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

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

“I’ll go with you then,” Tong Zhanyan said.

“Mm.”

“Alright, stop thinking about it. Sleep, sleep.” Tian Xinqing quickly changed the subject.

Su Yanran returned to his room.

Tian Xinqing followed.

Tong Zhanyan stood for a moment before returning to his room as well.

Inside, Qing Jiyue sat quietly reading as always, as if everything happening outside had nothing to do with him.

And indeed, it didn’t.

A comprehensive score like that after just nine hours? Not even their school’s teachers could achieve it.

It wasn’t just Su Yanran who was affected. The next day, nearly the entire first-year class looked ashen-faced, as if they couldn’t catch their breath.

After finally enduring until noon, the three of them returned to the dorm after lunch to find the entire floor eerily quiet. Upon asking, they learned many had already gone for testing.

Su Yanran, who had managed to briefly forget about it, instantly turned pale.

The entire afternoon, Su Yanran felt like he was sitting on pins and needles. Tong Zhanyan had given up, but seeing him like that, he couldn’t help but feel tense too.

After class, Tong Zhanyan and Tian Xinqing followed him to the testing site.

It was a huge sports stadium filled with various testing equipment.

When they arrived, those who had come early had already started their tests, while a crowd waited outside.

The three found a place to sit.

Half an hour later, Su Yanran’s number was called.

Tong Zhanyan patted his shoulder. Su Yanran took a deep breath and steeled himself to walk inside.

Over ten minutes later, hearing his number called, Tian Xinqing also stood up.

Tong Zhanyan looked somewhat surprised.

Tian Xinqing smiled. “I was just curious how many there are.”

With that, he entered as well.

Tong Zhanyan stared at the door for a moment, hesitating whether to try it himself, but ultimately decided against it.

The comprehensive test primarily consisted of four parts: cultural knowledge, the master’s physical fitness, the compatibility between the Spirit Beast and its master, and the attack speed and strength in the fused state.

The fusion state metrics carried the heaviest weighting, accounting for two full points alone.

He still hadn’t mastered fusion.

Spirit Beasts were extensions of their masters’ souls, typically summoned between ages four and seven.

For Tian Xinqing and his peers, these companions had been by their sides for at least a decade. Their synergy was unquestionable, and fusion had been an integral part of their growth.

But for him, summoning his Spirit Beast was only five months ago. Fusion was out of the question—he still couldn’t even get that chicken to obey him completely.

Under these circumstances, even with perfect scores in culture and personal physical fitness, he could only expect around 1.5 points.

Tong Zhanyan was lost in thought when Su Yanran emerged, his expression even more grim than when he’d gone in.

Tong Zhanyan approached. “How did it go?”

Su Yanran handed him a piece of paper.

Tong Zhanyan took it and glanced at the score: 3.5 points.

His cultural knowledge and physical fitness were nearly perfect, and his synergy was passable. The problem lay in fusion.

That made the score awkward, because integration was the hardest aspect to improve—especially with only a 0.5-point gain over three months.

Su Yanran headed toward the dormitory.

“Tian Xinqing hasn’t come out yet.”

Su Yanran froze, realizing he hadn’t seen Tian Xinqing.

Su Yanran found a place to sit.

Over ten minutes later, Tian Xinqing emerged.

He looked surprisingly relaxed.

Approaching and seeing Su Yanran’s distracted state, his expression grew more serious.

Tong Zhanyan hesitated, unsure if now was the right moment to ask.

Su Yanran spoke first, “How did it go?”

Tian Xinqing looked slightly awkward.

Su Yanran sighed, understanding the answer.

Tian Xinqing scratched his head and pulled out his own transcript.

Tong Zhanyan took it and glanced at the 3.8 GPA.

Tong Zhanyan was speechless, then immediately understood.

Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran had always been neck-and-neck academically, but while Tian Xinqing skipped extra classes whenever possible, Su Yanran never slacked off.

“You bastard…” Su Yanran said, tinged with envy.

The three rode back in silence. Su Yanran needed time to process.

Later that evening, Tong Zhanyan made a trip to the school gate. His newly ordered terminal had arrived.

The device was about 80% new. Though the model was outdated, it was still significantly newer than his previous one. Tong Zhanyan spent some time familiarizing himself with it.

That night, he processed the tomato seeds he’d saved earlier, airing them out in advance.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan got busy as soon as classes ended in the afternoon.

