Thanks to Shari for the Kofi. Enjoy the bonus chapter!

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The next day, before heading to class, Tong Zhanyan stopped by the training room. He reconnected the livestream and posted a new announcement.

The second batch of tomatoes is to be harvested on Wednesday.

Tong Zhanyan planned to take Tian Xinqing and the others there on Tuesday, as Tuesday afternoon was reserved for academic classes.

With his plans set, Tong Zhanyan discreetly informed the two during class.

“Can’t you just say it plainly?” Tian Xinqing looked skeptical, finding Tong Zhanyan’s air of mystery odd.

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Is it far?” Su Yanran asked, noting Tong Zhanyan often left campus.

“It’s right on campus.”

Su Yanran pondered thoughtfully.

Tong Zhanyan said no more and turned back to his book.

As he moved, his gaze met Qing Jiyue’s face. Qing Jiyue wasn’t looking at the textbook; he was watching him.

He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but Qing Jiyue seemed to carry a hint of anticipation.

“…Want to come with me?” Tong Zhanyan asked.

Qing Jiyue knew about his secret relationship with Tian Xinqing and the others. He must have guessed Tong Zhanyan’s intentions by now.

“Sure.” Qing Jiyue agreed decisively.

After confirming he hadn’t misread the situation, Tong Zhanyan chuckled. It was only in this matter that Qing Jiyue seemed their age.

Strictly speaking, Qing Jiyue and Tian Xinqing were his actual peers—he was already in his sixth year of university…

Stabbed in the back for no apparent reason, Tong Zhanyan nearly spat out a mouthful of blood.

Gritting his teeth, he cursed the bastards in the Animal Science Department. He’d warned them repeatedly to keep their livestock securely locked up, but they’d always brushed it off.

They’d better pray he never gets another chance to return, or he’d kill them all.

On the podium, the history teacher’s soporific voice droned on.

Below the podium, Qing Jiyue propped his head up with one hand, watching Tong Zhanyan—who’d suddenly started gnashing his teeth—with keen interest.

Tong Zhanyan’s expressions were quite vivid.

Tong Zhanyan had always been remarkably patient.

Once he set his mind on something, he would work tirelessly in silence. It might seem unremarkable at the time, but when they looked back after a long while, the things he had accumulated bit by bit often reached astonishing levels.

Just like his tomatoes.

Because of this, he always gave off a calm and gentle vibe, rarely showing such animated expressions.

On Tuesday evening, after dinner, Tong Zhanyan led the three of them toward the training room.

“Wait here for me a moment,” Tong Zhanyan reminded them as he opened the door. He needed to shut down the livestream first.

Tian Xinqing and the others showed no impatience, turning their heads to survey the surroundings.

Half a semester had passed, yet they had never once visited this place.

“All set.” Tong Zhanyan returned quickly.

Qing Jiyue understood the situation inside and grasped Tong Zhanyan’s meaning, choosing not to rush in but to wait patiently nearby.

Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran exchanged a glance, their smiles fading as they stepped inside.

Boxes formed a wall at the entrance, requiring them to walk further in.

Su Yanran led the way, Tian Xinqing followed behind.

Turning the corner and seeing the scene inside, Su Yanran’s footsteps halted involuntarily.

Tian Xinqing’s curiosity piqued; he immediately quickened his pace.

The moment he saw clearly, he too froze.

The next instant, both of them simultaneously quickened their pace toward the room.

The fill lights Tong Zhanyan had set to turn off automatically at 5 PM had already extinguished, but he had turned them back on when he closed the livestream.

That way, they could see more clearly.

Approaching to identify what those things were, Su Yanran turned to look at Tong Zhanyan, his face filled with astonishment. “You grew these?”

He wasn’t particularly focused on gardening, but in this environment, he couldn’t avoid it entirely. He understood the challenges of cultivation and could clearly see how well those tomatoes were thriving.

Seeing them up close was far more impactful than watching them on stream—after all, the branches heavy with fruit were right before his eyes, within arm’s reach.

“Mhm.” Tong Zhanyan walked toward the tomato plants.

Days passed, and the once-spotty red fruits had now ripened in large patches.

Being the second batch, the volume of ripe tomatoes was almost absurdly large. From a distance, they resembled a vibrant red silk cloth, making the scattered green leaves appear like tiny dots.

Tong Zhanyan picked several large ones nearby, washed them in the bathroom, and then distributed them among the three.

He kept only one for himself.

It wasn’t that he was stingy, but the bitter taste inside truly made him uncomfortable. Knowing the reason for the bitterness, every time he ate it, he felt like he was consuming something poisonous.

