“……” Yang Hong muttered under his breath.

“What?” His voice was too soft; Tong Zhanyan couldn’t make it out.

“Well…” Yang Hong glanced at the group beside him, all of whom were shifting their gaze guiltily. “Ahem, maybe we should take them to the dorm first? They’ve been through quite a lot on the way here; they must be pretty tired.”

Tong Zhanyan was baffled, but he didn’t feel it was appropriate to press the matter. He turned to Ning Langdong. The latter immediately stepped forward to lead the way.

Changge and the rest of the group all left.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t linger at the back gate for long. After Changge and the others left, he returned to the small building; there was plenty of work to be done in the fields. After watching Tong Zhanyan leave, Yang Hong and Gu Yunyang exchanged a glance and, in unspoken agreement, didn’t mention the group’s affairs again.

A little later, when Changge and the others had put their things away and came downstairs, the two men immediately went to meet them. They then took over from Ning Langdong and decided to personally show Changge and the others around the base.

Ning Langdong didn’t refuse; after giving a few brief instructions, he went back to his own business.

“Let’s go,” Yang Hong said, leading the way.

First up was the area near the back gate: the dormitory building, the cafeteria, and Tong Zhanyan’s uniquely prison-style single-occupancy room. “The meals are prepared by the base residents on a rotating basis, and so is the cleaning of the common areas. Everyone is quite friendly and takes initiative.”

“As for what we eat, it depends on what the base has available.”

“As for farm work, Ning Langdong, Tian Xinqing, and Su Yanran will give a group briefing in the morning, and they’ll teach you exactly what to do.” “The lake is just up ahead, but we don’t usually come over here—you know why…”

“There’s quite a variety of animals being raised in the breeding area right now, so responsibilities are divided up. If you’re interested, you can sign up with Su Yanran to raise whatever you like—he’s in charge of this section.”

“Be careful if you see any insects—under no circumstances should you kill them. If one does die, bury it immediately. Don’t let the paleontology team find out, or they’ll nag you endlessly.”

“There are utility vehicles at the base. They aren’t locked, so anyone can drive them, but be very careful not to drive them into the fields.” “That building over there is the small house.”

As he spoke, the group turned to look ahead.

The camera Tong Zhanyan bought later had high-quality video and all the basic features. Since they were the ones who spent every day glued to the screens, they were quite familiar with the base.

But seeing it on a screen and seeing it with your own eyes are two completely different things.

In the video, the small building was always bustling because the warehouse for farm tools was right next to it, the first floor was a common area, and the building stored many types of seeds.

In reality, however, with nothing but crops surrounding the small building, the scene felt much more desolate.

“So, would you like to take a look around on your own?”

Yang Hong asked, turning to look at them. The group exchanged glances, then nodded in unison.

Now that their wish had finally come true, they were determined to explore every corner of the place.

“See you at the cafeteria later.”

The group immediately scattered, eager to explore.

Changge first walked around the small building once. Not seeing Tong Zhanyan, she immediately went to check the greenhouse. Sure enough, Tong Zhanyan was in the greenhouse.

The wheat had already passed the milk stage; the leaves were beginning to turn yellow, a sign of maturity. The ears of wheat were so heavy that they were all bent over.

Tong Zhanyan was inspecting each stalk one by one, his expression serious yet his eyes smiling—clearly, he was very pleased with how the wheat was growing. Changge didn’t disturb him, but simply watched quietly through the glass wall.

She had seen that figure countless times; eventually, it had become a habit for her. Whenever she got off work, no matter what she was doing, she had grown accustomed to having someone quietly busy at her side…

After a while, Changge left without a word.

When she returned to the small building, Yang Hong and the others were no longer in the open space in front of it. There were, however, quite a few people busy working in the fields.

Changge paused to think, then looked toward the plot of land to the right of the small building, where cherry tomatoes were being grown.

As the land reclamation wrapped up and more and more plots turned into green manure fields thanks to ample irrigation and fertilization, the crops that had been temporarily halted due to high infection rates were now being planted on a large scale once again.

Cherry tomatoes were among them.

Cherry tomatoes are suitable not only for spring planting but also for autumn planting—a fact she only learned after the base’s climate began to shift. Approaching the patch, Changge crouched down in front of the cherry tomatoes.

