Pondering this, Tong Zhanyan barely slept a wink all night.

When he woke the next morning, it was already past nine.

Qing Jiyue was gone. His appointment with Mr. Bai was set for ten.

Tong Zhanyan hurriedly got up, washed up, and headed out.

He arrived ten minutes before ten, but two people were already seated in the reception room—a pleasant-looking woman in her forties and Old Jin.

Mr. Bai was in conversation with them.

Spotting Tong Zhanyan enter, he gave a brief instruction before stepping outside.

The woman was the greenhouse owner.

“I’ve already discussed it with her. She said she could knock off 100,000. Or would you like to talk to her yourself? But the market price really is what it is—even if you negotiate, it probably won’t go down much more.” Mr. Bai gave Tong Zhanyan a heads-up beforehand.

“Alright.” Tong Zhanyan nodded. He’d only mentioned it casually earlier; getting anything off was already a win.

Though a hundred thousand might seem insignificant compared to three million, just three months ago, that sum represented his entire fortune.

“What about him?” Tong Zhanyan looked at Old Jin.

“He came to sell something and happened to be here. He just joined in the fun.” Mr. Bai seemed somewhat helpless. They say people become more childlike as they age, and Old Jin was a prime example. “If it bothers you, I can go talk to him.”

“It’s fine…”

Just as Tong Zhanyan spoke, Old Jin stepped out.

He called out to Fang Yiguang and the others busy at the cash register, “How’s it going? Finished counting?”

Tong Zhanyan glanced over and only then noticed a pile of cucumbers on the counter.

Not the common green-skinned supermarket variety, but thicker, shorter yellow-and-white ones.

There were over thirty cucumbers in total. About twenty of them were crooked or twisted like pretzels, tapering at both ends and thickening in the middle. Only about ten were relatively uniform in shape.

They looked rather shabby.

“Well? Pretty good, huh?” Old Jin stood with his hands behind his back, a smug look on his face.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t know what to say and just smiled.

“You young whippersnappers.” Seeing no surprise in Tong Zhanyan’s eyes and hearing no flattery, Old Jin grew a bit displeased. He walked over to Fang Yiguang with his hands behind his back. “Well? Pretty good, huh?”

If Tong Zhanyan didn’t praise them, someone else would.

Tong Zhanyan chuckled.

Mr. Bai also shook his head.

Led by Mr. Bai, the two entered the conference room.

Both sides were already clear on the situation. After brief pleasantries, they each inquired about the other’s circumstances before discussing the contract.

The half-year rent of two million nine hundred thousand was settled without issue. The main points concerned equipment maintenance, important considerations, and the subsequent lease termination process.

After the discussion, once Tong Zhanyan confirmed his side’s intention to lease, the four headed to the greenhouse.

Old Jin tagged along for the excitement.

The greenhouse remained unchanged: transparent glass walls, bare soil devoid of crops, and the tool shed against the right wall.

Upon entering, Tong Zhanyan inspected all the essential infrastructure before signing the contract and paying a 500,000 yuan deposit. He then assisted the other party in updating the defense system’s highest authority holder.

“You can handle the electricity and water bills yourself. I’ll send you the account details later…”

“Alright.”

The contract was in duplicate. Mr. Bai handed Tong Zhanyan his copy. “Care to stop by the shop again?”

“No, I’ll take another look around.”

The others said nothing. It was obvious Tong Zhanyan was a first-time greenhouse owner—his eagerness was perfectly natural.

Tong Zhanyan saw the three off at the entrance.

After watching them leave, he didn’t immediately go inside. Instead, he turned back with mixed feelings.

From now on, this greenhouse belonged to him.

A heavy iron gate, high walls reinforced with security measures—this area was an industrial zone, and from the outside, the greenhouse resembled a factory.

Entering the gate, the first sight was a concrete floor and a two-story cottage.

The cottage had two bedrooms, a living room, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Water and electricity were connected—it was livable.

Behind the cottage stood the main greenhouse structure, towering three or four stories high and covering an immense area.

Its glass walls, rectangular shape, and the starkly different soil inside compared to outside were immediately apparent.

The greenhouse’s entrance was located behind the small house.

As the door opened, the earthy scent of soil immediately hit them.