As the fruit was handed to them, feeling the coolness of the water and the weight of the fruit, Tian Xinqing and the others exchanged another glance. This time, they finally slowly came to their senses.

Su Yanran rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Tian Xinqing’s lips moved several times, yet he couldn’t form a complete sentence for a long while. “You…”

“Where did you get the money?” Su Yanran was the first to react.

“Before coming for the assessment, I sold my house back then. It was thirty thousand yuan,” Tong Zhanyan said.

The original owner’s residence was located in a very remote area, extremely close to the protective barrier. Plus, the house was just a mud-brick structure, worth next to nothing.

After a pause, Tong Zhanyan added, “This is already the second crop. The first one only yielded a few plants.”

Su Yanran rubbed his nose again. “Are you out of your mind?”

They’d always been quite worried about Tong Zhanyan, as his academic performance lagged behind the rest of the class—something Tong Zhanyan himself must surely be aware of.

Given this situation, why pursue such endeavors? Why exhaust every last penny? Had Tong Zhanyan considered what would happen if he failed?

He’d thought Tong Zhanyan was someone who understood priorities.

“He knew all along?” Tian Xinqing glanced at Qing Jiyue, who sat quietly eating fruit while casually observing the drama.

Tong Zhanyan told Qing Jiyue, but not them?

“Well…” Seeing their expressions darken, Tong Zhanyan quickly added, “Because I started growing them on the dorm balcony, and he saw them.”

Their expressions softened slightly.

But not by much.

After the initial shock and grasping the situation, their minds began racing.

So this was Tong Zhanyan’s method to “pass the assessment”?

“The school won’t recognize it,” Su Yanran frowned, eyeing the tomatoes.

The tomatoes were thriving—even someone as uninterested in gardening as he could tell that. But he knew full well this wasn’t enough to make the school make an exception.

“I know,” Tong Zhanyan said. “I’ve already rented a greenhouse outside. Over the next three months, I’ll grow another batch.”

“A greenhouse?” Tian Xinqing was speechless. Greenhouses weren’t cheap.

“You—”

Su Yanran was about to say more. Three months—Tong Zhanyan could still turn back now.

But before Su Yanran could finish, Tong Zhanyan cut in: “I won’t pass the assessment.”

The room fell instantly silent.

They had to admit Tong Zhanyan was right.

Tong Zhanyan had worked tirelessly this semester, but innate limitations couldn’t be overcome in half a term—especially when the passing threshold was already exceptionally high.

Their assessment standard required a composite score of four points.

That number might seem modest, but it was far from it.

At other schools, students his age scoring three points would be considered above average. Reaching 3.5 points would mark them as geniuses, likely drawing the school’s full resources.

Achieving four points would be a source of pride not just for the school, but for the entire region.

Qing Jiyue’s score of over nine points was downright monstrous—no one would even consider comparing themselves to him.

Tong Zhanyan smiled faintly. “I have to take this gamble.”

Tian Xinqing remained silent. He understood he couldn’t dissuade Tong Zhanyan, though in his view, both paths seemed equally hopeless.

Su Yanran also remained silent.

“Give it a try.” Tong Zhanyan glanced at the fruit in their hands.

In that brief moment, Qing Jiyue had already devoured his entire portion like a hamster, his cheeks puffing up and deflating with each bite.

The two looked down at their own fruit, but didn’t touch it.

Tong Zhanyan’s expression softened slightly. “You really don’t need to worry about me.”

He didn’t want to tell them that part of his reluctance stemmed from fearing they’d expend too much energy on his affairs.

Especially Su Yanran.

Tian Xinqing was originally from the Inner City, and his family situation seemed stable enough. Even if expelled, his life wouldn’t become unbearably difficult, so Tong Zhanyan wasn’t overly concerned.

Su Yanran, however, was different. He, too, came from the outer city.

Su Yanran rarely spoke of his own affairs, but after half a semester of interaction, Tong Zhanyan and Tian Xinqing had gained some understanding of his circumstances.

Su Yanran came from a single-parent household. His father scraped by doing odd jobs here and there, which was no easy feat given the conditions in the outer city.

He wasn’t one for words either. Each letter contained the same few phrases: “Have you eaten? How are your grades? Keep working hard…”

Su Yanran’s grades were decent for their class, but that didn’t guarantee they’d pass the assessment.

The four-point threshold was fixed. Even if no one met the standard this semester, the school wouldn’t lower its requirements.

Sidi Military Academy didn’t charge tuition, but other schools did—and most charged hefty fees, especially those in the outer city.

Given Su Yanran’s family situation, if he were expelled, he’d likely never get another chance at education.

The pressure on Su Yanran was already immense.

Tian Xinqing scratched his head.

