Summary 6

This page contains an original arc analysis written for readers of the English translation.

Arc Six: Summer Farming Trip — Where Peace Is Built, Not Given

After ghosts, blood, and fate trying very hard to chew him up, Ji Xiu is dropped into something almost suspiciously gentle: a summer farming world. No villains kicking down the door. No systems screaming about missions. Just land, crops, money, and a child who finally gets to grow up without constantly watching her back.

And honestly? This might be the most dangerous arc of all.

Ji Xiu arrives as a rural contractor who has leased Jingfeng Mountain. He’s not poor, not rich, and not interested in shortcuts. He has one goal: make the land work, and make sure his daughter, Ji Jingyu, lives well while doing it. The conflict here isn’t about survival. It’s about temptation. About what happens when life finally becomes comfortable, and you have the freedom to make mistakes.

At the start of the arc, everything goes smoothly. Crayfish raised with spiritual spring water explode in popularity, turning a small night snack business into a local legend. People line up, prices rise, and rumors spread. Some say the food must be addictive. Others whisper about illegal additives. Ji Xiu doesn’t bother arguing. He lets quality speak for itself, because people who want to doubt will always find a reason.

What matters is that the money starts flowing.

This arc quietly establishes a new version of Ji Xiu: not a fixer, not a fighter, but a builder. He doesn’t gamble everything on one source of income. He reinvests. He plans long-term. He studies logistics, markets, and timing. Farming, here, isn’t romantic. It’s math with dirt under its nails.

Ji Jingyu, meanwhile, is finally allowed to be a child—or at least something close to one. She eats strawberries until she’s sick of them. She chats with friends. She does homework slowly and complains. But underneath that surface normalcy is a deep, unspoken tension.

She knows something is wrong.

Not wrong with the world. Wrong with her father.

This version of Ji Xiu is too calm. Too accepting. Too willing to treat her like an equal while still indulging her like a child. He never pushes her to be extraordinary. He never demands gratitude. He never pressures her to “use” her advantages. And that terrifies her more than cruelty ever did.

Ji Jingyu begins to wonder if her father is really her father.

The thought creeps in quietly, like a draft through a closed window. In her past life, her father was decent, but distant. He wanted a son. He compromised. He looked away too often. This Ji Xiu does none of that. He divorces cleanly. He refuses remarriage. He says, without hesitation, that one daughter is enough.

That kind of certainty doesn’t match her memories.

But Ji Jingyu is afraid to ask. Because if she asks, and the answer is something she can’t bear, then the warmth she’s finally found might vanish. So she does what many children do when they sense something fragile: she pretends nothing is wrong and clings tighter.

The farming arc mirrors this emotional tension perfectly.

The strawberries ripen. They’re beautiful, sweet, and valuable. And immediately, they attract trouble—not villains, just village children sneaking bites. Ji Xiu could call the police. He doesn’t. He could yell. He doesn’t. Instead, he looks for a solution that teaches consequences without cruelty.

The solution arrives in the form of geese.

Yes. Geese.

This is where the arc’s humor really shines. Ji Xiu raises a flock of aggressive, highly territorial geese to guard the strawberry fields. He trains them meticulously. Strawberries become forbidden fruit, punished by pecking and pursuit. Children learn quickly. Adults learn faster.

The geese do what walls and cameras cannot: they create fear with personality.

And yet, even here, Ji Xiu is careful. The geese are not allowed to seriously hurt anyone. They are deterrents, not weapons. Boundaries, not vengeance. This detail matters, because it reflects Ji Xiu’s parenting philosophy. He doesn’t believe in pain for its own sake. He believes in learning.

As the farm stabilizes, Ji Xiu expands again. Fruit trees. Irrigation. Hiring villagers. Turning a private success into shared opportunity. This is one of the arc’s quiet themes: prosperity that lifts others is harder to attack. When villagers depend on the mountain for work, they protect it themselves.

The arc then shifts into modern territory with online sales, and here Ji Xiu runs headfirst into something he can’t brute-force: visibility.

His strawberries are excellent. His pricing is fair. His photos are honest. And no one buys them.

This is where Ji Jingyu steps in, gently but decisively. She suggests advertising. Influencers. Exposure. Not because the product is bad, but because good things still need to be seen.

Enter Caojian, a small-time food content creator who arrives suspicious, nervous, and underprepared. What follows is one of the arc’s most memorable sequences: a livestream trip to Jingfeng Mountain that accidentally turns into free viral marketing.

The scenery is stunning. The roses bloom. The strawberries glow. The geese attack.

The livestream explodes.

What makes this moment work isn’t the comedy. It’s the authenticity. Ji Xiu doesn’t script anything. He doesn’t exaggerate. He doesn’t sell a fantasy. He simply lets people see what he’s built. And people respond, because sincerity cuts through noise in a way polish never can.

By the end of Arc Six, Ji Xiu has something he’s never had before: stability.

Not the fragile stability of wealth or power, but the kind built from routine, trust, and shared meals. His daughter is safe. His land is protected. His future is open.

And yet, the arc refuses to end on pure comfort.

Ji Jingyu’s doubts remain unresolved. Ji Xiu notices her silence but chooses patience over confrontation. Both of them carry secrets. Both of them are afraid of breaking what they’ve built by speaking too soon.

This is why Arc Six matters.

It shows that healing doesn’t end with victory. It continues in quiet moments, in choices made when no one is watching, and in the courage to let happiness exist without immediately questioning how long it will last.

Sometimes, saving the world looks like fighting ghosts.

And sometimes, it looks like growing strawberries, raising geese, and letting a child believe—just for now—that everything is going to be okay.