Chapter 339: What Do You Want to Exchange?

The tiny paw pressed against the finger bone, squeezed it, hesitated.

Feti blindly extended a finger, prodded the tiny paw—pressed down, the flesh sank in, released, bounced back, soft, so fun.

Feti prodded a few more times, wanting to prod again, but the tiny paw lifted and slapped its hand away.

In the end, the tiny paw still dragged off the finger bone; when it extended again, it dropped a small bag of elf beans.

"Not…" Just one word spoken, and the tiny paw retracted again.

"Don't want this… ask the God of Undeath… I don't eat…" Looking at the empty statue's palm, Feti was bewildered—it didn't eat anything, so why give it elf beans? It only wanted to ask about the God of Undeath.

But the tiny paw had already retracted; no matter how much it shouted, it couldn't be heard—what to do?

"Got cheated…" Feti raised its hand, now Zhishengsigenshouzhi, sighed, picked up a regular finger bone from the ground, and placed it on the statue's palm.

It had overthought—how could a Xieshen possibly care about an ordinary finger bone? Feti gathered more stones, but the statue still gave no reaction.

Thus, a solitary figure wandered across the land, placing any new thing it found onto the statue's palm—but this was a desolate world, and many things held no value…

…

Ange planted all his newly reclaimed farmland with grain; the soil here was extremely fertile, remote and untouched, and if cultivated, could feed many.

The main plane was full of such undeveloped land, yet low productivity made reclamation a venture with disproportionate effort and return; nobles and landlords had zero interest—they preferred to drive out or seize small farmers' land, because those were already cultivated.

This place was only dozens of kilometers from Heishan Duchy, but developing it required at least a road—how much would it cost to build a road here?

Even if a road were built and peasants relocated here, too few would accomplish nothing; too many would mean massive investment, easily bankrupting a noble.

Once peasants arrived, they needed to reclaim farmland, build houses, settle down, and cover countless upfront costs—expenses were enormous.

But what about returns? The first year would be pure expenditure; the second year might bring slight income, but it would never cover costs—only after five, six, seven, or eight years might income balance expenses, and only then could taxes be collected.

Yet relying solely on taxes, the initial investment might take decades to recoup; everyone knew reclamation was a century-long endeavor, but after calculating costs, who would truly invest to reclaim land?

"You're amazing—hundreds of acres of wasteland reclaimed in just a few days. Using this as a base, relocate dozens of peasant households here, and next year you'll have a harvest; once balanced, expand gradually from here with minimal investment to build a town." Negril sighed.

Ange shook his head: "No need. Immediately." As he spoke, he stepped down, leaving a footprint.

He meant: no need to wait until next year—his reclaimed farmland was planned according to the radius of the Rapid Death Aura.

At first, the Rapid Death Aura could only affect three hundred acres; now it reached six hundred, so he planned each reclamation in six-hundred-acre blocks.

But six hundred acres was too large to control during pollination and grain filling, so he extended the aura's duration—now it took four hours to complete one cycle.

With frequent use, Ange had grown increasingly adept at applying the Rapid Death Aura; when he first mastered it, he could only activate it at full or minimum range, completely unable to control it.

Now he could gradually adjust the aura's radius and speed.

"Can divine techniques level up? How is that possible? How did you do it?" Negril asked, baffled.

It had divine techniques too—why couldn't they level up? When it first awakened, it was like that; later, still like that—never heard of a divine technique that could level up.

"Compare." Ange said.

"Pfft—you don't mean you record every tiny change every time you use your divine technique, then compare it to the past, do you?" Negril felt like vomiting.

Ange nodded as if it were obvious.

"... ctually, yeah—no one's divine power comes from the wind; you have to conserve it, use each divine technique with care—unlike you, who uses it daily to grow vegetables." Negril grumbled:

"Next time I'll compare too—wait, no, I can't use divine techniques anymore—no, the Enlightenment Aura still works, and the Whisper of Truth should too, but my believers never pray to me, no chance to use them, damn it, why won't that brat pray?"

Negril's only believer, alchemist Sawa, was carefully dripping reagents into a test tube in her lab when suddenly she sneezed for no reason.

Her hand jerked, dropping too much reagent—the test tube erupted in green smoke, which she inhaled deeply.

Sawa realized too late—her face turned green, and she cursed: "Damn it, who's cursing me!? This is Sleep Beauty…" Before she finished speaking, she collapsed onto the floor, snoring soundly.

Vania peeked in at the noise, saw nothing unusual, walked in, and felt Sawa's pulse.

"Hmm, still breathing—put her on the bed. No breathing—find Lisa." Vania muttered, stripped Sawa naked, and dumped her on the bed.

That evening, after preparing dinner, Vania brought it in and saw Sawa half-awake, sitting up; the glow of the magic crystal night lamp lit her face, glowing with youth.

"Huh? You're awake? What happened to your face? Why's it so smooth?" Vania asked.

Hearing "smooth," Sawa leapt from the bed, rushed to the mirror: "Wow, so smooth! My Sleep Beauty potion worked? Great! I'm rich! I'm rich!"

Vania glanced at her flat chest, grumbled: "Put your clothes on first, will you? Are you a follower of the God of Knowledge or the God of Gold? Always thinking about getting rich."

Sawa beamed: "I follow the God of Knowledge to get rich—hahaha, rich! Rich! Lady Lisa will give me a share! Lalala!"

Overjoyed, Sawa didn't notice her faint, fragile connection to Negril snap with a crisp *click*.

Negril felt the disturbance, retracted into its body, and saw the Brass Book dimming.

"What happened? What's going on? My believer? Sawa? Sawa? Are you dead?" Negril panicked.

