I Am Shennong, the Divine Farmer, and I bring you now my musings from the boundless expanse of Tian. The winds of eternity carry my thoughts back to the mortal world, where I once walked under the sun, my ox-horned shadow trailing across fields and forests. From this ethereal vantage, I am moved to speak, to reflect on what I was, what I did, and what wisdom I can offer to those still bound by the limitations of flesh and time.

In life, I was born of divine spark and mortal struggle, my mother touched by a dragon’s breath, my spirit tied to the earth’s pulse. In the time I entered the mortal plane, the world was wild, untamed, humans scrabbled for survival, chasing deer through forests or clawing roots from hardened soil. Hunger was a cruel master, and sickness a relentless thief. I felt a fire within, not of ambition, but of duty, to ease the suffering of the people, to bring order to chaos. The land whispered secrets, and I listened.

My first love was the soil. I saw its potential where others saw only the toil of hard work. With my hands, I shaped the plow, the axe, the hoe, tools to break the earth’s resistance and coax life from it. I taught my people to sow the five sacred grains: rice, wheat, barley, millet, soybeans. Fields bloomed where once there was only wilderness. Villages rose, and with them, the laughter of children who would not know starvation. This was my first gift: the gift of sustenance, the root of all civilization.

But the body craves more than food. Sickness haunted us, fevers that burned, wounds that festered, pains that stole breath. The plants, I knew, held answers. I wandered mountains and valleys, tasting leaves, roots, and berries, my tongue a mapmaker for the unknown. They say my stomach was transparent, a myth born of my relentless testing. I saw the truth of each herb in its effect, ginseng to strengthen, licorice to soothe, hemlock to kill. I tasted death many times, my body trembling as poisons coursed through me. Yet each brush with mortality taught me more. I compiled my findings, a legacy of 365 herbs, one for each day to carry through the year, their properties etched into the Bencao Jing. This was my second gift: the gift of healing, a shield against the body’s frailty.

I did not stop there. I gave music through the guqin’s strings, its notes a balm for weary souls. I gave markets, where goods and ideas flowed like rivers. I gave tea, born of a chance leaf falling into my boiling water, a drink to awaken the mind. I gave measures and calendars, aligning human life with the cosmos. Each act was a step toward harmony, a bridge between man and nature.

My motivations were simple, yet profound. I saw suffering and refused to turn away. I saw potential in the earth and in humanity, and I believed both could flourish together. My sacrifices were built upon countless poisonings, and when Shangdi required me to ascend to Tian, he sent me a yellow flower that claimed me. I died not in defeat, but in completion, my body given to the knowledge I sought.

From this heaven, for there are many, I see my legacy enduring. The fields still yield, the herbs still heal, the markets still hum. My descendants carry my spirit, and my teachings echo in every farmer’s plow, every healer’s remedy. Yet I also see a world grown distant from the earth, its people chasing fleeting desires, forgetting the roots beneath their feet. I am not sorrowful, for wisdom is patient. I offer it now, distilled from a life of labor and a death that opened my eyes to eternity.

From this timeless place, I, Shennong, watch the world turn. My voice is but a whisper on the wind, but these principles are my final offering. Take them, plant them, and let them grow. The earth is still speaking, will you listen?