Thanks to Katy for the kofis, enjoy the bonus chapters!

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

By the time Tong Zhanyan finished his work, two or three hours had passed.

After a brief rest, he made his customary rounds.

Considering these cherry tomatoes were grown from his own seeds—highly viable with robust seedlings that would yield better later on—Tong Zhanyan reserved the prime central location in the greenhouse for them.

To absorb sufficient nutrients for survival, many wild plants can send their roots three to five meters deep into the earth and may even exhibit a tendency to strangle nearby crops.

Artificially cultivated crops receive more timely fertilizer supplementation, so their situation is relatively better, but a certain distance still needs to be maintained between plants.

The cherry tomatoes weren’t too demanding in this regard, but a spacing of thirty to forty centimeters was still necessary.

This time, he had over 150 pots of tomato seedlings. With 30-centimeter spacing, they filled six full rows.

Standing 15 to 20 centimeters tall, each seedling had at least five or six leaves. Many main stems were nearly as thick as chopsticks. Separated from each other, they didn’t appear as lush and vibrant as when clustered together, which made their individual conditions much clearer.

Tong Zhanyan felt quite pleased.

After admiring them, Tong Zhanyan watered the seedlings.

Crops in the acclimatization phase didn’t require fertilizer, so Tong Zhanyan used plain water.

The tomato seedlings were sturdier than the earlier cherry radishes and bok choy. As long as he didn’t spray water directly at their roots, they wouldn’t topple over, making watering much easier.

Half an hour later, Tong Zhanyan set the bucket aside and stretched his body, glancing over at the cherry radishes and bok choy beside them.

Most of the bok choy leaves had grown to four fingers wide. From a distance, each plant appeared as a lush, vibrant green mound.

The cherry radishes, once coin-sized, were now mostly walnut-sized, glistening and translucent.

Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help but swallow hard.

He’d only eaten the small tomatoes before, and those were raw.

Cooked, they might not be bitter.

The thought triggered another involuntary swallow.

Even after six months of consuming nutrient solutions, he still hadn’t grown accustomed to them. Instead, his craving for real food grew more urgent.

So urgent it felt like torture.

Tong Zhanyan opened his terminal and navigated to a shopping site, quickly typing in keywords for a pot and an induction cooker.

Nutritional liquids were the staple food in this world, making cooking unnecessary. Consequently, most households didn’t own pots.

The small building attached to the greenhouse he rented didn’t even have a stove. The kitchen was essentially a dining room with a table and cabinets for storing other synthetic snacks.

Both the induction cooktop and wok were pricey—even basic models totaled two or three thousand credits. Tong Zhanyan placed the order almost without hesitation.

After purchasing them, he bought salt, a set of bowls and plates, several pairs of chopsticks, two cutting boards, and a kitchen knife.

After finishing, Tong Zhanyan set down his terminal and looked at the baby bok choy, his eyes practically glowing green.

Feeling the hunger pangs, Tong Zhanyan was considering whether to pull a cherry radish to taste first. He hadn’t tried the local cherry radishes yet—what if they weren’t bitter?

Suddenly, his terminal buzzed.

The communication request came from Mr. Bai.

Tong Zhanyan hurried out to the greenhouse to answer.

There was news about the chicks he’d asked him to inquire about earlier.

“I checked with my friend in the breeding business. They have chickens, and they hatch a new batch every month…”

The price for the chicks was similar to what Tong Zhanyan had researched earlier. Besides the chickens, Mr. Bai also inquired about feed prices for him. Chicken feed wasn’t expensive compared to crop cultivation costs.

“Do you want them now?” Mr. Bai asked after explaining the situation.

Tong Zhanyan declined, “Let’s wait until next month. I still need to prepare some things on my end.”

“Alright, just let me know when you’re ready.” Mr. Bai offered no further comment.

Raising animals was easier than growing crops, but the infection rate remained a constant concern. Plus, animal husbandry required space—few could start immediately.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. It was just a phone call.”

Tong Zhanyan tucked away his terminal and glanced back.

This batch of cherry radishes and bok choy would definitely be used for compost. He could scrape together enough to buy chickens, but once they were here, they’d need food every day. In his current situation, he simply couldn’t afford that.

Once this batch of cherry radishes and bok choy is sold, he could plant another crop right after and then give it a try.