The lower leaves and side shoots of the cherry tomato plants had already been pinched off, and they were currently in the flowering stage. Up close, the flowers looked like a scattering of stars, dazzling the eyes.

The air was filled with the distinctive scent of tomatoes.

Changge immediately recalled the time she had first learned to grow cherry tomatoes from Tong Zhanyan; back then, she would have watched him do it a hundred times a day. At that time, just being able to keep them alive made her overjoyed.

Changge reached out and touched the stem of the small tomato plant closest to her.

The cool sensation finally gave her a sense of reality—that she wasn’t dreaming, but had truly arrived at the base. Just as Changge’s emotions were running high, a round object drifted down from above.

Changge looked up to see a camera that was clearly older than the others at the base, with a different color and design. She recognized it at a glance—it was the very first camera Tong Zhanyan had set up.

“Hello,” Changge greeted it.

The drifting camera stopped and turned toward Changge.

Seeing the retractable lens inside the sphere, Changge realized the camera was still connected to the livestream.

Her face flushed instantly.

The next moment, she relaxed.

Since the camera stubbornly focused only on the cherry tomato, many viewers in the live stream found it annoying. As a result, only the group of people who had been following Tong Zhanyan since the training room would regularly visit the page linked to it.

The page never had many viewers.

“Do you really like the cherry tomatoes that much?” Changge asked, as if chatting with a friend.

Whether it understood or not, the camera didn’t move away; instead, it hovered right in front of her, watching her.

“I like it too,” Changge said, looking at the tomato patch before her. “I really like it…”

As she spoke, her vision began to blur.

She blinked, and something hot slid down her cheek, landing on her knees. She looked down and saw that her pants were wet, and only then did she realize she had actually been crying.

She felt a bit dazed because she didn’t even understand why she was crying.

But soon, something hot and long-suppressed surged uncontrollably from the depths of her heart, accompanied by even more tears.

To them, this base had never been just a piece of land or a live-streaming show; it was a source of hope and a cherished memory. If Tong Zhanyan had shown up sooner, if only she had chosen to leave her family behind back then…

Changge didn’t let herself dwell on those emotions for too long. After crying her fill, she quickly wiped away her tears and stood up. The past was the past; what mattered was the future.

At eleven o’clock, when Changge returned to the cafeteria to meet up with the others, a crowd had already gathered there. Without exception, their eyes were red-rimmed.

Changge had been a little worried that she looked strange, but seeing them like that, she immediately relaxed. The group exchanged glances; no one asked, and no one mentioned it.

By 11:30, the group working in the fields began trickling in.

Ning Langdong returned as well.

Taking advantage of everyone being present, he briefly mentioned the farm stay project and introduced the group to the others.

The people at the base came from all over, from all walks of life, and of all ages, but just as Yang Hong had said earlier, everyone was friendly, which made for a very comfortable atmosphere.

At mealtime, Changge and her group gathered together to eat.

This was their first meal at the base, and for many of them, it was their first time formally eating a meal made from crops. Smiles never left their faces, and they often had to pause to savor the food. Every now and then, they would secretly discuss which dish tasted best.

The other diners in the cafeteria had eaten these meals countless times before, and hardly anyone discussed them, which made the newcomers seem a bit out of place. However, no one mocked them, because they had all been through the same thing.

After lunch, there was a two-hour break. Some returned to their dorms for a nap, while those who weren’t used to napping gathered in the cafeteria to chat and fool around. Changge and her group decided to go with the flow.

After the break, the others returned to the fields to continue their work. Ning Langdong gathered Changge and the others together to discuss the upcoming schedule.

In addition to the inevitable work in the fields, there were now many other projects at the base, particularly in animal husbandry, with dozens of varieties of poultry and livestock. It was impossible for them to experience every single one—that would be too chaotic—so they had to make a choice.

After a morning of wandering around, the group had already made up their minds, so this part was quickly settled.

Once everything was settled, Ning Langdong divided the group into teams, introduced them to the respective supervisors, and led them out to the fields. Old Xu and his group were weeding the spinach patch. 

Changge and her group joined in.

From what they’d seen in the videos, weeding seemed like a fairly simple task—after all, it didn’t require much physical strength, and the lush green landscape was actually quite pleasing to the eye.

When they actually got down to work, not a single person could last two hours; their backs started aching from bending over.

Despite the aching, the group didn’t complain; on the contrary, they were all quite excited. For them, this was an experience they’d never had before.

