Making the seedling trays was simple—just punch a few holes in the disposable cups. Tong Zhanyan had already bought a hole puncher; it took a bit to preheat, but the whole process took less than five minutes.

After punching the holes, Tong Zhanyan stacked all the cups together in a corner of the table, tidied up, and headed to class.

The afternoon class was with the Devil King. Qing Jiyue went downstairs with him, but didn’t go to the classroom.

Qing Jiyue always did self-directed training.

That night, Tong Zhanyan filled a basin with water in advance.

The next day was Friday. At noon, Tong Zhanyan carefully counted out twenty dried tomato seeds and soaked them in warm water.

That evening, immediately after dinner, Tong Zhanyan got busy.

He dug through the pile of decomposing leaves on the balcony, finding the bag that had been rotting the longest and opening it.

Nearly two months had passed, and the leaf tissue inside had mostly decomposed, leaving only the veins partially intact.

Tong Zhanyan retrieved the pre-punched water cups, donned gloves, and carefully sifted soil free of leaf veins. He filled each disposable plastic cup to about three-quarters full.

He added neither eggshell powder nor wood ash to the soil, knowing the delicate roots of newly sprouted seeds would be harmed by these substances rather than aided.

With all cups filled, he placed them under the lens. Removing his soil-stained gloves, Tong Zhanyan returned indoors to retrieve the cup holding the soaked seeds.

Carefully draining all the water, he retrieved tweezers and returned to the corner. Seed by seed, he picked them out and placed them individually into the cups.

Once all seeds were positioned, Tong Zhanyan reapplied his gloves and added a thin layer of soil to each cup.

He carefully bundled the remaining soil and set it aside.

Newly planted seeds required thorough watering.

As usual, Tong Zhanyan used the soaking basin method. However, the seeds were so small that too much water could easily wash them away, so he filled the basin with water only two finger joints deep.

After allowing the soil to absorb the water fully, he removed the cups and placed them back beside the five tomato plants in the corner. Then he retrieved the lightweight plastic film he’d bought as an alternative to plastic wrap and covered them all.

Seed germination requires a specific temperature.

With this step, the sowing was complete. The rest was up to the seeds themselves.

Tong Zhanyan wasn’t new to this process; he should have been accustomed to it. Yet this time, he couldn’t help but feel tense. His previous batch of tomatoes had been purchased when they were about to bloom.

Successfully growing those five tomatoes didn’t guarantee he could nurture these from seed.

He planned to wait until these tomatoes sprouted before handling the other seeds he’d bought later.

Taking two deep breaths to steady his nerves, Tong Zhanyan glanced at the five tomato pots.

The second batch of tomatoes had begun to swell, but as he’d anticipated, they were far less robust than the first.

Tong Zhanyan estimated the harvest would likely be next Sunday.

After picking, he’d move to a new location.

Tong Zhanyan posted the announcement early.

Live Stream Room.

Seeing the pile of extra plastic cups, the live stream room buzzed with excitement. Everyone was discussing and speculating because, in their experience, no crop could possibly be grown in such tiny cups.

Not crops?

And why cover them with plastic film?

Was it meant to be a surprise?

But if it’s a surprise, why use transparent plastic film?

The more they thought about it, the less sense it made, and more people joined the discussion.

Gu Yunyang was also curious. He zoomed in on the image, examining it repeatedly, but couldn’t see anything beyond the usual holes punched in the cups for convenience.

In another livestream, far livelier than Tong Zhanyan’s.

“…In our final moments, I want to announce something: our first harvest time is set—next Sunday!” The speaker in the frame glanced back at the greenhouse filled with crops behind him.

Turning back, his smile held a touch more emotion. “It’s not a bumper crop, but for me, it’s truly been incredibly hard. I believe in everyone who’s walked these past two months with me in this livestream…”

By the end of his recollections, the man in the frame had reddened eyes and a voice thick with emotion.

“Sorry, I got carried away. That’s all for today, everyone. See you tomorrow.” With a wave, Yan Zhenwen headed out of the greenhouse.

Stepping out of the camera’s range, Yan Zhenwen immediately composed his face and turned to the group hiding behind the camera. “How’s the operations team handling it?”

“Already pushing it out again,” the operations manager replied promptly.

Yan Zhenwen added a reminder, “Make sure to leave comments in other streamers’ rooms too. Do it smartly—don’t let anyone catch you as paid commenters.”

“Don’t worry.”

Yan Zhenwen surveyed the room, feeling quite satisfied with the team he’d assembled from scratch.

Especially the technical consultants he’d brought in—without them, he’d never have managed to grow this much produce.

Of course, none of this could be revealed on camera.

“How many followers now?” Yan Zhenwen asked.

“We just broke 230,000,” the person monitoring the backend data replied quickly. “We should see another surge after the harvest wraps up.”

Yan Zhenwen sat down and opened the terminal to check the numbers himself.

230,000 followers in two months was already an impressive figure, but for him, it was still insufficient—far from enough.

The operations team had clearly stepped up its game. Among the top search results for “Green Shade Harvest,” the first few entries were all related to his livestream.

Yan Zhenwen skimmed through, scrolling down until he spotted a Weibo post.

[After watching my seniors’ harvest, seeing others’ just feels… lacking something.]

2 likes, 1 comment.

Yan Zhenwen tapped to read the comment.