If he really wanted to raise chickens, it would be best to plant crops like corn or sweet potatoes—things that store well and are filling.

Corn and sweet potato seeds were leftovers from the previous batch. Prices were starting to rise, but they were still available on the market. The problem was that his greenhouse was so small. Where would he plant the seeds once he bought them?

Move to a bigger space?

He’d just rented this spot for a full six months. Barely over a month had passed, and he was already thinking of moving?

Tong Zhanyan felt a bit helpless.

Two hundred square meters might be spacious for a residential flat, but it was woefully inadequate for farming. Even planting just these six types of seeds felt cramped.

Otherwise, he could have planted more cherry radishes and bok choy at once. Even without fertilizer, they’d grow on their own, sparing him the need to race against time and stagger his planting.

Once the chickens arrived, things would likely get even tighter.

Pondering this, Tong Zhanyan opened his livestream again.

He posted an announcement, previewing next Saturday at 9 AM for harvesting cherry radishes and bok choy, plus composting.

“Composting?” Yang Hong pondered the meaning of those two characters. ‘Fertilizer’ was clear enough, but what about “compost”?

Soaking fertilizer?

Soaking fertilizer in water?

Come to think of it, when that senior sprayed the cherry radishes and bok choy with that liquid waste, he also mentioned it was his own homemade compost.

Did that mean the water actually contained fertilizer solution?

Diluting purchased fertilizer solution with water was common sense, but why go to the trouble of making it so dirty, soaking all sorts of random stuff in it?

Unable to figure it out, Yang Hong checked the group chat.

Sure enough, the discussion was already underway.

“So that water had a fertilizer solution in it? No wonder those cherry radishes and bok choy shot up like crazy after being sprayed.”

“But what’s the deal with all that other junk in the bucket?”

“Wonder what brand of fertilizer solution it was.”

Seeing everyone’s thoughts aligned with his own guesses, Yang Hong reached for the keyboard to join the conversation. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a group notification flashing in the bottom right corner.

During the previous mass exodus from the group, notifications had flashed nonstop for days, leaving him with psychological trauma.

It wasn’t until everyone who wanted to leave had finally departed that things gradually improved.

Even so, people still left occasionally.

Yang Hong assumed it was another departure notice.

As his mouse hovered over the notification, ready to ignore it, he realized it wasn’t a departure but a group join request.

Join the group?

Yang Hong glanced at the reason for joining. The words “Senior Da Liu” were appended to the ID “Green Shade” – a requirement he’d specified when promoting the group during his livestream.

Big bro, didn’t you say you loved me?

That name seemed familiar…

His comment had been buried ages ago. Had it resurfaced?

Yang Hong switched back to the livestream and checked the comment section.

The chat was buzzing about the new announcement.

Those cherry radishes and baby bok choy were growing exceptionally well. Many had already been speculating how many pounds they could harvest, and now the moment had finally arrived.

That particular comment was nowhere to be seen in the chat.

Yang Hong returned to the group page.

After a moment’s thought, he chose to approve the request.

A system notification popped up in the group. The members currently chatting lined up to welcome the newcomer, but the newly added person hadn’t appeared.

“Where’s the new guy?”

“Shy?”

“It’s all your fault for being so aggressive.”

“Big bro, didn’t you say you loved me? This ID looks familiar—wasn’t he in our group before?”

After someone said that, the once-bustling group suddenly fell silent.

Yang Hong froze too, suddenly realizing what was going on.

If he guessed correctly, this person had joined their group before but later left. As for the reason…

Yang Hong’s face twisted in frustration.

“How many pounds do you think we can harvest from this batch of cherry radishes and bok choy?” Yang Hong spoke up, but instead of discussing the newcomer, he shifted the topic straight to the announcement.

As for mocking?

What right did they have to laugh? They’d been through the same themselves.

As for the scolding they’d endured back then? They hadn’t held back in berating Senior Da Liu either. Consider it payback.

“At least six or seven pounds, right?”

“Definitely more than that, especially those cherry radishes. Each one must weigh twenty to thirty grams.”

“Wonder if the streamer will do a giveaway this time.”

The group instantly flooded with messages, abnormally lively and enthusiastic. Yang Hong instantly realized the others must have caught on, too.

Yang Hong sighed helplessly.

The next moment, he noticed the group messages surged again.