He never stopped collecting leaves and eggshells. Three months after the last planting, he had accumulated over a dozen jars and bottles of eggshell powder, and leaves piled up like a small mountain on the balcony.

Tong Zhanyan carried everything downstairs, used his mobility scooter to transport it to the school gate, then hailed a cab to deliver it to the greenhouse.

Closing the door, he scanned the area in front of the small building. Choosing a spacious spot, he swept it clean and set the leaves alight.

This was his territory; he didn’t need to worry about anyone disturbing him.

The leaves were dry and caught fire quickly, burning out in just over ten minutes.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t stand idly by. He turned and went into the greenhouse, grabbed the eggshell powder, and began spreading it evenly until it was all used up.

By the time he stepped outside again, the ashes had completely extinguished. He grabbed an iron bucket and shovel, hauling load after load to spread evenly across the ground.

By the time he finished, it was past eight in the evening. After a brief rest, Tong Zhanyan began turning the soil, mixing the eggshell powder and ashes into the earth.

The soil had already been loosened once, so turning it over was easy. The area prepared for planting tomatoes also needed to be mixed with decomposed soil, but that wasn’t urgent. Even so, by the time he finished and looked up, it was already past 1:00 AM.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t return to the school dormitory; he slept in the small building that night.

The room was quite clean, but lacking both a pillow and bedding, Tong Zhanyan slept rather uncomfortably.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan hurried back before classes began.

At noon, Tong Zhanyan left school carrying a pile of seeds, intending to have them tested again.

He wouldn’t feel at ease until he understood the infection rate.

Instead of going to Mr. Bai’s shop, Tong Zhanyan deliberately took a taxi to another street over twenty minutes away.

With few customers at noon, the owner had his staff perform the analysis before personally greeting Tong Zhanyan. “Never seen you here before. Just starting out?”

“Yeah.” Tong Zhanyan had deliberately changed out of his school-branded clothes before coming.

“We just got a new liquid fertilizer in—works wonders. Want to take a look?” Before Tong Zhanyan could respond, the owner was already walking over to a nearby shelf. “Yan Family’s brand new product. Supposed to be pretty effective.”

With the product thrust before him, Tong Zhanyan could only take it to examine.

The ingredient list was lengthy, but the names didn’t match any components Tong Zhanyan recalled.

“No, thanks.” He set it back.

He’d always been resistant to such products, unable to shake the association with those nutrient solutions that tasted like watered-down saccharin.

Both were artificially synthesized, even using similar processes.

Undeterred by the failed sales pitch, the shopkeeper immediately pressed on, “Seeds?”

This piqued Tong Zhanyan’s interest. “What kinds of seeds do you have?”

“Cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, cherry radishes…”

The vendor rattled off a string of names—all available at Mr. Bai’s shop, with a few even missing from his inventory.

Tong Zhanyan wasn’t surprised.

When the seed bank was first unlocked, people hadn’t anticipated how dire the situation would become. They’d immediately released hundreds of seed varieties, including staples like wheat, rice, and potatoes.

Two or three years later, when they realized something was wrong, most of those seeds had been depleted to near-exhaustion. Some had no original seeds left, let alone any with an infection rate below sixty percent.

They immediately implemented a second sealing, and since then, seed releases have been handled with extreme caution.

However, once seeds are planted, the infection rate inevitably rises. Even with a mere 3% increase each time, reaching 50% infection would take only a dozen or so cycles. Even with extreme caution, it would still happen within five or six years.

Therefore, the current practice is to release a batch of seeds every five or six years. During that period, those crops dominated the market. Once the seeds are nearly depleted, the next batch is released.

As for what specific seeds are released, that decision rests entirely with those in power.

In recent years, cherry tomatoes and cucumbers have been released.

Seeds released in the past aren’t entirely unavailable on the market, but they demand high prices—those from more distant sources start at hundreds of thousands per seed.

Tong Zhanyan recalled that wheat seeds currently hold the record for the most expensive sale, fetching nearly ten million yuan per seed at an auction over a decade ago.

“I’ll take another look,” Tong Zhanyan said just as the testing staff emerged.

Tong Zhanyan gave everything a cursory glance, revealing nothing, paid, and left.

Stepping outside and getting into the car, Tong Zhanyan frowned.

He took one seed each of cherry radish and bok choy. From the first batch of cherry tomatoes, he randomly selected five leftover seeds. From the second batch of five or six plants saved for seed, he took one seed from each.