Under Negril's frantic urging, Ange had to teleport back to Heaven at top speed, then transport to Demon Valley, then take a teleport array back to Meishencheng.

He arrived at the lab in chaos, pushed the door open—and saw Sawa alive and well, humming cheerfully; she froze when everyone burst in.

After Negril's relentless questioning, the truth came out—Negril's scales bristled with rage: "You said, 'I follow the God of Knowledge just to get rich'?"

Sawa shrank her head, sheepish: "Just words… just words."

"You apostate! You apostate! You apostate!" Negril patted her head with its tiny claws—whether there was water inside or not, it made a loud *bang-bang-bang*.

From Negril's aura, Sawa sensed she'd done something terrible; she didn't dare retort as before, huddled with her head covered—Negril hadn't hit hard anyway, didn't hurt.

Du Luo watched for a long time, seemed to understand something: "This is your believer—you never taught her the rules of faith? Where are your priests?"

Negril was embarrassed: "She's my only believer."

Du Luo bowed respectfully: "One believer? Her? And you taught her nothing?"

Negril grinned awkwardly: "I didn't know her faith was so weak—she says anything."

Anthony returned too, heard this, shook his head: "This isn't just words—she truly believes it. This is sacrilege—a worse apostate than heretic. Burn her. In the Church of Light, apostates are tied to the pyre and burned for seven days and nights."

Sawa's mouth dropped open: "S-so serious? I… I just said it casually, Lord Negril, I believe you, I devoutly worship you!"

Negril looked back at the still-dim Brass Book, then emerged and sneered: "Fake. Not devout at all. She doesn't believe it inside. Burn her."

Sawa rolled her eyes and fainted.

Anthony laughed—this faint was too fake; her eyelids were still twitching.

He turned to Negril: "Lord Negril, this won't work—only one believer? And you teach her nothing? It's just letting her run wild."

Negril spread its claws: "Why need so many believers? I can't teach them to grow vegetables, right? My only fresh knowledge is vegetable cultivation."

"What's wrong with growing vegetables? It's knowledge too. Remember the Spring Wind Cup Seed Competition? Because of the drought, this year's competition no longer focuses only on yield—it added adaptability. You can go with the Lord to compete, teach them vegetable cultivation."

Ange, who had been reaching into space, finally lifted his head.

Flashing Feti, the Guangmingzhongshen, soul storms, faith storms—Ange wasn't really interested. Growing things was more fun.

Well, since Ange was interested, what did Negril's opposition matter? The event wasn't far—it was in the Star Republic, held during the harvest season in a month, but registration opened now.

Ange's registration was easy—just find a little girl in Meishencheng.

"What? You want to register for the Seed Competition? You? The God of Undeath and the God of Knowledge? Participate in the Seed Competition?" Obenli scrutinized Ange and Negril, advised:

"It's a highly professional contest—the highest yield per mu has broken a thousand jin. Lord Ange can grow things, but you shouldn't enter—it'll be embarrassing."

Meaning: amateur, don't enter the pro league—you'll look foolish.

Obenli wasn't one of them; she didn't know many things, so Negril wouldn't explain—just said: "What are the registration requirements? Just tell me—I'll handle the rest."

"Really participating?" Obenli asked seriously; after confirmation, she waved her hand: "What requirements? With me here, what requirements? Do you think I'm dead?"

She paused, then added: "But after registering, you must take a Growth Monitoring Stone Pillar, plant it in your competition plot, collect data for half a month, then input it into the simulation array. Must plant for exactly half a month—no less, no more—and no cheating."

"I heard Lord Ange can accelerate crop growth—absolutely not, it'll skew the data."

Negril nodded, understood: "Alright, I get it. Where do we register?"

"Register right here—I'll record it. What name will you use? Here's the monitoring pillar—once planted, you can't pull it out, or the timer resets. Measure for half a month, until harvest."

"Alright. Name? Call it 'Spring Wind.'" Negril said casually.

"No—Spring Wind Cup? You name it 'Spring Wind'? Trying to trademark it?"

Negril turned to consult Ange; the two naming failures debated a moment, then settled on: "Saltwater Demon Rice Team."

"You're entering with Saltwater Demon Rice? Don't use that name—others will target you. Don't even say 'saltwater'—call it 'Salted Fish.'"

"Salted Fish Team? Sounds weird. Fine, we'll go with that." Ange and Negril exchanged glances—no better idea—agreed.

…

Lightning idled around, when suddenly its "fur hat" shifted; it shook its head hard—the "fur hat" didn't budge.

"What are you doing? Don't move around."

A furry paw emerged from the hat, holding an elf bean, dangling near Lightning's mouth.

Lightning stuck out its tongue, licked off the bean, and said, "Fine, go ahead."

The hat moved—two tiny paws kept extending and retracting, passing things from left hand to right, right to left.

"Are you organizing things? Why so many elf beans? How many did you steal from the Lord? Bribe me, or I'll tell him."

The big cat immediately bowed to the evil force, offered another elf bean.

Lightning swallowed it, burped—two elf beans were enough for a day's nutrition; no need to eat today. Back home, eat two beets as dessert, sip some sparkling wine.

The big cat suddenly leapt off Lightning's bag.

Its head suddenly felt cold—Lightning cried out: "Where are you going? Come back! My head's cold!" It really thought the cat was a hat.

The cat ignored it, sauntered away, soon reached Ange, reached out a tiny paw, pressed it against Ange's face: "Aowu~"

Ange tilted his head: "Exchange things? Exchange what?"

"Aowu~" As it spoke, it opened its paw—beneath lay a purple-gold finger bone.