Thanks to KoshkaHP for the Kofis. Enjoy the bonus chapters!

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The more he thought about it, the angrier Yang Hong got, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

Negative review. Must leave a negative review.

Inside the store.

Old Jin was watching Mr. Bai and a group of employees inventory the second batch of cucumbers he’d just delivered when he saw Tong Zhanyan walk in, backpack slung over his shoulder and a plastic bag in hand.

“Hmph.” Old Jin snorted.

He had a bone to pick with this youngster, Tong Zhanyan.

It wasn’t just about those two oranges being sold too cheaply earlier. It was that everyone who saw his cucumbers was genuinely surprised—at the very least, they’d give them a second look. Now, with the entire store crowding around, it was a real boost to his ego. Yet Tong Zhanyan showed absolutely no reaction whatsoever.

Sure enough, upon entering, Tong Zhanyan merely glanced casually at the box holding over twenty cucumbers before turning his attention to the crowd.

He’d brought a lot of tomatoes this time, and Fang Yiguang and the others were moving slowly. If they didn’t hurry, they probably wouldn’t make it back before midnight.

“Fang Yiguang.”

Hearing his name, Fang Yiguang, who had been watching the commotion, only then realized Tong Zhanyan had arrived. “Today…”

Before he could finish his question, Fang Yiguang’s eyes lit up. Tong Zhanyan was carrying his backpack again.

Everyone else treated their crops like treasures, at the very least using boxes to carry them. Old Jin practically wanted every single fruit and vegetable packed in its own silk box. Only Tong Zhanyan always did things however it was most convenient.

Plastic bags were practically his standard equipment.

“Tomatoes.” Tong Zhanyan headed toward the cash register.

Fang Yiguang hurried over to clear the table. He’d been counting on it—Tong Zhanyan’s second batch of tomatoes should be ripe by now. Before even seeing the contents, he couldn’t suppress the smile spreading across his face. “How many?”

Tong Zhanyan’s backpack was quite bulging.

Tong Zhanyan set the bag he’d been carrying all the way onto the table, then turned to open his backpack.

Fang Yiguang was filled with anticipation.

In the reception room, Old Jin, who had been watching this side, heard their conversation and got up to come out.

He was quite curious about what kind of tomatoes Tong Zhanyan could grow.

In that brief moment, Tong Zhanyan had already opened his backpack and deftly pulled out the box and plastic bags inside.

Fang Yiguang immediately took them and opened them.

The moment he saw clearly, his smile widened even more.

This batch of tomatoes wasn’t as large as the previous one, but each was nearly thumb-sized, plump, and evenly red.

The key point was the quantity—it was substantial.

Old Jin craned his neck to get a better look. His expression shifted to surprise upon seeing them. “You grew these?”

“Mhm.” Tong Zhanyan had noticed him all along.

“The first batch?”

“The second.”

“The second?” Old Jin’s expression turned peculiar.

He had grown cherry tomatoes himself, and still did, so he knew well that the first harvest was usually the finest.

Tong Zhanyan’s tomatoes were certainly not inferior in quality. If these were the second batch, then wouldn’t the first have been even better?

In that brief moment, Fang Yiguang had already fetched a tray and gloves from nearby, ready to inspect and sort them one by one.

“Pretty lucky,” Old Jin finally managed to say.

His own tomatoes weren’t without good harvests, but in over a decade of growing them, he’d only encountered that once or twice.

Tong Zhanyan said nothing, only smiled.

Old Jin particularly disliked seeing Tong Zhanyan like this, as if none of this mattered to him.

“How many plants did you grow this batch?” Old Jin asked again.

His best harvest had been over fifty plants, but by the time they flowered and bore fruit, only thirty-odd remained. That yield had been roughly comparable.

“Twenty,” Tong Zhanyan replied.

Old Jin, who had been calculating, froze. “How many?”

“Twenty.”

Old Jin’s face instantly became a picture of astonishment.

He opened his mouth to tell Tong Zhanyan he was joking—how could twenty trees produce such a yield? But before the words left his lips, the other two employees nearby came over to help.