The infection rates for cherry radish and bok choy hadn’t decreased; instead, they each increased by one or two percentage points.

The seeds from the first batch of cherry tomatoes all had a minimum infection rate of 44%. At least among the randomly sampled batch, none were 43%.

When selling fruit earlier, the lowest rate was also 44%. He hadn’t seen any at 43%.

Among the five or six cherry tomato plants from the second batch, one had an infection rate of 43%.

The testing at Mr. Bai’s shop was accurate.

One tomato from the second batch truly showed a lower infection rate.

But why?

He hadn’t applied any special treatment.

Surely it couldn’t be because he refused to use the fertilizer solution?

Yet those fertilizer solutions weren’t available from the start. They didn’t exist during the earliest years after the seeds were released; they were developed gradually later on.

Lost in thought, Tong Zhanyan only snapped back to reality when the driver spoke up, realizing the car had already stopped.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t head straight back to school. He went to the street where Mr. Bai’s shop was located to buy bedding and pillows, and stopped by the shop to inquire about the oranges.

It had been nearly a week since he’d asked Mr. Bai to procure the oranges, yet there was still no word from him. It seemed every possible lead had been exhausted.

This began to worry Tong Zhanyan, as he was counting on that orange juice extract moving forward.

The fertilizer from the five tomato seedlings had finally fermented and was ready to use, but its potency was nowhere near that of the orange fertilizer. The recommended dilution ratio was only one part fertilizer to twenty or thirty parts water.

The fertilizer supply was already limited. With the next batch including eggplants alongside tomatoes, it would only last for one or two more applications at most.

Tong Zhanyan brought the bedding and pillows back to his dorm, planning to take them to the greenhouse later that night.

He still had some time before class.

After pondering, he took out three cups, filled them with hot water, and soaked tomato, cherry radish, and bok choy seeds inside.

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

That night, Tong Zhanyan carried them along with the bedding and pillows to the greenhouse.

After arranging the bedding and pillows, Tong Zhanyan entered the greenhouse.

He plugged in the hole punch, retrieved the disposable cups he’d bought earlier, opened a bucket of well-rotted soil to fill a large basin, then sat down in front of the tool shed, ready to sow.

The disposable cups were thin. Tong Zhanyan stacked several together to punch holes, finishing a whole sheet in minutes.

Just as he unplugged the hole punch and was about to fill the cups with soil, something flashed before his eyes.

Tong Zhanyan looked up to find the camera watching him.

Remembering he had a live stream, he casually remarked, “Next, we’ll sow the seeds.”

After a moment, Tong Zhanyan added, “Seeds need to soak in warm water for four to five hours to promote germination. I’ve already soaked mine in advance.”

“The soil must be loose, soft, and nutrient-rich—humus soil is best.”

“Seedlings in their early germination stage have very weak root systems. Fertilizer must not be applied during this phase, or it could burn the roots.”

After giving these instructions, Tong Zhanyan bent down and began filling pots with soil.

He had only saved twenty or thirty seeds of each variety, soaking the rest. This meant he’d have to sow three to four hundred cups of seeds tonight.

Fortunately, he’d done this countless times before. The process was so ingrained that it required no conscious thought.

“Hmph…”

After hearing Tong Zhanyan’s words, Yan Zhenwen couldn’t help but snort coldly. He was now certain this man was deliberately antagonizing him, riding his coattails for attention.

He had entered the scene with capital, aiming to promote his company’s upcoming line of gardening supplies—especially fertilizers and seeds.

Gardening was a lucrative market.

Not long ago, right after hitting one million followers in his livestream, he’d revealed his identity as the Yan family scion and promoted his company’s liquid fertilizer. Just as he was scheming to trend on the hot search, his livestream blew up an hour later.

The result? He didn’t trend. Instead, it was this “Senior Da Liu” who did.

Of course, he wouldn’t let that happen. He immediately had his team pull the hot search.

Even though “Senior Da Liu Will Never Die” didn’t trend, the attention was stolen. Later, he spent money to push it, but it never made it to the top.

After that, he’d occasionally drop by this livestream. Yet, the host always acted like he knew nothing.

Until this very moment, when he finally revealed his true colors.

Just moments ago, he’d stated in his own livestream that his fertilizer solution worked best when applied from the sowing stage. Yet this guy immediately countered in his own stream, claiming fertilizer shouldn’t be used during seedling cultivation.

