Yang Hong had a bad feeling.

He wasn’t the only one. The group chat was already filled with question marks. Even the “Big bro, didn’t you say you loved me” group, which hadn’t uttered a word since joining, suddenly popped up.

Yang Hong took a deep breath and looked back at the livestream.

The moment he saw clearly, he nearly choked on his breath.

The reason was simple: under the camera, Senior Da Liu placed the basin holding the kitchen knife and cutting board into the furrow between the bok choy and cherry radishes. He bent down and started yanking out the cherry radishes.

His harvesting was always quite casual.

When he’d just pulled the cherry radishes and bok choy, he’d simply yanked them by the roots and flung them aside. He didn’t resemble other streamers who handled their crops with such care, as if the slightest extra force might damage the leaves.

Not only that, but now he wasn’t even pulling them one by one. Instead, he’d grab one, move to the next, and only when his hand was full of five or six would he turn and toss them onto the empty ground beside the basin.

After tossing them, he turned right back to continue.

“Ahhhhh—!”

“One of them has several leaves torn off!”

“What is he doing? Help! What is he doing?!”

“Such a nice little radish, and now the skin’s all scraped off…”

“Help! How are we supposed to sell these now?”

“Damaged produce usually sells for less, so in a way, he’s actually doing us a favor… I can’t keep this up…”

“I swear I saw my grandma waving at me.”

“I’ll fight you to the death, trash streamer!”

Amidst the livestream’s chaos, the cherry radishes beside the basin visibly multiplied by the minute.

Yang Hong’s chest heaved violently. For a split second, he thought he saw his grandma, too.

But Grandma wasn’t beckoning him with a kind smile—she was snarling at him with murder in her eyes, demanding he hurry up and finish the damn thing off!

What kind of trash streamer is this?

What grudge does he have against these crops?

Planting Alliance, Gu Yunyang’s dorm room.

“Is he crazy? Why mess with such perfect cherry radishes?”

“What the hell is he doing…”

Shen Ye and Tang Xin, one with a dark face, the other red-eyed, looked utterly frantic.

“He must have his reasons…” Gu Yunyang tried to calm them, only to startle himself when he caught his own distorted reflection in the mirror.

He forced a deep breath.

The method of pinching buds and leaves was indeed effective. This Senior Da Liu was truly skilled. What he did might seem counterintuitive and hard to grasp to them, but as long as it grew the crops well—

“Ah, he’s going to pull the bok choy!” Tang Xin jumped up.

Shen Ye immediately looked over. Wasn’t it enough to hack at the cherry radishes? Now he was going after the bok choy, too?

Gu Yunyang looked over as well.

Senior Da Liu must have his reasons—

The same technique, the same toss. The difference was that the bok choy, with its more numerous and more delicate leaves, inevitably bore more scars.

Muscles on Gu Yunyang’s face twitched merrily.

On camera.

This batch contained over a hundred cherry radishes and bok choy plants. Both were small-sized vegetables that didn’t carry much weight, and their growth wasn’t exactly robust. Pulling them all up took Tong Zhanyan only a few minutes.

Finished, Tong Zhanyan stood up, stretched his bent back, and walked toward the industrial crate.

Setting the crate flat, Tong Zhanyan crouched beside it, knife in one hand and reaching for the bok choy with the other. “I’ll compost this batch of cherry radishes and bok choy instead of drawing prizes. I’ll save the draws for when the cherry tomatoes and such are ripe.”

“Composting is the process of using the roots, stems, and leaves of vegetables or crops to naturally decompose, producing beneficial nutrients for the plants that turn into fertilizer.”

“Without adding any catalysts, composting takes at least a month…”

Tong Zhanyan placed the cherry radishes on the cutting board, the knife hovering above.

Then, chop.

“Chop chop chop…”

Unlike the crisp snips of scissors harvesting tomatoes, the knife’s impact on the cutting board produced a duller, heavier sound.

“Huuu…” Yang Hong took a deep breath, yet the familiar, overwhelming rage—that bloodthirsty urge to destroy everything—still surged uncontrollably into his brain.

His entire body shook uncontrollably.

It was the precursor to frenzy.