Tong Zhanyan was delighted to see this. He promptly pushed the other bag on the table toward them. He had classes tomorrow.

Seeing Tong Zhanyan’s action, everyone, including Old Jin, froze.

They had all noticed the other bag Tong Zhanyan had placed on the table earlier, but none had given it much thought until this moment.

“Is that also tomatoes?” Fang Yiguang was the first to react.

“Mhm.” Tong Zhanyan replied.

Someone nearby immediately opened it.

Inside the bag was a cardboard box identical to the one Tong Zhanyan had taken from his backpack. Inside the box were tomatoes wrapped in plastic bags, exactly the same as before.

The tomatoes in Tong Zhanyan’s backpack must have weighed at least seven jin. Adding these would bring the total to at least fourteen or fifteen jin.

Old Jin, who had been lost in thought, flushed crimson. “These are also from those twenty plants?”

“Yes.” Tong Zhanyan glanced over. Why was this man endlessly repeating the same question?

Noticing Tong Zhanyan’s puzzled expression, Old Jin’s face burned even redder.

Glancing at the cherry tomatoes and then back at Tong Zhanyan, he said nothing more. Tucking his tail between his legs, he slunk back to the reception room.

Before closing the door, he made sure to pull it shut behind him.

Compared to Tong Zhanyan’s perfectly round cherry tomatoes, his misshapen cucumbers—looking as if they’d been beaten—were truly an eyesore.

“Ha…”

Fang Yiguang and the others exchanged glances, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

Ever since that batch of cucumbers ripened, Old Jin had been showing them off in their shop for days.

This should finally bring him down to earth.

Tong Zhanyan was utterly baffled.

This batch of tomatoes was over half a dozen more than the previous one. Even with extra help, it took over three hours to finish the calculations.

The total weight was slightly more than Tong Zhanyan had anticipated, just shy of sixteen jin. The unit price was lower than last time due to the quality not being as good, but the quantity made up for it. The total came to just over two million one hundred and eleven thousand yuan.

Combined with the previous payment, the full 2.4 million yuan was secured. After receiving the transfer, Tong Zhanyan immediately remitted the funds to the landlord.

This left him with just over 140,000 yuan in his pocket.

The lights had cost him nearly 100,000 yuan.

First, he’d purchased a large quantity this time—over a hundred units.

Second, industrial lamps were inherently expensive, and the extra-high-wattage models he’d bought were even pricier.

By the time he finished, only a few shops remained open on the street.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t rush to leave. He chatted with Mr. Bai again, hoping to enlist his help in purchasing oranges.

“Oranges?”

“Oranges would work too,” Tong Zhanyan replied.

“How many do you need? These aren’t common on the market, so the price will likely be high,” Mr. Bai said, surprised. Tong Zhanyan was a grower himself—why was he buying?

“About five hundred thousand worth,” Tong Zhanyan stated.

Mr. Bai was speechless.

As a fellow grower, he knew Tong Zhanyan’s tomato crop was exceptionally high-yielding. Yet after two sales, he could roughly estimate how many tomatoes remained.

Five hundred thousand yuan—that was nearly all the money Tong Zhanyan had on hand.

But this revelation finally made Mr. Bai understand Tong Zhanyan’s plan.

Tong Zhanyan had likely found seeds inside those two oranges last time, sparking his desire to start an orchard.

Most fruits command higher prices than vegetables, not because they offer better suppression against frenzy, but purely because they’re perennial crops with high risks and low survival rates, making them rarer.

The buyers are mostly wealthy individuals who aren’t short on cash, purely seeking novelty or enjoying the flavor.

Compared to growing vegetables, cultivating an orchard was less profitable, but it allowed access to a higher social circle.

“Want other fruits too?” Mr. Bai asked, somewhat surprised. He hadn’t seen this ambition in Tong Zhanyan before.

“No, just oranges and tangerines,” Tong Zhanyan replied.

“I’ll inquire and notify you if I find any.”

Tong Zhanyan gave a few more instructions before stepping outside.

Today ended earlier than last time. With people still visible on the road, Tong Zhanyan walked at a leisurely pace, pondering his next steps.

He already had the seeds.