Did they leave because it got too awkward?

Yang Hong hurriedly opened it to check.

It wasn’t a leave notification—instead, over a dozen new join requests appeared at once.

Yang Hong instantly grasped what was happening. That earlier person had clearly been sent to test the waters.

He pictured them huddled together, whispering conspiratorially, until finally a brave soul stepped forward to apply as a probe. Amidst his exasperation, a hint of amusement crept in.

He accepted them all.

The group fell silent once more.

The newcomers still hadn’t spoken up.

After a brief pause, the group buzzed with activity again. Clearly, the others had caught on to what was happening.

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Gu Yunyang wasn’t checking the group chat. He was busy pollinating his little tomato plants.

Nearly ten days had passed since he’d pruned the branches and leaves as Senior Da Liu advised. During those ten days, he’d barely slept more than five or six hours each night.

He cleared away the fallen blossoms and clippings from the ground, ground eggshells into powder as his senior had instructed, sprinkled it over the plants, and then anxiously watched over the remaining flowers, waiting for a result.

The flowers still fell.

But only during the first three or four days.

From the fifth day onward, the flower drop ceased. What followed was the sight of the remaining blossoms bursting into bloom all at once.

Watching that scene, for a moment, Gu Yunyang nearly cried. But he didn’t let himself, because he still had to pollinate these flowers.

Most crop flowers have a strict window—if pollination isn’t done in time, they wither naturally, and withered flowers can’t bear fruit.

His cherry tomatoes were already delayed by blossom drop; further delays were unthinkable.

“Are you crazy?”

A voice, sharp with shock, suddenly rang out from behind him, startling Gu Yunyang.

Shen Ye and Tang Xin had appeared at the doorway without him noticing.

“Gu, what on earth—” Tang Xin stared in disbelief. The entire live-streamed field of cherry tomatoes had been stripped bare, looking as if someone had come in and wreaked havoc.

“Why didn’t you knock?” Gu Yunyang asked.

“We knocked. We even texted you…” Tang Xin replied.

Gu Yunyang’s mental state had been clearly off lately. Worried something might happen, they’d used the spare key he’d left them to enter after failing to reach him.

“Come in first,” Gu Yunyang reminded them. “Close the door.”

Realizing the situation, the two hurried inside and closed the door.

This couldn’t be seen by anyone. If someone saw Gu Yunyang like this, it would be disastrous.

“Is it because of that Senior Da Liu?” Shen Ye had already figured it out.

Ever since Gu Yunyang introduced the sixth-year senior to them during the public lecture, they had been keeping a close eye on him. They had also seen the seedlings in the livestream.

As members of the Planting Alliance, they were far more shocked than the amateurs in the livestream. Seedlings of that caliber were something only top-tier figures like Old Xu among the Alliance’s hundreds of members could achieve.

Even Old Xu and his peers had their strengths and weaknesses, yet Senior Da Liu’s livestream showcased six varieties of seedlings, all thriving perfectly.

They found it unbelievable, too, which is why they’d been studying it.

They’d come across comments about pinching flowers and leaves, but they didn’t believe it was truly feasible. What kind of logic was that—pinching them off early because the flowers would fall anyway?

It seemed more like something Senior Da Liu had concocted to fool people.

“Hmm.” Mentioning Senior Da Liu softened Gu Yunyang’s expression.

Shen Ye and Tang Xin exchanged a glance, their eyes practically screaming he’d finally lost his mind.

“The flowers really won’t fall off.” Gu Yunyang gestured for them to look at his little tomatoes.

Instead of looking at the tomatoes, they stared at him.

Of course, they wouldn’t fall off—he’d already pinched them all off.

“Why don’t you just pull them up and replant a new batch quickly?” Tang Xin suggested. “We’ll help you.”

“Do you still have any seeds?” Shen Ye asked.

As long as they weren’t discovered, it shouldn’t be a major issue.

They didn’t have a dedicated school; to enter, one had to pass the Alliance’s exam. But the exam was notoriously difficult, with only a handful passing each year.

Even those who passed didn’t start as researchers; they first had to work as assistants in others’ cultivation chambers to learn the ropes.

Only after two or three years were they eligible to apply for researcher status—and that was merely eligibility.

Due to the frenzy, everyone in the Cultivation Alliance faced immense pressure, making competition fierce.