What else could this be but targeting him?

At the livestream.

After hearing Tong Zhanyan’s words, everyone froze in shock.

Tong Zhanyan rarely spoke in the livestream, but when he did, his words carried significant weight.

Take harvesting, for instance. If he said seven o’clock sharp, it was seven o’clock sharp—not a minute later.

Or digging the soil. If he said to dig, he buried himself in digging for two days straight.

He would never make baseless claims just for attention.

And now he was saying seeds needed soaking and no fertilizer during seedling growth.

They hadn’t heard about soaking seeds before, and couldn’t verify it quickly, but no fertilizer during seedling growth?

“…But if there’s no fertilizer, what do the seeds eat?”

“Exactly.”

Comments flooded the screen, with many expressing doubt. Yet the mood didn’t turn to anger, as if they felt Tong Zhanyan was playing tricks on them. They were simply perplexed.

“Have you ever seen him fertilize before?”

“Come to think of it, no.”

“At least not since he moved to that back room.”

“I haven’t seen it either.”

Those still here at this stage were mostly present for the first tomato crop. Many had witnessed the second batch from sowing to harvest.

They hadn’t considered this before—fertilizing plants was common sense. Who would constantly watch someone to see if they ate every meal?

“How about… we test it?” As the words left her lips, Changge felt her heart skip a beat.

“How do we test it?”

“I have seeds.” Changge sprang up from her stool and dashed toward the balcony, where her potting soil and gardening tools were stored.

She’d gotten into gardening four years ago, like most people, for her family.

Now that the family was gone, she never gave up—it had become an obsession.

Her luck wasn’t great, though. She’d barely managed to grow anything to maturity, spending a fortune on seeds over those four years instead.

Two minutes later, she returned to the table clutching a potted plant and three tomato seeds she’d bought that very afternoon.

She snapped a photo and posted it to the group chat.

“Is that humus soil?”

Someone in the group responded immediately.

“No.” Changge thought for a moment—she hadn’t heard of that brand—“But I bought the best one available.”

Gardening was a lucrative market; everyone wanted a piece of the pie. Between all the different types of soil and nutrient solutions on the market, the brands numbered close to a thousand.

“Remember to share updates.”

“Following.”

“Following +1”

Seeing over a dozen “Following” comments flood the group, Changge quickly looked down to mimic the actions she’d seen in live streams.

She had disposable cups.

She didn’t have a hole punch, but she had a lighter and a screwdriver at home.

For soil, she simply broke off a chunk from her pot and crushed it.

She’d bought that soil four years ago. It was fluffy at first, but after a few waterings, it quickly turned into a clump.

She’d worried about it initially, but since everyone seemed to experience the same thing, she stopped paying much attention.

She soaked the seeds in hot water, setting an alarm just in case.

When she looked up after finishing her tasks, the person in the livestream was still bent over, working diligently as before, only now with a pile of disposable cups filled with soil beside them.

She sat back down at her desk and watched silently.

She always felt this livestream had a peculiar charm. That charm didn’t come from the tomatoes, but from the person inside—silent, head down, just working.

It made her feel as if her whole being settled into stillness.

Sometimes she’d even turn off the comments just to watch that busyness.

Tong Zhanyan worked for a long time before finally filling all the several hundred cups.

He didn’t rest. After clearing away the empty pots, he began organizing them, eventually arranging them into three large squares.

Finally, he took out the seeds that had soaked long enough and a pair of tweezers, starting to distribute them one seed per cup.

Tomato seeds were large and relatively easy to separate, but their sheer volume took its toll. By the time he finished, his eyes were sore.

After a brief rest, he continued.

Cherry radish and bok choy seeds were like fine, coarse sand. After soaking, they stuck together in clumps, impossible to separate.

In his previous world, few people would bother separating these seeds individually. They’d typically just mark off a patch of soil and scatter them in a long, even line.

Tong Zhanyan considered doing that, but the current soil simply couldn’t withstand such carelessness.

After all, these seeds would serve as fertilizer for the second and third stages of his other crops.

He paused when tired, resting until refreshed before resuming. By the time all the seeds were separated, his vision blurred.

After a brief rest, he began sprinkling a thin layer of soil over each seed.

Next came the soaking trays.

Finally, the plastic film.

By the time he finished, it was already past two in the morning.

The small building had basic facilities. After a quick wash, he collapsed onto his pillow and fell into a deep sleep.