Glancing around the training room, he cut to the chase. “If you’ve truly thought this through, then go for it. But make absolutely sure you’ve considered everything.”

“Mhm.”

Su Yanran looked at the fruit in his hand and sighed. “You’re something else…”

Tong Zhanyan patted his shoulder.

The next moment, Tong Zhanyan said in a lighthearted tone, “I might need your help again in a couple of days. I can’t move all this stuff by myself.”

As he spoke, Tong Zhanyan looked at Qing Jiyue with eager anticipation, “Xiao Qingqing…”

Qing Jiyue was seriously super helpful.

“Ahem…” Tian Xinqing nearly sprayed the tomato in his mouth.

Xiao Qingqing?

Tian Xinqing looked at Qing Jiyue.

Qing Jiyue shot Tong Zhanyan a cold glance. “Shut up.”

“Oh.” Tong Zhanyan immediately corrected himself. “Xiao Yueyue.”

Qing Jiyue narrowed his eyes dangerously. Was Tong Zhanyan trying to get himself killed?

Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran exchanged glances, both raising their eyebrows.

Qing Jiyue was always training or training—more relentlessly than even those of them who had to take exams. Even though they lived next door and attended classes in the same room, they barely interacted.

This was the first time they’d ever seen Qing Jiyue playfully banter with anyone.

After a bit of commotion, and once Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran had fully recovered and marveled at the crops, the four headed back to the dorm together.

Before leaving, Tong Zhanyan didn’t forget to reopen his livestream.

Learning he had a livestream channel, Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran both followed it on the way back.

Qing Jiyue just kept walking forward.

Tong Zhanyan glanced at him.

“I already followed it,” Qing Jiyue said.

“When?” Tong Zhanyan recalled never mentioning his livestream channel name to Qing Jiyue.

But since they shared a dorm, everything they did happened under each other’s watchful eyes. It wasn’t surprising that Qing Jiyue knew.

Qing Jiyue offered no explanation.

After the livestream, the group discussed moving again.

Tong Zhanyan wanted to move as soon as possible, but it couldn’t be rushed.

First, the tomatoes couldn’t be squeezed, and there were too many to move easily. Second, suddenly changing the environment at this stage could easily cause fruit drop and stunted growth.

Tong Zhanyan’s plan was to wait until this batch of tomatoes was completely harvested before moving. Then, he could just move the pots directly.

As for the eggplants, strawberries, and cucumbers, they’d have to be moved regardless.

Those eggplant, strawberry, and cucumber plants had been planted only about a week later than the tomatoes. Yet, because he used store-bought soil and relied solely on plant ash, eggshell powder, and the occasional leftover orange water from watering the tomatoes, their growth was painfully slow.

Nearly three months in, the fruits are still tiny, and they’ll likely need at least another twenty days to reach maturity.

The cherry radishes and bok choy, however, have already set seeds, and Tong Zhanyan planned to harvest them in the next day or two.

On Wednesday night, Tong Zhanyan went over early.

After observing that the seeds were nearly ripe, Tong Zhanyan stopped watering the cherry radishes and bok choy a week ago. Now, their leaves showed signs of withering.

The flower stalks, in particular, were mostly dried out.

Tong Zhanyan took out the A4 white paper he had prepared earlier. Carefully centering it around the stem, he formed a funnel shape to encase the flower stalk. Then, using scissors, he cut off the entire flower stalk section.

The overly dry flower stalks scattered a shower of black granules as he worked—their seeds.

Tong Zhanyan gently rubbed the stalks to ensure all seeds had fallen free, then poured them into two separate cups along with the remaining leaves.

The seeds barely covered the bottom of each cup. Though they looked like just a little bit, both types of seeds were small, and this small amount already contained a hundred or two.

After placing them in the cups, Tong Zhanyan left them undisturbed, planning to let them air-dry for another two days to reduce moisture.

That way, they could be stored longer.

Tong Zhanyan turned to inspect the eggplants, strawberries, and cucumbers.

All three had borne fruit. Since he had no intention of selling them—they were purely for seeds—he kept only two fruits per plant for the strawberries, and just one per plant for the others.

Even so, they looked rather pitiful.

Especially the two cucumber plants. Tong Zhanyan had previously thought Old Jin’s cultivation wasn’t great, but now it seemed his own two plants weren’t much better.

After pinching off the new leaves and flower buds that had sprouted over the past two days, Tong Zhanyan checked the time—exactly seven o’clock.

Tong Zhanyan grabbed his shears, plastic bags, and boxes, then headed toward the tomato plants.

Live stream room.

“He’s here.”

“Quick, look! It’s starting.”

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Spotting Tong Zhanyan, the group instantly went on high alert.