A small glass-enclosed area near the entrance served as a shoe-changing station to prevent dirty soil from being tracked inside. Following local custom, Tong Zhanyan slipped his shoes into a shoe bag.

Viewed from inside, the space felt larger than from the outside, especially with no obstructions like pillars throughout the entire structure, making it feel even more open.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t rush to inspect the lighting rigs but instead began circling the greenhouse.

Two hundred square meters—considerably spacious for a residence, but somewhat cramped for farmland.

He currently possesses seven types of seeds: tomatoes, cherry radishes, bok choy, eggplants, cucumbers, strawberries, and oranges. Setting the oranges aside for now, he planned to plant several hundred seedlings of each of the other six varieties during the next sowing season.

The space was still a bit small.

He would need to carefully consider how to divide up these two hundred square meters.

After circling the plot, Tong Zhanyan stopped and looked up.

He turned off the lights and cut the power, then went outside to fetch a ladder from behind the shed. Climbing up, he inspected the setup.

The light bulbs featured multiple types of sockets.

Evidently, the previous landlord had invested effort in lighting—bulbs of various sizes were densely clustered. Yet these were clearly ordinary, standard-issue lights.

Tong Zhanyan unscrewed one bulb of each type, photographed and videotaped each socket angle from multiple perspectives, then descended.

He didn’t rush back. Instead, he sat down in the tool shed and immediately began searching online.

The first floor lamp he bought was secondhand, from sellers who weren’t professional merchants. The second batch of lights, however, came from a professional lighting supplier, so he contacted them directly.

They quickly sent over a stack of reference materials.

Tong Zhanyan skimmed through them, then got up to find a tape measure.

Many tools in the utility room had been left behind by the landlord. While these items held some value, they were only useful for cultivation and otherwise went unused—a fortunate bonus for him.

With the tape measure in hand, Tong Zhanyan climbed the ladder again to measure the distance between the bulbs and the floor.

Through the protective cover and the greenhouse’s glass roof, Tong Zhanyan couldn’t tell how much of the sunlight’s essential components for plants remained. He didn’t want to gamble, so he planned to rely entirely on the lights to compensate.

This was a rather tedious task.

Even setting aside the specific spectral values, just calculating the wattage, height, and the exact lumens reaching the ground was enough to give him a headache. The relationship between lumens and plant needs was even more of a headache.

Lumens aren’t simply for brightness; it’s not enough for light to simply reach the plants. It must be tailored to their specific requirements.

Plants require different light intensities in winter versus summer, directly impacting their growth potential.

Fortunately, all his current seeds were spring-plantable, requiring only a fixed value. Otherwise, he’d have had to zone them by season.

After repeated measurements and inquiries, he looked up to find it was already past nine at night.

He hadn’t even eaten lunch yet.

Tomorrow was Monday, and he had classes. After exchanging a few more words with the shopkeeper, Tong Zhanyan hurried back to campus.

He took the terminal straight back to his dorm.

Besides the lights, there were other things he needed to buy first.

Within the Gu Family’s guarded territory.

After work, Yang Hong went to the cafeteria for dinner. On his way back to the dorm, he couldn’t wait to open his terminal and take a look.

Tong Zhanyan’s livestream channel remained pitch black.

This situation had persisted since Saturday night after Tong Zhanyan’s harvest—over a full day now.

“What the hell…” Yang Hong felt a bit annoyed.

No, he was plenty annoyed.

Those little tomatoes were at a critical stage. A single day was enough for them to grow significantly.

Could Tong Zhanyan possibly…

A wave of foreboding washed over Yang Hong. He recalled the previous batch—those five tomatoes Tong Zhanyan had brutally dismembered—but then dismissed the thought.

The first batch of ripe tomatoes was usually the best quality, but the second batch typically yielded the largest quantity. Roughly estimating, Tong Zhanyan’s tomatoes could still produce at least ten jin.

Tong Zhanyan’s financial situation was already tight. Even if he lost his mind, it shouldn’t happen at a time like this.

Feeling slightly relieved, Yang Hong slid down to the comment section.

The livestream room was pitch black, but the comments below were still visible.

His comment from last night—asking if anyone wanted to create a group chat—had already garnered fifty or sixty replies. Names like “Fish-Loving Kitten,” “Midsummer Madness,” and “Hotpot Craving” stood out prominently.

Yang Hong quickened his pace.