Yang Hong’s feelings were also quite mixed. When he chose the front lines over the base, he had mentally prepared himself for the possibility of never returning. Yet now, here he was, back again.

Yang Hong’s small group had their own agenda. Seeing that the wheat was almost ready for harvest, Tong Zhanyan was in an unprecedentedly good mood.

This time, the wheat’s growth cycle had been completely normal, taking nearly a hundred days from sowing to harvest.

More importantly, whether it was the leaves, the ears, or the grains themselves, they appeared completely normal to the naked eye.

Tong Zhanyan patiently waited five or six days, harvesting only after the wheat leaves had completely withered and turned yellow, and the grains had hardened. He had planted more wheat this time—though still only about thirty plants—and finished harvesting with just a pair of scissors and a plastic bag.

After finishing, he immediately took a sample for testing.

The infection rate was around 48%, which meant the wheat was safe to eat. Tong Zhanyan immediately headed for the back door.

He found Qing Jiyue and gave him a portion of the sample, asking him to help find someone to conduct a more detailed analysis.

Although they no longer had the wheat, they still possessed data on the original seeds. After all, the original purpose of cultivating the crops was to treat frenzy, so research had been conducted from the very beginning.

Qing Jiyue was already prepared and sent the samples out that very day.

After the samples were sent off, Qing Jiyue followed Tong Zhanyan to the greenhouse to help process the corn and soil inside. The infection rate for the corn this time was also under 50%, so Tong Zhanyan kept it all.

The infection rate of the soil this time was even lower than last time, generally staying below 45%, so Tong Zhanyan didn’t have it discarded outside but instead had it transported directly to the foot of the mountain.

In addition to self-purification, the crops also help purify the soil; after being used to grow crops a few times, the soil’s infection rate would decrease.

In the greenhouse, Tong Zhanyan had the soil replaced with new soil that had an even lower infection rate.

If the wheat is edible, he must reduce the infection rate to below 20% as soon as possible. Additionally, rice cultivation must be prioritized.

From the time he brought the seeds back from outside until now, the wheat had taken him nearly two years. If the rice required the same amount of time, it would be another long-term project.

Aside from rice, he had yet to find seeds for the crops from over fifty years ago; he could also arrange to search for those seeds outside as soon as possible. However, all of this would have to wait until the specific results of the wheat’s analysis were available.

With these concerns weighing on his mind, Tong Zhanyan found himself restless for the next few days.

Before the detailed report was released, Tong Zhanyan first waited for Changge and her group to finish their ten-day farm stay.

On the night before their departure, Tong Zhanyan hosted a small banquet for them in the cafeteria to thank them for their support over the years. After Yang Hong’s remarks, he specifically went online to search for the so-called “over two hundred fan groups.”

The group was quite well-known; it popped up almost immediately in the search results.

The moment Tong Zhanyan saw the group name, he silently closed the search page. Some things are better left unknown.

Still, he immediately believed that Changge and the others had truly been following him for a long time; after all, only a long-time fan could come up with a name like that. The party lasted until very late, and when it ended, many of them were wiping away tears as they headed back to their dorms.

The next day, when Tong Zhanyan walked a group of people to the entrance, their eyes were still red.

“Come visit often whenever you get the chance,” Tong Zhanyan said. 

“Yeah, I’ll definitely come if I get the chance.”

“If I get the chance…”

“I’ll definitely come see you again, senior.”

Their eyes were filled with reluctance.

If they could, they would have loved to stay at this base.

“Don’t worry, there will be plenty of opportunities in the future,” Tong Zhanyan reassured them.

With more and more people successfully growing crops, he had already opened a paid farmstay. Once the initial excitement of the first few years faded, the base would inevitably grow quieter.

That is, if Changge and the others were still willing to come by then. The group arrived with smiles and left with tears.

Tong Zhanyan stood at the doorway until they got into the car, and it disappeared into the traffic. Qing Jiyue stood beside him until Tong Zhanyan was ready to go back.

Because of Changge and the others’ arrival, Tong Zhanyan and Qing Jiyue talked at length that night about what had happened back then. He’d certainly taken his share of scolding back then.

Back then, he never imagined he’d make it this far.

Because of their conversation, Tong Zhanyan stayed up late, and when he woke up the next day, it was already past ten o’clock. Qing Jiyue was sitting in the living room, fully dressed, with a document in front of him.

