By midday, the field was no longer quiet.
What had started as a simple visit by a few curious villagers had slowly turned into something more noticeable. People didn't come all at once, but one by one—drawn by curiosity, by rumor, or simply by chance.
And each time someone arrived, they stayed longer than expected.
The young man remained at the center of it all, continuing his work as if nothing unusual was happening. His movements were steady, controlled, almost meditative. To him, everything was still part of cultivation.
The villagers, however, did not see it that way.
They gathered at the edge of the field, watching.
Some whispered among themselves.
"Is that the one?"
"Yeah… the one they were talking about."
"He just looks like a normal kid…"
Their voices were low, cautious.
No one wanted to look foolish.
Eventually, one of them stepped forward—a middle-aged man with rough hands and a skeptical expression.
"You," he called out. "What exactly are you doing?"
The young man stopped and looked up calmly.
"…Cultivating."
The answer came without hesitation.
The man frowned.
"That's just farming."
The young man shook his head slightly.
"No. It is the cultivation of earth."
The surrounding villagers exchanged glances.
They clearly didn't understand.
But before anyone could argue further, the farmer who had first discovered the place stepped in.
"Just try it," he said.
His tone was firm.
"I thought it was nonsense too."
The middle-aged man hesitated.
Then he stepped forward.
"…Fine."
He took the tool and began working the soil.
At first, his movements were rough, unrefined, just like any normal farmer.
But slowly—
something changed.
His grip relaxed.
His breathing slowed.
His movements became smoother without him realizing it.
The soil began to break apart more easily.
He paused.
"…Wait."
He looked down at his hands, confused.
"This… feels different."
The others leaned closer.
"What do you mean?"
"It's like…" he struggled to explain, "…like the soil isn't resisting me."
Silence fell.
The young man nodded slightly.
"That is because you are no longer forcing it."
The man looked at him sharply.
"…Forcing it?"
"Yes," the young man said. "You were working against it. Now you are working with it."
The explanation sounded simple.
Too simple.
And yet—
it matched the feeling perfectly.
The man stared at the soil again.
Then continued working.
This time, more carefully.
More consciously.
And once again—
the same result.
Easier.
Smoother.
More natural.
The villagers began murmuring louder now.
"…It actually works."
"…What is this?"
"…Is this really cultivation?"
The young man heard them but didn't react.
To him, this was normal.
This was how cultivation should be.
The old man, however, stood at the side of the field, completely silent.
His gaze moved between the villagers and the young man.
His expression was calm.
But his thoughts were not.
"…This is no longer just misunderstanding," he thought.
Something was happening.
Something he could not explain.
And it was growing.