The Harvester - Chapter 457: "Insane bastard."

When Viscount Ascham’s House’s eldest daughter, Adele von Ascham, became 10 years old, she remembered everything with an intense headache.

One-sentence introduction: After traveling back from the cultivation world, I went back to my hometown to farm and start a live broadcast to sell vegetables!

——

Song Tan, who failed to cultivate the golden elixir to cross the tribulation, returned to modern times and found himself at the scene of a series of car accidents. He only escaped death with the help of his benefactor.

After waking up, the fairy Song Tan played with her mobile phone: I like this world!

Facing the computer with dull eyes and engaging in PPT, Song Tan: Destroy this world!

It is impossible to do PPT, so I can only go back to my hometown to farm.

Relying on his own experience in cultivating immortals, Song Tan built landscape gardens, harvested wild vegetables, farm meals, picked cucumbers, broadcasted live broadcasts, and sold mountain delicacies…

Until one day, she saw her savior—the man whose face was blown off halfway while saving her.

Song Tan looked at the other party’s wide shoulders, narrow waist and long legs, and then at the other half of his handsome face. Thinking of his two lifetimes as a single dog, he thought:

I heard that the double-cultivation secret method of the Hehuan Sect can nourish the appearance, but I don’t know…

[Pure farming, the kind of real farming]

[There is a male protagonist, but there are not many scenes]

- Description from novelbuddy

I found myself possessing the body of a young master who everyone was eager to kill. I’m invincible, so let them try to kill me. It’s only for one second, though.

[Longevity + Discipleship + No Female Lead + Lighthearted Humor with No Tragic Moments]When his master picks food, he spins the table there;When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.