[Holy crap, you too? I thought I was the only one.]

This post clearly wasn’t from paid commenters.

Senior?

Yan Zhenwen wasn’t brainless; on the contrary, he was exceptionally calculating. Before going live, he’d already researched every popular streamer in the planting niche—partly to learn, partly because they were his future competitors.

But this guy wasn’t on his radar.

A second-tier streamer?

“Look into this ‘Senior’ guy.” Yan Zhenwen sent the screenshot to the operations team.

“Got it.”

Five minutes later, Yan Zhenwen received the results.

“Newbie?”

“Yeah, you started streaming at the beginning of the month, he started at the end. You could still call it the same period.” The operations team member explained.

Yan Zhenwen glanced at the streamer’s pitiful five tomato plants and equally meager 300 followers, instantly losing interest.

Closing the terminal, Yan Zhenwen got up and headed toward his room. He needed to rethink this weekend’s harvest.

He was determined to succeed.

Outside the livestream room.

After sowing the seeds, Tong Zhanyan spent the entire weekend confined to his room, except for accompanying Tian Xinqing on a trip to the main city.

He knew freshly planted seeds required neither watering nor constant attention, yet he couldn’t help checking on them repeatedly, his mind restless.

Fortunately, the soaked seeds sprouted faster. When Tong Zhanyan checked again on Monday, three days later, a small portion had already sprouted.

Seeing those sesame-seed-sized green dots, Tong Zhanyan exhaled a forced sigh of relief, then began checking even more frequently.

This stage was particularly prone to problems.

By Wednesday, all seeds in the twenty cups had sprouted. The earliest batches had fully unfurled their cotyledons—two slender, pointed leaves the size of melon seeds, utterly charming.

By Friday, the seventh day after sowing, all cotyledons had grown to nearly two centimeters in length. Simultaneously, the first true leaves began to emerge.

By Sunday, the faster-germinating batches had already started unfurling their first irregular true leaves—a distinctive feature of tomato plants. Anyone familiar with cultivation could now recognize them as tomatoes.

At this stage, Tong Zhanyan’s anxious heart finally settled completely—the sowing had succeeded.

However, he still did not remove the plastic film. The warm, humid environment was more conducive to seedling growth, and sudden temperature changes at this stage could potentially be fatal.

That night, due to the increased workload from the harvest, Tong Zhanyan began preparing for picking ten minutes earlier than usual.

Meanwhile, the livestream was buzzing with activity.

This excitement differed from the previous three sessions. The discussion centered not only on the harvest but also on those new tomato seedlings.

They had watched Tong Zhanyan sow the seeds with their own eyes—still without any ceremony, still without a single unnecessary word.

Of course, that wasn’t the main point.

The real point was that from sowing to now, it had only been a week. Yet in that brief week, the majority of those tomato seedlings had already sprouted true leaves.

This was something they had never seen before.

In their understanding, just the process from sowing to germination alone took about a week.

Why was Tong Zhanyan’s so fast?

Moreover, Tong Zhanyan’s tomato seedlings were visibly thriving.

As the crowd debated, an extra pair of hands appeared in the livestream.

Knowing what was about to happen, the room instantly fell silent.

“Click, click, click…”

Tong Zhanyan remained as efficient as ever, without a hint of hesitation.

With the previous three demonstrations, the stream chat had far fewer question marks this time, though more viewers were now caught in complex emotions.

After harvesting, Tong Zhanyan stored the tomatoes in a cooler before returning to the balcony.

He moved the five tomato pots out of the camera frame, pulled over an empty pot he’d prepared earlier, and casually lifted one tomato pot to begin removing it.

Just as he’d anticipated, the soil had hardened into clumps below the layer where he’d mixed in wood ash and eggshells.

Tong Zhanyan tried tapping the pot, but the soil showed no sign of breaking up.

It would be a miracle if anything could grow in soil like this.

After two more forceful whacks finally cracked the soil, and he shook off the earth from the roots. Grabbing his pruning shears, he began cutting from the base, determined to shred them completely.

Each tomato plant still bore a few fruits, roughly pea-sized, with several already showing signs of turning red.

Such fruits would never fully develop. Leaving them would only drain nutrients from the main stems until they withered, yellowed, and died.

Tong Zhanyan had no intention of letting that happen. These main stems could become fertilizer—something he had in short supply despite having everything else.

After staring at the tomatoes for over a month, the camera froze for a moment before reacting. After a brief, not-so-bright thought, it decided to follow the five pots of tomatoes.

It turned back.

In the livestream room, Tong Zhanyan suddenly removed all the tomatoes. As the audience wondered what he was doing, the camera shifted to reveal a man with his back to them, meticulously disassembling the five tomato plants.

“Snap, snap-snap…”

That practiced motion, that familiar rhythm…

Tong Zhanyan noticed the camera drifting near his hand. He paused, grabbed it, and placed it back before the new seedlings, signaling for it to film the young sprouts.

Placed back before the seedlings, the camera vaguely understood Tong Zhanyan’s intent. Yet, lacking sufficient intelligence, it remained uncertain whether to completely abandon its former partner, glancing back repeatedly.

In the livestream room, the audience watched the flickering, sequential images of dismemberment. They were bewildered, snapped back to reality, shocked, stunned, and then erupted in outrage.

Those tomatoes still had so many little tomatoes growing on them! What was Tong Zhanyan doing?