The greenhouse had water and electricity ready. Once the lights arrived and were installed, all that remained was tilling the soil.

In comparison, fertilizer remained the primary challenge.

He’d decided to use all his remaining funds to buy oranges. But even with that fertilizer and the added composted soil, the best his crops could hope for was the size of this batch of cherry tomatoes.

That was nowhere near enough to convince the school to make an exception for him.

Moreover, although he had deliberately bought extra soil last time and started composting it early, making it usable now, he hadn’t had much money back then. The soil he bought simply wasn’t enough to cover all the crops…

Mix in some other soil?

The moment this thought surfaced, Tong Zhanyan immediately dismissed it.

That would drastically reduce the effectiveness of all the soil and affect every crop. Better to prioritize one type.

But if he concentrated the good soil on just one crop, the others would still only get a bit of plant ash and eggshell powder…

Besides the orange water, he did have another resource available: the cherry radishes and bok choy.

Cherry radishes and bok choy had short growth cycles. Even if they grew slowly, a batch could mature in about a month.

He could plant a batch first, then immediately use them for composting after harvest. Composting crops took roughly a month. If things went quickly, other crops could use it by the third month.

He was definitely going to use this method. The question was, what to do for the first two months?

The seedling stage was critical for crops. If seedlings didn’t thrive early on, it would be nearly impossible to compensate later, even if they grew larger.

When Tong Zhanyan returned to the dorm after placing the terminal in the training room, only minutes remained before lights-out. He hurried to wash up.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan spent the entire morning pondering.

By midday, just as he was about to head to the cafeteria, Tong Zhanyan noticed an odd atmosphere in the classroom.

“What’s going on?” he asked Su Yanran, who was still reading behind him.

Qing Jiyue had already left.

Tian Xinqing stood on the other side of the classroom, talking excitedly with several others.

Several other small cliques existed within the class.

“The Gu Family compound was attacked three hours ago.” Su Yanran put away his book with a hint of exasperation. This had been the talk of the morning, and Tong Zhanyan was only noticing now?

Tong Zhanyan fell silent. “Is it serious?”

“Pretty bad. The beasts made it into the city,” Su Yanran said, putting away his books. “But they were driven back at the critical moment.”

Tong Zhanyan breathed a slight sigh of relief.

Beasts entering the city meant casualties were inevitable. Though it didn’t directly concern him, the thought of bodies littering the streets sent a chill down his spine.

“Let’s go to the cafeteria.” Su Yanran led the way toward the exit. “Tian Xinqing.”

Tian Xinqing, who had been deep in discussion with others, turned back repeatedly as he approached them, clearly reluctant to leave.

Tong Zhanyan was puzzled. “What were you talking about?”

Base attacks weren’t unusual, and Tian Xinqing had always been interested in such matters, but he’d rarely been this excited.

“Someone uploaded footage from the incident,” Tian Xinqing explained. “It’s been confirmed now—it was General Yang who drove those beasts back.”

“Who?”

“General Yang,” Tian Xinqing replied.

Tong Zhanyan looked utterly bewildered.

Tian Xinqing stared at him as if he were an alien. “General Yang Hong from the Gu Family? You don’t know him?”

Tong Zhanyan tried to recall, but still had no impression.

He possessed some memories of his original self, but they felt like a vaguely familiar history book—only the basic facts and major events stuck.

His explanation to Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran was that he’d been delirious from a fever.

They knew he’d been feverish for half a month after the entrance exam.

“He’s a pretty powerful and well-known squad leader from the Gu Family,” Su Yanran explained.

“Not just pretty powerful—he’s incredibly powerful, okay? And what I really like about him is how bold he is. If he doesn’t like something, he just goes for it.” Tian Xinqing clearly admired this Yang Hong. “Back in the day, he dared to single-handedly chase down a nest of beasts. He beat them so badly that they ran for their lives. Not many could pull that off even now, right?”

“A nest?” Tong Zhanyan was astonished.

A nest group? That’s at least several dozen beasts.

He took on dozens?

“Too bad he got infected with frenzy later.” Tian Xinqing’s earlier excitement faded, replaced by a touch of melancholy that weighed down the atmosphere.