“It’s for the wheat.” Qing Jiyue handed the document to Tong Zhanyan. Tong Zhanyan’s heart suddenly began to race.

He quickly took it and opened it to look inside.

The first few pages were filled with various data comparisons—beyond Tong Zhanyan’s area of expertise. After a quick glance, he eagerly flipped to the end.

Upon seeing the conclusion stating a 98% similarity, his already racing heart beat even faster. Tong Zhanyan quickly looked again at the remaining 2% difference.

The comparison was based on the original seed, and that 2% difference was normal, as other crops with “infection rates” also exhibited this phenomenon.

In other words, the wheat was safe to eat.

As for that 2% discrepancy, the only way to completely eliminate it would be to reduce the infection rate to 0.

“What do you think?” Qing Jiyue asked.

Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth curl upward. “No problem. Just wait to enjoy a delicious meal.”

Qing Jiyue didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes softened noticeably; he could see just how much effort Tong Zhanyan had put into that wheat.

“But this kind of thing…” Tong Zhanyan’s joy was short-lived as a headache set in.

Corn, pumpkins, sweet potatoes, and rapeseed—each crop cycle of these four requires at least five hundred mu of land.

Wheat and rice were also staple crops; if they were to be grown, they would certainly be cultivated on a large scale. But if they were to take up the remaining five hundred mu of land, what would become of the other vegetables?

Expand the base?

The moment that thought crossed his mind, Tong Zhanyan’s heart began to race, followed immediately by a headache.

He wasn’t short on money, and since the base was located on the outskirts of the city, expanding it wouldn’t be too difficult. The problem was what came after. Expansion wasn’t cheap; even if he calculated it at 1,000 mu, it would cost at least several billion.

One day, this base would no longer be needed. If he spent all his money on expansion, what would he use to sustain it then? After giving it some thought, Tong Zhanyan put that idea aside for the time being.

Fortunately, wheat and rice hadn’t yet reached the stage where they could be cultivated on a large scale.

With the wheat analysis complete, Tong Zhanyan immediately began planning how to plant the next batch.

The infection rate had dropped below 50%, so there was no longer any need to worry about them reverting to their original state. That meant they could be planted outside the greenhouses. But winter was just around the corner, and winter wheat needed to survive the cold, requiring several months longer than spring wheat to mature…

Tong Zhanyan decided to plant them in the greenhouse after all, so he could regulate the temperature himself.

The greenhouse where he had previously grown strawberries was still empty, and since it had an underground irrigation system, it was even more suitable for cultivation. It was perfect that the fully sealed greenhouse below could now be used for growing rice; otherwise, he would have had to build a new one specifically for that purpose.

With that in mind, Tong Zhanyan immediately went downstairs.

Tong Zhanyan couldn’t use tilling machines in the greenhouse, so he had to till the soil, dig, sow the seeds, and water them all by hand.

By the time he looked up after a flurry of activity, the highest temperature at the farm had dropped below fifteen degrees, and the lowest was already under five degrees.

Unlike the grueling heat of midsummer, the cold was a different kind of torture.

Temperatures inside the protective shield remained constant, so there weren’t many heavy coats available on the market.

Even if there were, they were reserved for the Four Great Families, making them difficult to purchase.

Seeing Gu Yunyang and the others shivering so hard their lips had turned blue, Tong Zhanyan waved his hand and ordered a batch of them on the spot. At the same time, the air conditioning in the dormitory building’s cafeteria started up again.

As they basked in the rare warmth and enjoyed the moment, Tong Zhanyan received a message from Chu Yi for the first time in a long while. Chu Yi contacted him in his capacity as the principal of Sidi Military Academy to ask about the graduation ceremony.

Gu Yunyang and the others had started school late, so they still had three or four months left until graduation, but for Tong Zhanyan, Ning Langdong, and the others, there were less than two weeks left until graduation.

Every year, the school holds a graduation ceremony. Although Tong Zhanyan had barely set foot on campus for the past three years, he was, after all, a student of Sidi Military Academy.

Chu Yi hoped Tong Zhanyan would make an appearance.

Tong Zhanyan had always known he was a fourth-year student, but when he actually heard that he was graduating, he still felt a bit dazed. In his previous life, he had failed to graduate twice; in this life, however, he was actually graduating…

Tong Zhanyan replied quickly that he would go.