Upon entering, he found a spot to sit and immediately opened his messaging app to get to work.

Within minutes, a brand-new group named “Victims’ Alliance” came into being.

Yang Hong posted the group link under his own comment.

Typically, streamers handle group creation themselves. Larger livestreams even have dedicated group administrators to manage interactions, boost chat engagement, and coordinate activities.

As for Tong Zhanyan’s stream? Forget a group—he didn’t even have a stream manager yet.

The accusatory comments from earlier still hung there, untouched.

Yang Hong wasn’t worried about Tong Zhanyan’s image or losing followers. It was the thought of his own comment still up there that made him feel uneasy.

The way those little tomatoes were growing in Tong Zhanyan’s livestream—who wouldn’t give him props?

It just made them look like loudmouths.

Shortly after posting his comment, Yang Hong started receiving group join requests one after another.

Even though Tong Zhanyan abruptly cut off the livestream—and kept it offline for over a day—countless people were still waiting in the chat.

With the livestream gone, the comment section only grew hotter.

After accepting all the requests, Yang Hong glanced at the group.

He joined, popped up, and then everyone fell silent.

Just as Yang Hong was wondering what was going on, it hit him.

Awkward.

This was beyond awkward.

Without exception, they were all people who had unfollowed and then come back.

Especially those who’d been there during the five little tomatoes earlier—they’d cursed and left twice, only to slink back both times. This was like slapping themselves in the face, and their cheeks must be swollen from it.

“Trash streamer,” Yang Hong muttered under his breath, then steeled himself to speak. “How many pounds do you think that batch of tomatoes will yield?”

The group staring at the screen, silently cringing, instantly grasped Yang Hong’s intent. The next moment, the previously dead-silent group erupted into lively chatter.

“I’d say at least twenty pounds.”

“More than that. I bet the second batch alone will yield ten pounds. Total? Easily over twenty-two pounds.”

“Be bold—twenty-two pounds is nothing. I’ll bet twenty-three.”

“What’s bold about twenty-three? I’ll bet twenty-three and a half.”

“Then I’ll bet twenty-four.”

Twenty tomatoes, twenty pounds of fruit—they wouldn’t have believed it if they hadn’t seen it themselves, let alone astronomical figures like twenty-five or thirty pounds.

“Why doesn’t he do a giveaway?”

Amidst the flurry of bold predictions, someone broke ranks—a moment that instantly captured everyone’s attention.

Other livestreamers did indeed hold giveaways after harvests to thank fans and boost their follower count.

“When has he ever acknowledged us?”

The pondering group choked on their words, suddenly recalling an awkward moment they’d long forgotten.

A momentary chill fell over the group.

Then, one by one, they began to voice their grievances.

Forget past grievances—last night, after picking the first batch of harvest, Tong Zhanyan abruptly shut down the livestream. Their excitement, still bubbling over, was doused like a bucket of cold water dumped on their heads. They nearly drowned in frustration.

They weren’t blind. They knew Tong Zhanyan likely had only one device. Where he took it was obvious enough.

But at a time like this, would Tong Zhanyan have died if he’d sold them a little later?

His livestream had at least 100,000 followers now, and traffic was surging thanks to the harvest—viewers had topped 10,000 at one point. Yet Tong Zhanyan just…

Mentioning this instantly flooded the group chat with 99+ new messages.

Yang Hong didn’t hold back, immediately venting his frustration.

By the time he finished his rant and checked again, half an hour had passed. The group notifications now showed nearly two hundred pending membership requests.

Yang Hong felt conflicted.

He quickly asked in the group, delegated admin rights to a few members with more free time, and then admitted all the applicants.

The group instantly became even livelier.

They’d seen streamers before, and they’d seen annoying streamers before, but this was the first time they’d encountered someone this infuriating.

Trash streamer.

Late into the night, Tong Zhanyan fiddled with the lighting until nearly midnight before finally locking it in.

After placing the order, he grabbed some disposable cups while he was at it.

Seedling cultivation to planting would take time, so he needed to prepare ahead.

Additionally, another matter needed to be scheduled.

His tomato batch was now thriving. Though the overall yield remained modest and somewhat underwhelming, it should suffice as evidence to convince Su Yanran and Tian Xinqing.

He planned to take Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran directly to the training room before the second harvest.