Within days, the global meteorite impact had become a hot topic, capturing the world’s attention. Opening a short-video app revealed a flood of related clips.

Some offered scientific analysis, others provided close-up explorations, and still others turned it into a meme for comedy videos—traffic surrounding the meteorite was overwhelming. Yet very few had actually captured the meteorite on camera; the videos circulating online offered only sporadic glimpses of its full form.

Jiang Le opened the most trending video on the short-video platform: “Did the meteorite vanish immediately after landing?”

The video came from a surveillance camera originally set up in the mountains to monitor wildlife. The blurry footage showed a streak of light slicing through the sky and landing in the distance, still glowing even as it plunged into the dense forest. As the progress bar at the bottom of the video slowly advanced, the light source grew smaller and smaller until it burned out completely.

In fact, video footage of meteorites around the world is almost always like this—no meteorite debris is ever left behind. Rumors suggest that relevant authorities rush to remove all meteorites overnight, implying that they must contain something valuable that cannot be made public.

Internet celebrities from all over, sensing the scent of viral traffic, ignored the authorities’ warnings and scrambled to various meteorite impact sites. Using drones and professional cameras, they either filmed from above or sneaked in for a closer look, yet none managed to capture any traces of the meteorite’s landing.

“Can you tell if a meteorite landed here?”

“Did the streamer just pick a random patch of grass to fool the viewers?” 

“666, the streamer’s a total scam artist.”

The anchor on camera looked exasperated as she held up her phone’s location and protested, “No way! Just a couple of days ago, someone actually filmed a meteorite landing right here. Don’t you see that the grass here is greener than anywhere else?”

“Anchor, you’re still filming? We’ll track you down through the network cable in a minute. The higher-ups have already said not to go near these areas.”

“It’s true the grass is greener here. I heard the meteorite might contain some kind of energy that promotes growth—apparently, people are already researching it.”

“Damn it, in the end, it’s always the rich who benefit. We don’t get a single penny out of it.”

Jiang Le stayed in the livestream for a few minutes before logging out.

Just like in his previous life, in the early days after the meteorite’s arrival, all ordinary people were immersed in the frenzy of online attention surrounding it, unaware that danger was quietly weaving itself in the shadows.

Descent, sedimentation, accumulation, and eruption.

The first signs of this would become apparent in about a fortnight. When the entire planet was enveloped by an invisible force, where could the creatures within flee, other than to await the judgment of fate?

Jiang Le leaped down from a moss-covered rock and gazed ahead at the large clearing nestled between two hills. Composed of trees of varying heights and green meadows, the vegetation was at its most lush in midsummer. The colors within the woods were a patchwork of hues; under the sunlight, there was no clear boundary between life and death.

Like humans, some plants had grown stronger due to the meteorite’s power, while others had been wiped out by external forces. In the past, they only became nourishment for others after rotting and withering; now, however, they were silently drained of life by their own kind while still alive.

However, none of this is yet clearly evident.

This spot lies about two kilometers deeper into the woods beyond Jiangjia Village—not too far, yet few people ever venture here. These are no longer the days when people lived off the land; aside from a few villagers who come into the mountains to gather mushrooms or catch centipedes, one might go ten days or even half a month without seeing a single soul.

Jiang Le had noted this spot down during his previous explorations of the woods.

Now that the farm has been upgraded and can be materialized into the real world, Jiang Le chose to place it here, further away from the crowds that are about to descend into chaos, and to ensure there was ample land for cultivation.

Once the location was set, Jiang Le tapped his wrist and instantly teleported into the farm.

Projecting the farm into reality didn’t mean simply placing all the facilities directly into the real world. After clicking to select “Deploy,” the system immediately displayed a blue screen showing a thumbnail of the entire farm. It was divided into distinct, independently glowing zones based on different functional areas.

All Jiang Le had to do was click on the sections and facilities he wanted to project, then click “Confirm.”

Jiang Le did not select areas like warehouses or blue brick tile houses—sections that weren’t needed for daily work or were inconvenient for outsiders to access. Instead, he selected only the farmland, the poultry and livestock areas, and the ponds—the sections requiring daily care.

“Are you sure you want to project the selected areas?”

Jiang Le clicked “Confirm.”

The blue screen immediately displayed the current view, allowing Jiang Le to choose the specific placement locations.

Once everything was set up exactly as Jiang Le intended, the boundary between reality and the virtual world slowly dissolved into blue specks of light, and Jiang Le returned to the real world.

The once-wild mountain forest now stretched out into farmland, with fences and pig pens made of yellow mud, and a small pond not far away, its water glistening faintly through the gaps between water chestnuts and lotus leaves.