The next day, arriving at school, he felt as if he were still dreaming.

The class atmosphere shifted after everyone learned their scores. Though they’d always worked hard and felt uneasy, there had always been a lively buzz. Now, hardly anyone could muster a smile.

Even Tong Zhanyan felt the pressure seep into him.

His path hadn’t been any easier than theirs.

By midday, Tong Zhanyan couldn’t resist checking in with Mr. Bai again about the oranges via the terminal.

Just one day had passed, and the situation remained unchanged.

But every day delayed meant his crops would be fertilized a day later.

After a nap at noon, Tong Zhanyan continued working into the night.

The tomatoes had only been sown yesterday; their seeds hadn’t sprouted yet. But the eggplants, cucumbers, and strawberries were already ready for harvest.

“Today we harvest,” Tong Zhanyan simply stated to the camera before picking the two eggplants and two cucumbers.

Having never grown well, they looked even more shabby after fully ripening. The two eggplants were especially ugly—once overripe, their skin turned a dull yellow, making their ugliness stand out even more.

“Both eggplants and cucumbers can be harvested using the soaking method,” Tong Zhanyan explained.

After picking them, Tong Zhanyan slit open the skin and scooped the pulp directly into two basins of water with his hands. He then crushed it as much as possible before vigorously rubbing it.

“Don’t tell me he harvested the seeds from those tomatoes the same way.”

“No way, who harvests seeds like that?”

“Aren’t you worried about crushing the seeds?”

“Eggplant seeds seem pretty hard once they’re mature…”

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Backstage, Yang Hong paced back and forth, patting his chest to calm himself.

Don’t get angry, don’t get angry.

After a moment, having soothed himself, Yang Hong finally sat back down.

Tong Zhanyan had finished collecting the eggplant seeds and was now frowning as he rubbed the cucumber pulp.

The cucumber pulp was softer and easier to handle, but due to insufficient nutrients, one-third of the seeds from those two cucumbers were paper-thin.

Such seeds were incapable of germinating, and even if they did sprout, they wouldn’t survive to bear fruit.

“Keep only the best seeds for strong new shoots,” Tong Zhanyan declared, scooping them out and tossing them aside.

This time, Yang Hong could see that the discarded seeds were indeed of poor quality. But was that reason enough to throw them away?

Having just sat down, Yang Hong stood up again. He walked while rhythmically patting his chest.

It’s fine, it’s fine. He’d weathered far worse storms. Back in the day, he’d hunted beasts by the nest—what was a few seeds?

Yang Hong dashed back to the terminal.

Trash streamer, are you man enough for a one-on-one?

After finishing the task, Tong Zhanyan glanced over again, his furrowed brow relaxing slightly.

While some seeds were unusable, the rest were still viable.

Finally, Tong Zhanyan turned his attention to the last two strawberries.

Strawberry seeds were trickier to process. Their tiny size meant they easily got lost when rubbed with the pulp, forcing him to pick them out one by one.

Fortunately, there were only two strawberries in total.

After picking out all the seeds, Tong Zhanyan placed them in a water cup, fetched hot water from the small building, and soaked them all.

Finally, he turned his attention to the composted soil.

He had already prepared the soil for planting other crops, but the section for tomatoes remained untouched.

He now had six buckets of well-rotted soil—considerably more than when he started—but it was still insufficient for planting hundreds of tomato plants. He would need to mix in some greenhouse soil.

After scooping soil from the buckets and spreading it evenly across the designated tomato area, he thoroughly mixed it with the previously applied plant ash and eggshell powder.

By the time Tong Zhanyan turned back to inspect the seeds after finishing the soil preparation, over two hours had passed.

Tong Zhanyan gathered disposable paper cups and soil.

Following the same process of filling cups and distributing seeds, another hour slipped by before he finished.

Glancing at the time, Tong Zhanyan realized it was past midnight.

Not daring to delay further, Tong Zhanyan began sowing the seeds.

This time, it was the same three types of seeds.

The eggplant and cucumber seeds were relatively large, making the process quite efficient.

When it came to the strawberry seeds, Tong Zhanyan once again felt like his eyes were about to pop out.

This task took the longest.

When he finished, Tong Zhanyan checked the time: 3 a.m.

Returning to the small building, he collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep.

After intense daytime training and consecutive nights of staying up, when he went to school the next day, his classmates looked at him with a hint of pity.