To succeed in the application, the first step is securing your mentor’s approval. Gu Yunyang was fortunate to be assigned to Old Xu, which allowed him to obtain his own cultivation chamber and begin independent research after just two years.

But not everyone has such luck. Shen Ye and Gu Yunyang entered the alliance through the same exam cohort. Yet, the longest-serving apprentice under her mentor was already in their sixth year, while others were between three and five years in.

Tang Xin joined later but had already spent two years waiting, and it seemed hopeless for her this year too.

They all envied Gu Yunyang beyond measure.

If Gu Yunyang lost his researcher status over this…

Gu Yunyang gave a wry smile. He knew they wouldn’t believe him until the fruit appeared, so he changed his tone. “Don’t mention this outside.”

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

On Monday, Tong Zhanyan visited the greenhouse.

The barrels he’d ordered had arrived.

While he was there, he also gathered the leaves he’d collected over the past few days and brought them over.

The barrels were large—big enough for him to bathe in—and once filled with soil, he couldn’t possibly move them alone.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t plan to move them anyway.

After unpacking all the barrels, he lined them up in a row against the corner wall of the greenhouse, near the small building. He planned to use smaller buckets to transport the soil outside for decomposition.

He had bought ten barrels in total. Placing them all inside the greenhouse would take up a significant amount of space.

Tong Zhanyan dug the soil near the tool shed—the only area in the greenhouse where the soil hadn’t been mixed with plant ash or eggshell powder.

Three bags of leaves to one bucket of soil—the process itself was simple, but both digging and carrying the soil were physically demanding tasks. Working until ten at night, he managed only three buckets.

With classes the next day, Tong Zhanyan had to return.

The next two days, Tong Zhanyan went straight after class each afternoon, returning to the dorm just before lights-out.

It wasn’t until Thursday that he finally filled all the buckets with soil.

Meanwhile, after transplanting the cherry tomatoes, he fertilized them for the first time.

For the small tomatoes, he didn’t just spray the leaves. He opened the compost he’d made from the second batch of tomato seedlings, mixed it with the half-bottle left over from the first batch, diluted it with water, and watered them thoroughly.

Live Stream Room.

Yang Hong had long noticed the actions of Senior Da Liu, but their attention wasn’t on him—it was on the live stream itself.

As soon as the harvest announcement went live, the stream’s traffic surged dramatically again. In just four days, the follower count skyrocketed from around 170,000 to 250,000.

“It’s at 250,000 now.” Changge, who had been monitoring the stream, immediately shared the news in the group chat.

“That fast?” Yang Hong couldn’t help but exclaim.

“Screenshot.”

The image showed the follower count at exactly 250,000 and a few.

Yang Hong looked back at the livestream.

In the brief moment he switched pages, the count had already reached 250,100.

Yang Hong refreshed the page: 250,203.

He refreshed again: 250,305.

Yang Hong stopped refreshing and instead looked at the vast expanse of green filling the livestream.

Plastic cups, soil mixed with dust that looked a bit grimy, various buckets and basins scattered near the tool shed—unlike other livestreams that seemed to adorn their crops with gold and silver, this one radiated casualness everywhere.

Yet even this couldn’t obscure the vibrant green beyond the clutter.

Lush green seedlings, transplanted branches sprouting increasingly sturdy cherry tomatoes, nearly ripe cherry radishes, and bok choy…

Even Yang Hong, who had watched them sprout and grow inch by inch, couldn’t help but marvel at the sight.

If they felt this way, the reactions of newcomers who stumbled upon this stream were easy to imagine.

It was no wonder the follower count was skyrocketing.

In fact, having followed since Senior Da Liu’s initial five seedlings, they felt a real sense of accomplishment seeing the stream reach this level.

But…

Yang Hong couldn’t help but feel a chill run down his spine.

At this rate, by the time those little tomatoes bloomed, the follower count would absolutely break 500,000—maybe even hit a million.

If 150,000 fans caused such a ruckus before, what would happen if they surpassed a million…?

By then, forget just this livestream—the entire Green Shade might explode.

No, the reach of a million followers would likely alert even those who never visited the stream. Worse still, it might even stir up the Four Great Families and the Planting Alliance…

Visualizing that scene and recalling the previous uproar, Yang Hong—who considered himself no stranger to drama—felt his stomach clench uncontrollably.