Tong Zhanyan was speechless.

“Is he still alive?” Su Yanran asked.

“Yeah, apparently he’s working in logistics as some kind of warehouse manager. When those beasts came running earlier, he just happened to be over there and lent a hand.” Tian Xinqing composed himself.

“He probably doesn’t have much time left, does he?”

“Hmm…”

Su Yanran wanted to say something more, but couldn’t find the words.

Frenzy couldn’t be cured. Even if he stopped using Spirit Beasts after symptoms appeared, it would only buy him more time at best.

It had been years since Yang Hong stepped down.

At the Gu Family.

Along a street littered with building debris, Yang Hong deliberately chose areas with fewer people, moving quickly toward his warehouse.

“General Yang…”

A tentative call came from behind.

Yang Hong heard it but didn’t turn around, instead quickening his pace.

His pretense didn’t prompt the other to take the hint. Seeing him about to disappear around the corner, the person actually started running toward him.

Hearing the footsteps growing closer, Yang Hong gave a wry smile before turning back with a blank expression.

“It really is you…” The runner looked quite young, like someone fresh out of school.

“Need something?”

“N-no… I just really admire you…” The other’s face flushed with excitement.

The name Yang Hong was legendary in the Gu Family’s territory.

Yang Hong smiled and ruffled the youth’s hair. “Keep up the good work.”

“Yes!”

Yang Hong turned and walked away.

As soon as he rounded the corner, Yang Hong instantly dropped his smile and broke into a run, heading back to his warehouse.

He had no desire to relive what had just happened.

Due to the earlier attack, the entire row of buildings behind him stood completely deserted.

Walking down that road, Yang Hong breathed a sigh of relief.

He pulled out his terminal and contacted the nursing home, instructing them not to let his mother know about his situation.

The decisiveness of her youth had festered into a festering wound over three decades of hardship. Learning that her son suffered the same affliction might be more than she could bear.

By the time he ended the call, Yang Hong stood before his warehouse door.

He flopped onto the lounge chair by the entrance and instinctively opened his livestream feed.

The room, cluttered with junk in the corner, featured trash cans repurposed as flower pots and industrial bins. The tomato plants, already harvested twice and pruned, looked rather battered.

Tong Zhanyan’s livestream room remained unchanged.

Yang Hong exhaled a long breath, his earlier agitation gradually subsiding.

That night, Tong Zhanyan visited the training room.

The cherry radish and bok choy seeds he’d been airing out were now ready to be stored. He wrapped them in the same two sheets of paper he’d used to collect the flower buds.

Seeds need to breathe; prolonged sealing can deplete their viability.

At the live Stream Room.

Seeing Tong Zhanyan casually toss the wrapped seeds back onto the cardboard box, the chat exploded with excitement once more.

While seeds weren’t easy to sell, they were valuable for planting. Those two packets held at least two to three hundred seeds combined—enough to yield cherry radishes and bok choy worth a fortune.

But Tong Zhanyan? Not only did he use paper instead of a box, he actually tossed them aside after wrapping…

After handling the seeds, Tong Zhanyan turned his attention to the eggplants, strawberries, and cucumbers.

After the cherry radishes and bok choy had their flower beds cleared, he’d pulled up the remaining plants and tossed them into the composting soil. Now, beneath the left support frame, only one pot of bare soil and the six remaining plants remained.

This made them look even more pitiful.

Tong Zhanyan pinched back the eggplant branches and thinned the leaves just like he did with the tomatoes, leaving only one fruit per plant.

But unlike the tomatoes, they weren’t cooperating. Even though they were nearing maturity, they were only about the length of a palm and had twisted, misshapen forms.

The cucumbers fared even worse. Being vines with widely spaced leaves, they looked sparse and sparse.

Their two fruits hadn’t deformed, but they were only about two fingers wide.

Tong Zhanyan had plucked the leaves off those two strawberries until only six or seven remained. This made the coin-sized berries appear quite large, and at first glance, they seemed to be the healthiest of the three plants.

Tong Zhanyan inspected each one, estimated how much longer they’d need, then turned his attention to the tomatoes.

