A Farm Girl: Three Acres of Fertile Land Can Be Exchanged for a Country

She took out a nautical chart and compass to check her direction, confirming that she had not drifted away from this sea area, but why hadn't the storm come yet?

Is her luck really that bad that she can't even get a chance to get started?

The tension and anticipation before setting sail had become numb with the passage of time. Wutong, too weary to even stand, leaned back against the wooden plank and said to Duan Fufeng:

"I've done my best. If I can't find it, don't blame me."

Duan Fufeng, as usual, was unable to answer. Suddenly, her nose stung, and she bit her lip and cried silently.

Tears dripped onto the deck, his fingers, and his clothes, leaving damp, dark spots.

Wutong took his hand and pressed it against her right cheek, hoping he would say, "I don't blame you."

She tried her best, but there are many things in this world that cannot be achieved simply by giving your all. Timing and luck are both indispensable.

Before leaving, Li Deming asked her to bring Duan Fufeng back, regardless of whether he succeeded or not. He was the faith of all the people of Southern Xinjiang, and he wanted to die in Southern Xinjiang.

Three days had passed since the Awakening of Insects, and on the morning of the fourth day, Wutong decided to return home.

She took out the oar that she hadn't used in a long time, turned the boat around, and sailed back the way she came.

The wind was blowing in the opposite direction, making it extremely difficult for the boat to sail. Wutong furled all the sails and relied on manpower to row, propelling the boat forward slowly and laboriously.

Perhaps because she had done more arduous work, she didn't feel tired. In fact, because she finally had a goal, she felt much more at ease, knowing that no matter how slow it was, as long as she kept moving forward, she would eventually reach the destination.

It took her the entire morning to travel less than ten nautical miles.

It was lunchtime, and Wutong stopped paddling, looked up at the wind direction, and felt something was off.

Thick clouds had gathered in the sky, blocking out all sunlight, yet there was not a breath of wind, and the sea was calm and still, like a giant mirror.

Is it holding back from raining?

She tidied up some things on the deck and went into the cabin to start a fire and cook.

The fire was lit in a clay pot-like stove; to prevent the boat from catching fire, no open flame was used, only charcoal. Li Deming prepared a large box of high-quality charcoal for them, and so far less than a tenth of it had been used; the box was still full.

For lunch, we had seafood porridge, charcoal-grilled sesame flatbread, and her specialty—steamed egg custard.

The food didn't taste very good, but it smelled delicious. Especially the seafood porridge; the moment the lid was lifted, her mouth watered. She ladled it into two bowls and placed one in front of herself and the other in front of Duan Fufeng.

"Since you don't seem hungry anyway, I'll eat first."

Wutong blew on the bowl for a while, then used her chopsticks to shovel the still-hot porridge into her mouth, almost bringing tears to her eyes from the scalding hot scallops inside.

After she finished eating, she began to feed Duan Fufeng.

This is a very troublesome matter. He can't open his mouth, let alone chew. Even if you force his mouth open and pour it in, it might still drip down the corners of his mouth.

At times like these, Wutong would miss Wenxin and Xuyun.

If only they were here. They're ruthless yet compassionate; they could just pinch his jaw off and then he could lie flat and have whatever they want poured into him.

She didn't have the guts to do such a thing. If Duan Fufeng woke up later and developed some kind of speech impediment, she might be blackmailed by him for the rest of her life.

Therefore, Wutong could only use the most inefficient old method: scooping up a tiny bit of porridge with a spoon and putting it into his mouth, watching the porridge flow into his esophagus before feeding him the next spoonful.

This process was extremely time-consuming. By the end, Wutong's hands were numb, and the spoon she was holding was gently shaking, grazing his lips several times.

No! It wasn't because my hand was numb that it was shaking...

She sensed something was wrong, stopped feeding the porridge, and carefully examined the boat, discovering that it was rocking back and forth.

Because the amplitude was not very large and the rhythm was not fast, her body swayed with inertia and she didn't even notice it.

what happened?

The sea was too open; if they encountered trouble, they wouldn't be able to call for help. From the very first day at sea, Wutong had constantly reminded herself to be vigilant. So she put down her bowl and went out to check.

You wouldn't believe it until you look outside; it's already as dark as 7 or 8 pm, but it's still clearly noon.

Looking at the dark sky above and the sea, which, though seemingly calm, was rippling with huge waves, she had a premonition—the Immortal Gate might be about to open.

A mixture of surprise and nervousness welled up in her heart, leaving her momentarily at a loss.

She knew she should make some preparations to make it easier to find the immortal gate later, but what preparations could she make in the face of such a huge natural force?

Should I take a knife or a sword? Should I hide in the cabin or below deck?

If she is really going to die this time, then everything we do will be in vain.

Wutong decided to do nothing but guard the Immortal Gate on the deck, ready to approach immediately if she noticed anything unusual.

She helped Duan Fufeng to the cabin door, gripped his wrist tightly, and said, "Our chance has come."

Whether he will perish at sea or break into the immortal sect to save Duan Fufeng, it all depends on now!

As if to verify her words, shortly after she finished speaking, several bolts of lightning flashed through the dark clouds, illuminating the sea as bright as day.

A wind picked up in the air. At first, it wasn't strong, but it gradually picked up. In just the time it takes to burn half an incense stick, the wind was so strong that it was impossible to stand properly on the deck.

Lightning flashed and a strong wind blew, and a light rain began to fall. The raindrops were blown everywhere by the wind, stinging like pebbles when they hit my face.

Wutong, fearing that rainwater would fly into the cabin and wet Duan Fufeng's clothes, lowered the curtain and tied the edges with rope. He then hid behind the curtain with Duan Fufeng, peeking out through the gaps.

The sky was terrifyingly dark, and the waves rolled and churned like raging beasts.

The sails were initially furled, but a strong gust of wind snapped the securing ropes. The sails instantly unfurled, billowing wildly in the wind and nearly lifting the boat into the air.

The ship rocked violently with the wind. After tumbling several times in the cabin, Wutong guessed that there was a problem with the sails. He tied Duan Fufeng to a pillar and then climbed out by grabbing the cabin wall.

The rain was pouring down, pelting her face so hard she could barely open her eyes.

All she could hear was the roar of the wind and the dense sound of raindrops. She pressed her body as low as possible, opened her eyes to find her way, and arrived at the mast.

The sail was on top, blown into the shape of a giant kite. Connecting it to the mast was only a thin rope, like a spirited child wanting to fly far away with the wind and break free from its original shackles.

Wutong was never good at trying to hold on. Instead of taking back the sail, she drew her dagger and cut the last remaining rope.

It seemed as if a whooshing sound was heard, and the canvas was instantly blown away by the wind, billowing high into the clouds, and finally plunging into the sea, never to be found again.