Tong Zhanyan’s pot arrived on Wednesday night, but he deliberately waited until Friday night to pick it up.

Before retrieving his order, he made a special trip to the market to buy a slab of fatty pork belly.

The meat was about half a palm in size, a thin slice that cost him over three thousand yuan.

After unboxing the pot in the small building and confirming it worked, Tong Zhanyan opened the small bottle of salt to taste it, ensuring the flavor wasn’t off. He then carried everything to the greenhouse.

The kitchen in the small building lacked a sink for washing vegetables, and the produce itself was stored in the greenhouse.

Upon entering, Tong Zhanyan located the outlet, plugged in the induction cooker, and began washing pots, bowls, and chopsticks.

Live Stream Room.

“Host, are you preparing to cook?”

“I like this.”

“Aaaah, why aren’t you doing a giveaway? I really want to try it too!”

“Are you going to eat cherry radishes or bok choy?”

“I want cherry radishes.”

“I want the bok choy.”

“Kids make choices; grown-ups get a little of everything.”

After washing the pots and dishes, Tong Zhanyan turned straight toward the bok choy patch.

Days had passed, and the bok choy had fully matured. Each plant now sported thick, sturdy stems and broad, fleshy leaves.

Tong Zhanyan spotted two particularly sturdy ones. With a tug and a twist, he pulled them out.

“The host sure knows how to eat.”

“Aaaah, my Little One and Little Two!”

“Little One and Little Two?”

“The two that grew the best…”

“The host really doesn’t shortchange himself.”

“Why pick these two specifically? Pulling others would’ve been better—these two would fetch a good price if sold.”

“What’s there to fear? The streamer’s field has plenty more.”

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

The freshly matured bok choy was exceptionally tender. Back at the faucet, Tong Zhanyan effortlessly stripped all the leaves off.

Then came the rinsing.

Watching the scene, hearing the crisp snap of leaves being severed, the live chat audience couldn’t help but swallow hard.

Whenever farming comes up, it’s inevitably linked to frenzy, but the actual taste and texture of the produce itself have always been a hot topic. Many who’ve tried it can no longer stomach drinking nutrient solution daily.

Consequently, numerous restaurants specializing in such produce have emerged, though their prices are often steep.

Beyond restaurants, food vloggers dedicate content to exploring these establishments or cooking them at home during a frenzy, which has led to controversy. However, their viewership remains consistently high.

After washing them, Tong Zhanyan grabbed the bok choy leaves in one hand and the stems in the other, twisting them cleanly in two with a slight jerk.

Setting them aside in two large bowls, he turned his attention to the meat.

He hadn’t bought the meat to eat, but for its fat.

After cleaning and dicing it, Tong Zhanyan turned on the induction cooker.

He added the meat to the hot pan, stir-frying until it released oil and turned golden. Then he tossed in the bok choy stems, cooking until they changed color before adding the leaves.

“The streamer really is consistently careless. At least use a knife to cut it—why just tear it apart with your hands?”

“Why not boil it? That’s how you get the original flavor.”

“But it looks pretty tasty this way.”

“Snapping them like that… the bok choy looks so pitiful, but it smells so good…”

Everyone felt a pang of sympathy, yet their saliva flowed uncontrollably.

As the leaves changed color too, all the vegetables took on a hint of the oil’s sheen, completely igniting their appetites.

To ensure crops resisted the frenzy, they rarely added much when cooking them—boiling was the most common method.

Adding meat wasn’t unheard of, but it certainly wasn’t affordable for ordinary folk.

Once thoroughly stir-fried, Tong Zhanyan sprinkled in some salt.

After a few more tosses, he lifted the pan off the heat.

Setting down the spatula, Tong Zhanyan eagerly picked up his chopsticks.

Throughout the stir-frying process, the aroma of the vegetables matched his memories perfectly—not a hint of bitterness.

Every cell in his body screamed with hunger, and his mouth watered nonstop the entire time.

The freshly cooked bok choy is steamed hot. Tong Zhanyan blew on it briefly before shoving a piece into his mouth.

The long-missed aroma of oil hit him, followed by the crisp texture of the bok choy—only to be immediately overtaken by the taste of plastic and the distinctive bitterness of this world’s crops.

Tong Zhanyan’s face instantly contorted in pain.

“What’s wrong?”