Most of them hadn’t witnessed the previous harvest. By the time they calculated the timing and returned, not only was the aftermath of the picking gone, but the livestream itself had vanished.

At first, they thought something had gone wrong, so their first instinct was to rush to the comment section.

Once they finally figured out what happened—that Tong Zhanyan had already finished picking and they’d missed it—their frustration was palpable.

Could Tong Zhanyan be a bit more reliable?

Other times might be forgivable, but to be so unpredictable during something as important as the harvest?

Whether Tong Zhanyan became more reliable or not, they learned their lesson this time and were glued to their screens early.

Crouching down, placing the box, slipping on the plastic bag—Tong Zhanyan swung his knife with a series of sharp snips.

“…Is he really not going to say anything?”

“Something feels off.”

“I used to complain about other streamers talking too much, but now… come on, say something!”

“This batch must be at least ten pounds, right?”

“Aaaah, this is making me so hungry.”

“Aren’t you going to do a giveaway? I really want to try some.”

“Want to try +1.”

This batch had so many fruits, making the picking process quite tedious.

After working for a while, Tong Zhanyan had only finished five trees.

However, when switching locations and seeing the box nearly half-full from just those five plants, his mood lifted.

As he crouched down to continue, something appeared before him.

Just as the camera was about to capture all the bright red berries being picked by his companion, it shifted to focus on Tong Zhanyan, seemingly trying to stop him.

Tong Zhanyan pushed it aside. “Get lost.”

This time, the fruits were more plentiful than last time. One box wasn’t enough; after filling one, he went to get another.

Nearly twenty minutes later, Tong Zhanyan finally picked all the fruits.

As he stood up, he glanced at the tomato seedlings.

The branches that had once been laden with fruit now bore only a few unripe, finger-sized tomatoes and a pile of broken twigs. The sight was far from the previous pleasant view, looking rather pitiful.

As usual, he saved seeds this time, taking two from each of the five or six strongest seedlings.

With the other fruits picked, only these remained, dotted here and there with red.

Though some orange water remained, Tong Zhanyan didn’t plan to use it on these tomatoes.

Even if he did, the remaining fruits would grow very slowly, their quality wouldn’t improve, and the cost-benefit ratio would be too low.

Normally, cherry tomatoes could be harvested continuously for one or two months, but since these seedlings hadn’t been nurtured well from the start, that was out of the question.

However, Tong Zhanyan wasn’t ready to give up just yet. There was still residual fertilizer in the soil, enough for the remaining fruits to ripen.

Tong Zhanyan estimated that with luck, he could still harvest three or four pounds. Though the quality was subpar, it should still fetch a few hundred thousand yuan.

As for the rent, this harvest alone had already yielded at least fourteen pounds—more than enough.

“Holy crap, that must be fourteen or fifteen pounds?”

“Absolutely.”

“Last time it was seven or eight pounds, and now fourteen or fifteen? Twenty tomato plants yielding twenty-three pounds—am I really not dreaming?”

“Are you sure you didn’t use any chemicals, like growth hormones?”

“Growth hormones would kill them. These seedlings are all thriving.”

“Exactly. Stop spreading nonsense.”

“Don’t forget there’s still a batch that hasn’t ripened yet. Add that to the rest, and we’re looking at at least twenty-five or twenty-six pounds…”

“I’m speechless.”

“Speechless +1”

“Don’t you find this strange?”

“Strange about what?”

“Forget everything else—just this survival rate and harvest volume. Could an ordinary person pull this off?”

“You know what? I’ve been suspicious for a while. He’s young, his livestream setup isn’t fancy, yet his technique is so polished…”

“Only someone from the Planting Alliance could manage this kind of harvest volume, right? At least I’ve never seen it in other livestreams.”

“But why would the Planting Alliance pull this stunt? What’s their goal—” Yang Hong was editing content when the screen before him suddenly went black.

Immediately followed by the live stream ending notification.

Realizing what had happened, Yang Hong slowly withdrew his hand and took a deep breath.

Don’t get angry, don’t get angry. Getting sick from anger won’t help anyone.

The next moment, Yang Hong flipped the table. Did Tong Zhanyan dare buy another terminal?

After flipping the table, Yang Hong deftly retrieved the keyboard and silently opened the Victims’ Alliance group.

Sure enough, a crowd was lining up to flip tables in the group.

Yang Hong rolled up his sleeves and joined the fray.

Trash streamer.

Amidst the complaints, he couldn’t help but feel a bit aggrieved.

Other streamers fawn over and pamper their viewers, but Tong Zhanyan? They’d made concession after concession, practically begging him nicely, yet the man still did exactly as he pleased.