To them, his haggard look seemed more like the exhaustion of someone who knew they wouldn’t pass.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t bother explaining. He was so sleep-deprived that his mind was already drifting off.

He had considered taking time off, but the Devil King wasn’t someone you could easily fool. Besides, there was still the task of transplanting seedlings and transplanting plants ahead.

The mere thought of those tasks ahead made him want to die.

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

At noon, Tong Zhanyan slept soundly.

By evening, he inquired again about the oranges.

There was still no progress. Perhaps because he’d exhausted all leads and pressed too urgently, Mr. Bai tactfully suggested he give up.

Tong Zhanyan wanted to give up, but he couldn’t.

Unable to get them from Mr. Bai, Tong Zhanyan turned his attention online.

There were plenty of sellers claiming to offer fruits and vegetables online, but they either charged exorbitant prices or had questionable products, so their reputation was consistently poor.

Tong Zhanyan steeled himself to accept the risks, yet after browsing extensively, he found not a single seller offering oranges or tangerines.

Left with no other choice, Tong Zhanyan steeled himself to approach Qing Jiyue once more.

Small favors like moving things or digging soil were one thing—after all, they were roommates, so it made sense. But asking the Qing Family to help procure crops? That crossed a line.

Tong Zhanyan’s face was flushed with embarrassment.

“How many do you need?” Qing Jiyue showed no unusual expression. He’d seen Tong Zhanyan soak oranges in water and then water those tomatoes with it.

“Five hundred thousand.” Seeing Qing Jiyue was willing to help, Tong Zhanyan breathed a slight sigh of relief. “Oranges or tangerines are both fine.”

Qing Jiyue nodded, immediately picking up his terminal. ”I’ll inquire.”

Tong Zhanyan didn’t wait nearby. After saying thanks, he returned to his half of the room.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan didn’t go to the greenhouse. Instead, he used his terminal to log into the backend as an administrator and took a look.

Because he’d planted so many, the cups covered the entire patch of untouched soil in front of the tool shed. Combined with the plastic sheeting overhead, it actually looked a bit like the cramped training room back then.

It had only been a day since sowing, and none of the seeds had sprouted yet.

That night, Tong Zhanyan slept soundly.

At the Planting Alliance.

Gu Yunyang tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep.

The reason was simple: the tomato plants in his batch had begun to form flower buds.

At this stage, with the previous batch, he had been genuinely delighted, even going so far as to number each bud and record its progress daily.

Those flowers had indeed bloomed beautifully.

Then, at their peak, they fell in a shower, and by the end, even the tomato seedlings began to wither and die.

This was his first time having his own cultivation chamber to research a project independently. The previous failure could be chalked up to inexperience, but this time…

At three in the morning, Gu Yunyang climbed out of bed.

The entire Cultivation Alliance was deserted.

The tomatoes in his chamber continued to grow quietly.

Staring at those flower buds, Gu Yunyang felt no joy, only a deep, rising dread.

Tong Zhanyan had started pinching buds and leaves at this very hour before.

Gu Yunyang reached out, but his hand retracted just as it neared the buds. He’d worked so hard to grow them to this stage, and if others found out…

Gu Yunyang gritted his teeth to stop himself from dwelling on it, then acted swiftly.

The newly emerged buds, barely unfurled, were tender. They snapped off almost instantly, leaving a sensation like feathers landing on his palm.

Feeling that touch, staring at the bare stems before him, overwhelming regret suddenly flooded Gu Yunyang.

For a split second, he even felt an urge to kneel down and kowtow to the tomato in apology. He must have been insane to trust some random streamer online whose last name he didn’t even know.

It took Gu Yunyang a while to recover.

He reached out again, this time aiming for the leaves below.

What’s done is done.

Ten minutes later, two rows of twenty tomato plants, identical to those in the livestream, stood before him.

He hadn’t dared to pinch off all of them.

But even pinching off just twenty plants meant certain trouble if the other members of the alliance found out. They’d drag him off to have his head examined, and he might even lose his researcher status. After all, damaging crops was a grave offense that drew widespread anger.

Gu Yunyang felt completely drained.

In that moment, he suddenly understood Senior Da Liu.

Two days later, on Saturday, Tong Zhanyan arrived at the greenhouse early.

He’d been swamped with work leading up to class, and now that it was the weekend, Tong Zhanyan felt rather helpless.