“Is it undercooked?”

“Impossible. He stir-fried it for this long, it’s definitely cooked.”

“Did you not wash it properly and get soil in it?”

“Can’t be. He washed it several times.”

Tong Zhanyan forced himself not to spit out that mouthful of bok choy.

He swallowed, savoring the lingering plastic taste in his mouth. His face twisted in agony as he reached for the newly purchased bottle of salt.

The meat he’d eaten at the restaurant earlier hadn’t tasted off. Bok choy could be bitter, but it shouldn’t taste like plastic. The only possible culprit was the salt…

Sea salt. Synthetic salt flavored to mimic seawater.

This twist was truly unexpected.

Tong Zhanyan looked back at the steaming plate of bok choy. The agony of seeing but not being able to eat was unbearable.

“Seriously, why does his expression look like pure disgust?”

“Disgust? Those were the two best bok choy plants in the entire field. He’s disgusted?”

“Could it be the infection rate is too high? If it’s too high, it really does taste bitter.”

“But they’re still crops. Aren’t all crops like that?”

“Exactly.”

After sighing at the vegetables for a moment, Tong Zhanyan ultimately decided to give up.

Should he just give up?

Tong Zhanyan felt a pang of regret over his three thousand yuan worth of meat.

After pondering, he opened his terminal and started recruiting help.

Half an hour later, Qing Jiyue, Tian Xinqing, and Su Yanran arrived at the door.

Tong Zhanyan led them into the small building’s living room and handed them forks he’d prepared earlier.

Since their staple food was a nutrient solution, many people here weren’t very skilled with chopsticks.

Tong Zhanyan had thoughtfully divided the baby bok choy into three portions.

“This is baby bok choy? And there’s meat too?” Tian Xinqing inhaled deeply. “It smells amazing.”

“Are you really letting us eat this?” Su Yanran sounded uncertain. While his family didn’t have anyone who needed to eat crops regularly, he knew their value.

“Mhm.” Tong Zhanyan reminded them, “Eat quickly before it gets cold.”

Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran exchanged glances, still hesitant. This dish alone was worth at least seven or eight thousand.

Qing Jiyue didn’t hesitate. He picked up his portion and began eating.

Tong Zhanyan clearly showed great interest in the fruits and vegetables, appearing eager to eat them. Yet every time he actually tasted them, his expression turned pained and disgusted—and that was exactly the look on his face now.

Seeing Qing Jiyue start to eat, Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran finally followed suit.

“So fragrant…” Though the dish had cooled somewhat, Tian Xinqing still closed his eyes slightly in bliss with his first bite.

Watching his satisfied expression, Tong Zhanyan swallowed hard, feeling both envious and resigned. That was what it meant to never have tasted something truly good.

“Are you really not going to eat? Maybe I could share some with you?” Tian Xinqing suggested, noticing Tong Zhanyan staring at him.

“No, thanks.” Tong Zhanyan declined.

Tian Xinqing said nothing more.

Three small bowls of baby bok choy took them half an hour to finish, especially Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran, who savored every bite with deliberate chewing.

“Aren’t you heading back tonight?”

“Yeah, we need to harvest those baby bok choy tomorrow.”

“Alright then.”

After finishing, the trio rested briefly before leaving.

Tian Xinqing could stay, but Qing Jiyue and Su Yanran definitely needed to return for training.

Tong Zhanyan saw them to the door before heading back to clean up the mess.

Having arrived full of excitement only to leave disappointed, Tong Zhanyan shoved the bowls and chopsticks into the cupboard, deciding out of sight meant out of mind.

That night, Tong Zhanyan slept directly in the small building.

The next morning, at nine o’clock, Tong Zhanyan entered the greenhouse a few minutes early.

Buying chicks required money. He also planned to check on the corn and sweet potatoes, needing to sell some of the cherry radishes and bok choy.

Tong Zhanyan surveyed the piles of bok choy and cherry radishes, selecting the best specimens.

After a full inspection and roughly counting them, he glanced at the time. Seeing it was almost right, he activated the light screen above the camera for the livestream.

Layers upon layers of bullet comments obscured his view of the screen.

“Why pick this time? I have to work!”

“Don’t other streamers coordinate with viewers for nighttime harvests?”

“I already took time off work just to watch this harvest.”

“Wow, the crops in this stream grow so well.”