Just as he’d anticipated, after several days they’d only grown a little. Worse, many that hadn’t grown at all had already started turning red.

Once a tomato turned red, it wouldn’t grow any larger.

Tong Zhanyan made his calculations and posted an announcement.

Harvest in four days.

Move after picking.

Before leaving, he took the terminal with him. The lights he’d ordered had arrived and needed picking up tomorrow—he couldn’t manage without the terminal.

“Move?” Yang Hong, who was always online, saw the announcement almost instantly.

Was he moving to a greenhouse?

Yang Hong was taken aback.

Many cash-strapped streamers start with just a few plants, gradually accumulating resources and improving bit by bit—nothing unusual there. But Tong Zhanyan’s stream had only been live for a little over five months, right?

To go from nothing to using a greenhouse in just five months? That was remarkably fast.

Yang Hong opened the Victims’ Alliance group chat. Sure enough, discussions had already begun.

That night, Tong Zhanyan told Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran about the lights. He wanted to ask them both for help.

Instead of having the lights shipped to the school, Tong Zhanyan had them sent directly to the greenhouse location. The delivery time was set, and the items would arrive at the entrance. Moving them from the entrance into the greenhouse would take some time.

Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran agreed readily. They had been curious about Tong Zhanyan’s greenhouse but never had the chance to visit. This was the perfect opportunity to take a look.

Returning to the dorm, Tong Zhanyan remembered to ask Qing Jiyue.

Qing Jiyue didn’t refuse.

The next day, the three left campus immediately after evening classes ended.

The walk from school would take fifteen to sixteen minutes, so Tong Zhanyan hailed a taxi.

They arrived half an hour before the delivery time, so Tong Zhanyan decided to take the three inside for a look first.

Qing Jiyue had likely seen greenhouses before and seemed familiar with them, but Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran were experiencing one for the first time. They looked at everything with wide-eyed curiosity.

Once they finally made it inside, the two boys touched and explored everything in sight.

It took them quite a while to return.

“You plan to plant crops across this entire area?” Tian Xinqing asked.

“That’s the current plan.”

“Just the crops you grow in your livestream?” Su Yanran inquired.

“Yes.”

Amidst their casual chat, Tong Zhanyan’s terminal buzzed.

The lights had arrived.

Tong Zhanyan hurried outside.

This time, Tong Zhanyan had purchased over a hundred lights—not small bulbs, but large fixtures the size of basketballs, complete with lampshades and adjustable light spectra. They filled seven or eight boxes.

As Tong Zhanyan signed for the delivery, Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran were about to roll up their sleeves and get to work when the boxes suddenly began to levitate.

Tong Zhanyan watched with a smile.

Qing Jiyue really was incredibly useful.

After watching the boxes line up and fly themselves into the greenhouse, Tong Zhanyan unpacked one to test.

The shop owner had repeatedly assured him that as long as he didn’t mix up the connector types, it would definitely work. But he wouldn’t feel at ease until he tried it himself.

The thing actually worked.

Night study sessions were always voluntary. Tong Zhanyan checked with the three others, confirming they had no urgent matters requiring them to leave before starting the installation.

Installing the lights required power to be cut off, so the three were perfectly suited to assist by providing lighting and helping out.

The lights were large and quite heavy. Adding to the challenge was the need to climb down and reposition the ladder after each installation. By nearly ten o’clock, they had only managed to install over thirty.

With classes the next day, Tong Zhanyan led the group back.

Before heading upstairs, Tong Zhanyan detoured to the training room to return the terminal.

This reminded him once more that he needed to buy another terminal soon.

Over the next two days, Tong Zhanyan rushed to the greenhouse immediately after each class.

Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran followed him there.

They claimed they were coming to play, but once they arrived, one held the lights while the other passed them up, leaving them almost no free time.

Tong Zhanyan said nothing, but he took note.

With their help, efficiency improved significantly, and Tong Zhanyan finished installing all the lights within three days.

Three days later marked the exact date Tong Zhanyan had previously set for tomato picking.

That night, he arrived punctually.