Upon entering, Tong Zhanyan immediately spotted the faint green glimmer beneath two sheets of plastic film.

Cherry radishes and baby bok choy.

Approaching, Tong Zhanyan crouched down, gently peeled back a corner of the film, and peered underneath.

Moisture under the film made it hard to see clearly from outside, but once lifted, the green became distinct. The tiny, round leaves just peeking through looked exceptionally soothing.

The camera approached.

Tong Zhanyan grabbed it, letting it see too.

The camera obediently looked, then tilted its head slightly toward Tong Zhanyan.

Tong Zhanyan replaced the plastic cover. “Don’t disturb them. They’re still too small and fragile. Disturbing them now could kill them.”

The camera, unsure if it understood, silently backed away.

After three days, Changge—who had lifted the cover countless times—froze with a smile on her lips.

Kill… them?

“Where’s Changge?”

“Why haven’t we seen her today?”

Questions were already popping up in the group chat.

Ever since deciding to follow Senior Da Liu’s live-streamed planting method, Changge had reported the situation daily after waking up.

“I think I made a mistake…” Changge was on the verge of tears.

“What?”

“What happened?”

“What happened?”

Even though it was still early, over a dozen inquiries instantly flooded the group chat.

“Did the senior never lift the plastic film after planting?” Changge asked, clinging to the last shred of hope.

The group fell instantly silent.

Because they all realized something—in Changge’s daily updates these past days, she had always lifted the film to take photos.

“…So we shouldn’t lift them?” Yang Hong mused thoughtfully.

He’d never quite understood why Tong Zhanyan had used those plastic sheets in the first place.

At first, he’d thought it was to surprise them, but the plastic was transparent.

“I don’t know. Senior didn’t lift them, and he just said disturbing them now would kill them,” Changge said with a bitter smile.

She’d expected failure, but never this soon.

Melancholy Research Dog: “Put the film back first.”

Melancholy Research Dog: “I remember he peeled back those seedlings several times last time. Probably not that you can’t look at all, just not too often.”

Changge perked up instantly. “Really?”

Melancholy Research Dog: “Mhm.”

After comforting Changge, Gu Yunyang couldn’t help glancing back at his own tomato plants.

For the past two days of pinching buds, leaves, and branches, he’d regretted it almost every moment—especially when seeing their ugly forms.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t stay long in the greenhouse; after checking on them, he returned to campus.

Qing Jiyue wasn’t in the dorm.

Tong Zhanyan felt a pang of disappointment.

Qing Jiyue had said he’d ask around, but days had passed with no reply.

If oranges truly couldn’t be procured, he’d have to make plans quickly—composting needed time.

Inside the stadium.

As Gu Yinfeng opened the door, he saw Qing Jiyue preparing to leave.

“What’s going on?” Gu Yinfeng stepped aside to let him pass.

Qing Jiyue always approached training with an exceptionally strict attitude. He would never interrupt it unless something truly important arose.

“Something came up. You continue practicing,” he said before walking away.

Half an hour later, in the dormitory.

The moment Qing Jiyue entered, he saw Tong Zhanyan frowning at his book, his expression so grave it seemed the sky was falling.

Tong Zhanyan had been like this for days.

“Why are you back so early today?” Hearing the movement, Tong Zhanyan turned.

Qing Jiyue said nothing, walking straight over and setting the box on the desk.

Tong Zhanyan froze, then jumped up abruptly, his voice rising. “Orange?”

“Mhm.”

Tong Zhanyan was completely overwhelmed by sudden, overwhelming joy. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought they were sold out…”

As he spoke, Tong Zhanyan hurried to find a knife to open the box.

Moments later, carefully wrapped in cushioning bags, oranges and tangerines appeared before his eyes.

The quantity was far more than he had imagined—nearly twenty in total.

“Why so many?” Tong Zhanyan worried—he only had five hundred thousand.

“Too many?” Qing Jiyue offered no explanation, reaching to take a few.

“Not too many at all.” Tong Zhanyan shielded them immediately. They were all his; Qing Jiyue wasn’t getting a single one.

Qing Jiyue couldn’t help but chuckle. It was the first time he’d seen Tong Zhanyan this genuinely delighted about something.

Realizing he’d been tricked, Tong Zhanyan felt no anger whatsoever. Clutching the heavy box before him, his smile stretched almost to his ears.

Once this batch of tomatoes and strawberries ripened, he would definitely treat Qing Jiyue to all he could eat.