larger structure next to the first. Inside, he arranged the planting rows more carefully this time—sweet basil, cherry tomatoes, garlic chives, and two trays of microgreens.
By inner day four, sprouts emerged like tiny soldiers. The controlled temperature and moisture meant nothing ever wilted. No pests. No droughts.
Perfection, manufactured in secret.
He also began experimenting with composting—piling chicken manure, vegetable scraps, and dried leaves in a shaded pit to decompose. After three inner weeks, the resulting compost was black gold. Rich. Fertile. He used it to condition the soil in the new greenhouse.
And as he worked, a thought grew in his mind.
He was no longer just a farmer.
He was becoming a cultivator of systems.
---
The next day, Liu Ying messaged him again.
[A friend of mine runs a boutique grocery store in Shunde. They're asking if you can supply specialty herbs.]
Lin Feng's fingers hovered above his phone.
He could, technically. The space could yield kilograms of herbs every week. But transporting to another city was a risk. More visibility. More scrutiny.
He replied cautiously.
[Depends what they want. I can offer small weekly amounts, but only for trial.]
[They're okay with that. Sending you a list.]
The list arrived within minutes:
Thai basil
Purple perilla
Mint (preferably spearmint)
Lemon balm
He had three of the four already growing inside. Only lemon balm was missing.
---
Inside the realm, he selected a cool shaded patch near the river and planted lemon balm from a packet he'd bought online days ago. Within ten inner days, the herb had sprouted and spread like wildfire.
He packaged the first trial batch with his usual care: trimmed, rinsed with spring water from the space, wrapped in breathable paper, and sealed in a biodegradable container.
He printed a label using the "Lin Chen Cooperative" name, complete with QR code and harvest date. The delivery went out via courier—again using an alias—and he waited.
Three days later, Liu Ying sent a voice message.
> "They said your herbs are unbelievable. Like, they thought you were growing them in some lab. You might be getting more orders soon."
Lin Feng smiled quietly. He replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
---
His online reputation was starting to grow in small circles. Cafés. Health food stores. Specialty chefs.
He knew what came next: the inevitable copycats and questions.
To stay ahead, he expanded his greenhouse once more, adding a third structure focused entirely on microgreens—sunflower shoots, beet sprouts, and radish greens. These were high-value, quick-growing, and popular with the urban wellness crowd.
He calculated yield vs. time.
One tray = ~500g = market value of ¥80–100.
His inner realm could support 100 trays per cycle, with a new batch ready every 10 inner days (under 3 hours outside).
Profit per cycle? Around ¥10,000.
Scaling that up over real-world time?
He could soon hit ¥100,000 a month without anyone knowing.
But he needed a distribution method that didn't expose him.
That's when he remembered something from college—a classmate who'd started a WeChat Mini Program store.
---
That night, he dove into tutorials on setting up a WeChat shop.
He kept the brand name "Lin Chen Farm" and uploaded a minimalist logo: a green leaf with stylized water droplets forming its veins. Clean, natural, untraceable.
He hired a programmer online for ¥2,000 to help him integrate payment and delivery scheduling. Everything was kept anonymous, routed through third-party logistics and payment accounts he'd set up under his alias.
By the end of the week, the shop was live.
He launched with a soft offer—pre-packed "Urban Fresh Boxes" containing:
One pack of mixed microgreens
Two bunches of herbs (rotating)
Seasonal mushrooms (optional)
¥88 per box. Delivery included. Only 50 boxes per week to start.
His first customer wasn't Liu Ying or her contacts.
It was a stranger from Shenzhen who found the shop via foodie groups.
---
Sales trickled in. Ten boxes, then twenty. Reviews started coming in:
> "Unreal freshness."
"Smells like real soil."
"Why can't all produce taste like this?"
He'd tapped into something people missed: authenticity.
He packed each order carefully, changed box layouts weekly, and added a small handwritten note (scanned and printed, to save time): "From soil to soul – Lin Chen Farm."
People loved it.
He even got his first repeat customer by week three.
---
But just as things were stabilizing, trouble stirred again.
One afternoon, while unloading cardboard boxes outside the village road, a black sedan pulled up. The window rolled down.
It was Zhang Jian again.
This time with a younger man in a white shirt and glasses.
"Lin Feng," Zhang said with a forced smile. "This is Li Wei from the county agricultural bureau. He's checking up on new farmers."
Lin Feng straightened, heartbeat slowing. "Afternoon."
Li Wei eyed the clean crates and printed labels with mild interest. "Lin Chen Farm, right? You're shipping herbs now?"
"Just a few. Friends from the city requested."
Li Wei crouched, opened one of the crates, and sniffed the herbs.
"These are… exceptional quality."
"Good environment," Lin Feng said blandly. "No pesticides."
"You got certifications?"
"Not yet. Haven't hit the required volume."
Li Wei glanced at Zhang Jian. "We'll keep an eye on your paperwork. Make sure you're not exceeding informal limits. And if you're using third-party logistics, be careful. Some companies report client info for subsidies."
Lin Feng nodded, keeping his voice neutral. "I'll be careful."
Li Wei stood, patted the side of the crate, and smiled faintly. "Nice work. Just don't grow too fast."
As they drove off, Lin Feng stood still for several minutes.
"Don't grow too fast," the man had said.
But the truth was…
He couldn't afford to stop.
---
That night, under the glow of moonlight in the realm, Lin Feng looked over his fields—greenhouses lit with firefly jars, mushrooms in full bloom, and livestock dozing peacefully in pens.
He whispered into the night:
"I'll grow at my own pace."
Because this wasn't just a business.
It was his life's soil.
And no one else had the map to his roots.
---
End of Chapter 5