“Seriously, not doing a giveaway?”

“Getting paid to slack off.”

It took Tong Zhanyan a moment to decipher some of the comments, which only deepened his astonishment. How could there be so many people?

Tong Zhanyan glanced at the online viewer count below—over sixty thousand.

He then looked at the follower count beside it—over three hundred thousand.

Tong Zhanyan felt a tingle of unease. Honestly, he thought they could tone it down a bit.

Before posting the announcement, he’d considered pretending to harvest in front of the camera, then secretly turning the produce into fertilizer once it was out of sight. But in the end, he didn’t do that.

He couldn’t hide forever. And once he started pandering, there’d be endless places to please.

That would be exhausting.

Sighing, Tong Zhanyan spoke up, “We have two tasks today: harvesting and composting.”

“For the harvesting…”

With that, Tong Zhanyan headed toward the tool shed.

Finding a plastic bag, he shook it out and walked toward the cherry radishes.

This batch of cherry radishes was far superior to the last, but only marginally so.

In his previous world, with slightly more fertilizer, many would grow to the size of eggs. Yet after just one pass, he spotted only five or six such specimens.

Those few Tong Zhanyan didn’t plan to harvest; they were seed savers.

His target was the second tier—walnut-sized radishes.

“Wait, a plastic bag?”

“Seriously, a plastic bag?”

“Host, could you at least bring a box?”

“At least wear gloves!”

“Be careful picking them—the leaves will get damaged.”

“Where’s your picking commentary? Is that all you’ve got for us? Shouldn’t there be a ten-thousand-word essay?”

In the blink of an eye, while everyone stared in disbelief, Tong Zhanyan had already inspected the entire patch of cherry radishes. The plastic bag in his hand bulged noticeably.

He’d pulled about twenty plants.

Setting them down, Tong Zhanyan pulled out another plastic bag and headed toward the bok choy.

“Again?”

“If it’s really that bad, streamer, just give me your address, and I’ll sponsor you a few boxes.”

“Seriously, can’t someone rein this guy in?”

“Those bok choy plants look so pitiful…”

Yang Hong and his group had been waiting in front of their screens for ages.

They knew exactly what kind of spectacle this would be, but seeing it unfold still made them all wryly smile.

If this guy could be reasoned with, they would’ve talked him out of it long ago.

But they didn’t say any of that, because they knew one thing just as well: talking to these people was equally useless.

Honestly, it wasn’t so bad once you got used to it. After all, whether you used boxes or plastic bags made no fundamental difference—plastic bags were even more convenient.

In just a moment, Tong Zhanyan’s bag was already bulging again. He’d pulled twenty more bok choy plants from the second tier.

The bok choy was larger than the cherry radishes, and one bag wasn’t quite enough. Tong Zhanyan stuffed the remaining few into the cherry radish bag.

Finally, he headed back toward the tool shed.

“I can’t take it anymore. Forget the plastic bags—could you at least prepare enough? Are you sure mixing them like this won’t crush them?”

“I’m starting to suspect the streamer is doing this on purpose.”

“Purposefully what? Purposefully trying to annoy us?”

At the Victims’ Alliance Chat.

“It’s so lively.”

In the group chat, someone finally couldn’t resist speaking up.

“Haha…”

“It is lively, so lively it scares me.”

“But he really needs to fix that habit. What if something gets damaged? That’d be a disaster.”

“Probably doesn’t care. With such high yields, I wouldn’t either if I could get that much every time.”

“Scared by the commotion +1”.

“Already got psychological trauma.”

“This is nothing yet. The cherry tomatoes are still to come. Those people are just overreacting.”

Though the “overreacting” part stung a bit, Yang Hong actually felt the same way now.

If they were this shocked by just this much, what would happen when the cherry tomatoes came later? Wouldn’t they just pass out?

Painting that scene in his mind, Yang Hong’s expression grew even more composed. After all, they’d seen it all and wouldn’t be surprised anymore.

Yang Hong turned his gaze toward the livestream.

The moment his eyes focused, the smile on his lips froze.

Inside the livestream room.

After approaching the tool shed, Senior Da Liu first pulled out a large industrial box, then a knife, followed by a brand-new cutting board…

Yang Hong’s facial muscles twitched involuntarily.

Picking fruit? A knife is understandable…

But why the cutting board?