After several days’ absence, the once-barren patch of tomatoes was now dotted with red—though this time, the color was sparse and scattered.

As usual, Tong Zhanyan started the live stream right on schedule.

Live Stream Room.

With the experience from the previous two sessions, more viewers were glued to their screens this time, making the chat even livelier.

“You know what? Once you get used to it, this picking method is actually pretty satisfying. Click, click, click—a whole box full. So rewarding.”

“+1. Can’t stand watching those pick-one-tomato-at-a-time sessions anymore.”

“Well, you’d need the streamer’s tomato yield to pull that off. Otherwise, wouldn’t it end in two minutes?”

“Hahaha…”

“After this batch, should we be able to pick another one?”

Outside the livestream, the smiles on Yang Hong, Tong Zhanyan, and Su Yanran’s faces—who were watching the first batch of tomatoes being picked—froze instantly.

It brought back unpleasant memories.

Those flickering images, that familiar snapping rhythm…

As Yang Hong snapped out of his daze, he noticed the group avatars flashing in the bottom right corner.

He opened it to check.

“…He wouldn’t, would he?”

Someone posted a cryptic message in the group.

At this hour, most group members were in the livestream, so only a few noticed.

“What?”

“Huh?”

Loves Hotpot: “…I have a bad feeling about this.”

Midsummer Madness So Cool: “Me too.”

Fish-Loving Kitten: “…Again?”

Among the few who noticed, those who had been present during the last batch of tomatoes were clearly more numerous. Without exception, they were all jolted back to those unpleasant memories in that instant.

Loves Hotpot: “But there are still so many unripe little tomatoes left.”

After that remark, the group fell silent.

Yeah, there were still so many unripe little tomatoes.

But so what?

Last time, Tong Zhanyan didn’t hesitate to dismember them.

Loves Hotpot: “Should we talk to him?”

Changge: “You think he’ll listen?”

Silence fell over the group again.

The silence was broken by a newcomer who’d joined later: “What are you guys talking about? I don’t get it.”

Changge: “Those last few fruits really were hard to grow.”

Fish-Loving Kitten: “But that’s no excuse for what he did.”

“What are you guys even talking about?”

“Confused +1”

“So mysterious.”

Yang Hong wanted to explain, but when it came time to type, he didn’t know where to start.

Say that those tomatoes might not survive much longer?

Say Tong Zhanyan went mad and brutally destroyed the tomatoes?

The rage he felt when Tong Zhanyan dismembered those tomatoes last time was still fresh in his memory. But then what?

This batch of tomatoes Tong Zhanyan grew was even better than the last.

Though the thought still pained him, though he still couldn’t grasp the direct connection between killing the previous batch early and this batch turning out so well…

If Tong Zhanyan could keep improving with each crop…

Yang Hong found this line of thinking absurd.

Because the next batch might turn out better, does that mean the less-than-perfect fruits from the previous batch could simply be discarded?

That would be a waste of nature’s bounty. That would be absurd. That would be…

Well, maybe it wasn’t entirely impossible.

Yang Hong was startled by his own thought.

How difficult it was to grow crops, how precious the fruits were—how could one simply discard them because they weren’t perfect?

Besides, what made Tong Zhanyan so confident that the next batch would definitely be better than this one?

What guarantee did he have?

He must have been driven mad by Tong Zhanyan’s actions.

He studied the dog gloomily: “Let’s see.”

The group chat fell silent.

In the livestream room.

In just that brief moment, Tong Zhanyan had finished harvesting.

This time, he filled nearly half the box again, but the fruits were noticeably smaller than the previous two batches. The tiniest were barely the size of a fingertip.

Compared to other livestreams, this quality was actually decent. But for Tong Zhanyan…

“Why do these fruits feel so… subpar? I can’t believe I’m even using the word ‘subpar’…”

“They really are a lot worse. I remember the first batch was almost thumb-sized. These? Are they even half that big?”

“The host has spoiled our taste buds.”

“Ugh, now I can’t even watch other livestreams anymore.”

“When will you plant the next batch?”

“Didn’t you say you’re moving? To a greenhouse? Will you grow more than? I want to see chili peppers—they’re so vibrant and beautiful.”