Unlike in the system space, there were no prompts such as “Ready for Seeding” or “Ready for Watering” on each plot of land. Instead, there was a small label displaying a number in the corner, and a board resembling a bulletin board had appeared on the open ground nearby.

The board displays the current status of each area and the required actions, with different plot numbers appended to distinguish them. For example, at the moment, most numbers simply read “Good Condition,” while a specific section of the pigsty displays “Needs Cleaning.”

Jiang Le walked over to the pig pen, where four little piglets were being raised. There was still some feed left in the trough; some chubby piglets were eating, while others were resting.

Most of the pigpen was clean; the piglets had set aside a specific section for their waste, and it was that area that needed cleaning.

Jiang Le used a tool to shovel away the accumulated pig manure and dumped it into the compost bin nearby to decompose. As soon as the manure was removed, the “To Be Cleaned” label for that section of the pig pen disappeared from the bulletin board.

Having gotten the hang of how the virtual farm operated, Jiang Le brought Mao Xiaofei over that afternoon and explained the basic workings of the place, including how to use the bulletin board to determine what tasks needed to be done.

Mao Xiaofei looked around the farm in amazement. “Brother Jiang, you built this all by yourself up here in the mountains? That’s incredible.”

He didn’t notice anything amiss with the well, the tool shed, the overly neat plots of land, or the crops that looked almost as if they’d been copied and pasted.

Jiang Le didn’t explain; he simply told him, “I’ll be away for the next few days, so you’ll have to look after this place for me. We’ll discuss the rest when I get back.”

The previous batch of cucumbers, tomatoes, and peppers had already passed their peak harvest period, and their yield had dropped significantly. Last night, Jiang Le had pulled them out and planted new seedlings. For the next few days, Mao Xiaofei wouldn’t need to harvest anything; he just needed to water and fertilize the plants.

Mao Xiaofei didn’t think anything of it and nodded. “Alright, Brother Jiang, I’ll definitely take good care of this place for you.”

After spending so much time together, Jiang Le believed Mao Xiaofei was an honest kid. He just wasn’t sure yet whether, under the influence of the meteorite’s energy, Mao Xiaofei would become a superpower user, an ordinary person, or… a zombie.

Jiang Le hoped it wouldn’t be the last option. As long as it wasn’t the last option, he planned to keep Mao Xiaofei on as the farm’s first employee.

Leaving the physical location of the farm, Jiang Le hadn’t actually left the mountains and forests. He locked the door to the old house and didn’t go anywhere else; instead, he entered the blue-brick, tiled-roof house within the farm’s spatial realm.

After the farm’s upgrade, the host could stay overnight in the farmhouse within the space without being immediately kicked out by the farm system.

Although peace and order hadn’t been completely stripped away yet, the upgrade process might take several days and nights, and this was the only place where Jiang Le could feel at ease.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed in the farmhouse, Jiang Le pulled up the upgrade option he had long set aside from his personal panel.

His personal experience bar hadn’t stagnated just because he’d chosen to postpone the upgrade; it had risen a bit over the past few days. However, since the upgrade wasn’t yet complete, this new segment appeared as a faint, shadowy outline.

As he confirmed the upgrade option, Jiang Le’s consciousness slowly sank into a world constructed from an ocean of blue light.

It was no longer the searing, instantaneous agony he’d felt during his first upgrade. Instead, it was a deeper, more persistent sensation of being stripped away and reshaped, as if an invisible force were breaking his body down into its smallest components.

Jiang Le was unable to move, forced to feel as his body, starting from his bones, was ground into dust inch by inch. With every second of destruction came rebirth, extending from the inside out to his muscles and skin, his entire body faintly radiating a lustrous, jade-like glow.

Every beat of his heart contained a power far greater than before, but this process of growth felt like countless needles repeatedly piercing and stitching his body. Energy roamed freely through his meridians, destroying impurities and refining the purity of his body.

Painful sweat poured down, carrying with it the waste and blood expelled from his body, leaving many winding trails flowing beside Jiang Le.

Jiang Le felt as though he had been cast into an ocean where time was imperceptible; his remaining consciousness could only occasionally glimpse the progress bar slowly creeping forward.

Three days later.

The moment the progress bar finally struggled to reach 100%, the torrential energy raging within him—powerful enough to tear everything apart—suddenly subsided as if tamed, settling and sinking until it was perfectly integrated into every corner and every cell of Jiang Le’s body.

In the small hut, Jiang Le slowly opened his eyes.