It wasn’t just because of the graduation itself, but also because he wanted to visit the school again.

Sidi Military Academy held many fond memories for him; he had met Qing Jiyue there, as well as Ning Langdong and the others… Once the plans were set, Tong Zhanyan took the opportunity to ask Ning Langdong and the other two.

The three of them were definitely going; they’d stayed in touch with everyone at the academy.

Learning that Tong Zhanyan would be attending as well made the three of them quite happy, as it would make their graduation ceremony feel complete. They had met at Sidi Military Academy.

As for Qing Jiyue, Tong Zhanyan asked him that very night. Qing Jiyue didn’t have much attachment to the school; after all, he hadn’t gone there of his own volition in the first place, and he had barely set foot on campus for the following three years.

However, if Tong Zhanyan wanted to go, he would accompany him.

A week later, the date for the graduation ceremony was officially set, and Chu Yi notified Tong Zhanyan immediately.

Half a month later, on the day of the ceremony, Tong Zhanyan, Qing Jiyue, Ning Langdong, Tian Xinqing, and Su Yanran arrived at the academy early in the morning.

Graduates of Sidi Military Academy were required to serve three years of military service, and few survived that long, so this was both a cause for celebration and a cause for some concern.

Consequently, the graduation ceremony was kept simple.

The ceremony took place on the school grounds, beginning at 9:00 a.m. The principal and a faculty representative gave speeches, followed by a photo session and informal mingling. In the afternoon, everyone was free to return home.

Official military service assignments would be announced within the next two to four weeks, after which they would have to return to school before heading to the front lines. When Tong Zhanyan and the others arrived at the school, a podium had already been set up on the field.

The first-year students were waiting for their grades to be announced; their attention was entirely on their results, and no one paid any attention to this side. As for the second- and third-year students, some had already rushed home, while others gathered around out of curiosity.

Tong Zhanyan and his friends first stopped by the dormitory, then took a quick tour of the classroom building where they had attended first-year classes. When the time was right, they headed to the playground.

Tong Zhanyan had no idea where his class was located and only found it by following Ning Langdong and the others. They had timed it perfectly, arriving at the very last moment.

When they saw him, quite a few students in the class turned to look.

However, due to the upcoming military service issue, everyone was in low spirits, so it didn’t cause much of a stir. After Chu Yi finished speaking, the representative for the teachers was Yuan Yuepeng, the homeroom teacher of Class 5.

Among the group of teachers below the podium, Tong Zhanyan spotted the “Devil King.”

After leaving the base, he had returned to the front lines; it seemed he had resigned from the school. This time, he had clearly come back on purpose.

As Tong Zhanyan sized him up, the Devil King seemed to sense his gaze and looked over.

The moment their eyes met, a chill ran down Tong Zhanyan’s spine. His experience in first grade had been so searingly vivid that even now, he felt a shudder of dread.

Tong Zhanyan quickly refocused his attention and listened intently.

This wasn’t Yuan Yuepeng’s first group of students; he knew what lay ahead for them, so he tried to steer the conversation toward lighter topics.

The group couldn’t muster a single laugh; the atmosphere remained heavy.

That tension persisted until the lecture ended and free time began.

“So, shall we…” Tian Xinqing gestured toward the classmates beside him. Tong Zhanyan nodded.

“We’ll contact each other later.”

“Alright.”

Tian Xinqing and the other two left.

Tong Zhanyan looked around. Many people wanted to approach him for a photo or a chat, but hesitated because they weren’t familiar with him.

Just as Tong Zhanyan was about to flash a friendly smile—this would be the last time—he caught a lone figure out of the corner of his eye. While the other teachers were surrounded by students, the area around the “Devil King” remained completely empty.

He’d only taught them for a year; half the students had left upon graduation, and the remaining students were reassigned to different classes the following year. Besides, he’d had a fearsome reputation back then—otherwise, he wouldn’t have earned the nickname “Devil King.”

Tong Zhanyan pretended not to see it.

The Devil King stood there for a moment longer, but seeing that no one was coming up behind him, he turned and headed toward the teachers’ lounge. Tong Zhanyan sighed and steeled his nerves, followed by him. “Teacher Wang.”

The Devil King isn’t a bad person; he’s just a bit fierce.