“Host—”

Just as everyone was expressing their thoughts, the screen suddenly went black.

They froze for a moment, then a familiar feeling began to boil in their hearts.

This wasn’t the first time—they’d long since gotten used to it—

Used to my ass.

Could Tong Zhanyan please get better?

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Inside the shop.

This batch of tomatoes was smaller, yet dividing them proved trickier than before due to their uneven sizes.

Tong Zhanyan patiently paced the shop, round after round, until over an hour later, the group finally finished.

“Total weight: 2123 grams. But the quality of this batch…” Mr. Bai tallied the accounts. “Total: 364,000.”

The first batch of fruit, weighing seven or eight jin, had fetched a million. This time, over four jin only brought in just over 300,000. The disparity was undeniably significant.

Tong Zhanyan had anticipated this.

After collecting the payment, Tong Zhanyan inquired about the oranges.

The oranges still needed time to ripen, so preparations had to be made in advance.

“I haven’t found any,” Mr. Bai said. “I’ve asked everyone I know, and even reached out through connections I don’t personally know, but no one has heard of oranges being sold anywhere.”

Tong Zhanyan was speechless.

After a moment, he asked, “What about Old Jin?”

“Already checked. He only has two oranges in this batch. The next one won’t be until next year. The guy who sold him the seeds? His tree died last year.”

Tong Zhanyan was speechless again.

He had the money ready—he couldn’t afford to come up empty-handed…

“Should we keep asking?”

“Ask,” Tong Zhanyan said.

The next night, Tong Zhanyan brought a kitchen knife to the training room.

He dragged in two large industrial crates, sat down before the tomato plants, and began hacking away.

Left pot after pot was stripped bare, right pot after right pot was hacked to pieces. Half the tomatoes were gone in minutes.

Amidst the bustling activity, Tong Zhanyan paused to examine the kitchen knife in his hands. A knife was simply more efficient than scissors.

After that moment of appreciation, Tong Zhanyan got up to move the remaining tomatoes to the pots before continuing. Right then, something collided with him.

Tong Zhanyan looked over—it was the camera.

Because he’d taken the tomatoes, it had followed him. Moving too fast, it slammed straight into his chest.

—That’s how Tong Zhanyan saw it. To the live stream audience, however, it looked entirely different.

“Nice hit!”

“Go on, camera! Knock some sense into him!”

“Ahhh! Someone help! This guy’s lost it!”

“Help! What is he doing? Can’t he see all those tomatoes and fruit still hanging there?”

“Go on, camera! Hit him!”

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Watching the tomato seedlings, perfectly fine just moments ago, turn into pulp under Tong Zhanyan’s hands in an instant, the crowd went wild.

Did Tong Zhanyan even know what he was doing?

Had he lost his mind?

So many fruits, just chopped off like that…

Watching its little companions about to be chopped to pieces, the camera thought for a moment with its not-so-bright brain and resolutely stepped between Tong Zhanyan and the tomatoes.

After finishing his work, Tong Zhanyan turned to find the camera had crept back to his side. He grabbed it and tossed it aside.

Those watching the live feed through the camera felt their own insignificance grow more acute as they stared at that giant hand, large enough to obscure their entire field of vision.

It only made them more frantic.

Backstage.

The entire team, including Yang Hong, fell into an unusual silence as they watched the tomatoes being pulled.

Their hearts raced uncontrollably when Tong Zhanyan suddenly yanked them out. This batch had numerous seedlings, each bearing countless unripe tomatoes.

Some folks with poor gardening skills might not even get this many tomatoes from a whole batch of seedlings…

They wanted to rage, to curse, to feel heartbroken—yet beyond that, they were strangely calm.

Tong Zhanyan had been like this last time, too, when he cut off those five tomatoes. Not a moment’s hesitation. And then he grew an even better batch.

This time…

Could Tong Zhanyan do it again?

Yang Hong was lost in thought when the group notification in the lower right corner caught his peripheral vision. He instinctively tapped it open.

Members were leaving the group—more than one.

Yang Hong froze, then found himself both amused and exasperated.

How familiar this felt…