Yang Hong forced himself to avert his gaze from the unfolding scene on the screen, but the clacking sound relentlessly invaded his mind.

Accompanying it was the faint, crisp crack of the cherry radish being ruthlessly sliced by the blade…

Yang Hong felt the last thread in his mind snap completely.

Trash streamer, let’s settle this once and for all!

Planting Alliance.

Gu Yunyang, who had barely managed to hold himself together until now, finally snapped. He grabbed the keyboard in front of him and began hammering furiously. “What are you doing? Those are cherry radishes! Stop it!”

“Stop chopping! Have you lost your mind?”

“What the hell are you trying to do?”

“You…”

Gu Yunyang pounded the keyboard hysterically, cursing the fact that the livestream only transmitted audio. Otherwise, he would have been screaming at the top of his lungs.

Equally hysterical were Shen Ye, Tang Xin, and the other viewers in the livestream room behind him, witnessing this scene for the first time.

“What is he doing? What is he doing?”

“Ahhh… I’m going crazy…”

“He’s definitely got issues. What is he thinking?”

“Taitai, kill him already!”

“Help! My cherry radishes! My bok choy…”

“Camera, get on it! Hit him!”

Even denser layers of bullet comments than before blanketed the entire screen, yet even so, the relentless clicking sound continued to echo.

Accompanying it was the agonized wail of the cherry radish being sliced open by the blade.

No matter how desperate they were, no matter how many comments they posted in the chat or how many bullet messages they sent, their voices remained unheard.

A wave of helplessness washed over them, making their hearts ache even more, and their anger boil over.

Unable to hold back, they slammed their keyboards down and stormed off, then vented their fury on their personal profiles.

In an instant, countless people following the “planting” topic saw the same content flood their feeds simultaneously.

That Senior Da Liu must be completely insane.

The question was, who was Senior Da Liu?

Countless curious viewers searched and clicked to find out. Amidst the incessant clacking sounds, they couldn’t tell if Senior Da Liu was mad—but they certainly were.

Radishes are high in water content, and when sliced, they become translucent and crystal-clear.

The air carried the distinctive scent of radishes.

After chopping all the cherry radishes to pieces in one go, Tong Zhanyan didn’t stop there. He used the knife to gather them back together and chopped them all over again.

He aimed to chop them as finely as possible, knowing it would shorten the composting time.

Tong Zhanyan hadn’t washed the radishes. Dirt clung to the slices in the basin, quickly staining the translucent pieces. But that wouldn’t affect the composting.

“He’s kicking a dead horse. He’s actually kicking a dead horse…”

“Can we call the Green Shade customer service? Maybe their backend has their emergency contact number. We could get that person to stop him.”

“Hurry, hurry, hurry.”

“Those cherry radishes must weigh at least eight or nine pounds. How much is that worth…”

“Money’s secondary. Do you know how many people can’t get their hands on these?”

“Did he go crazy and chop them all down because he didn’t like how they tasted when he tried them before?”

“Trash streamer!”

“He’s not planning to chop down the bok choy too, is he?”

“So lame…”

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

After chopping the cherry radishes, Tong Zhanyan lifted the cutting board from beneath and smoothed out the radish shreds.

They looked like a vast expanse when planted in the field, but chopped up, there wasn’t much left.

Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help but sigh. At this rate, who knew when he’d ever stop worrying about fertilizer.

Lost in thought, Tong Zhanyan turned his hand to the bok choy on the other side.

The familiar chopping sound soon filled the air.

The difference this time was that the accompanying wails now came from the bok choy.

“I can’t do this anymore. Goodbye, trash streamer!”

“Trash streamer.”

“Streamers like this should be banned.”

“He’s doing this on purpose…”

Tong Zhanyan chopped the bok choy to bits in one go. After chopping it repeatedly for a while, he carried it over to the tool shed and dumped it all into the same bucket where the first batch of five tomato plants had been composting.

He hadn’t washed the bucket, and the remains of the tomato plants still lingered inside.

Typically, composting involves adding catalysts—both to speed up the process and ensure more thorough decomposition.

He had nothing else now, so he pinned his hopes on the already decomposed scraps, wishing the microorganisms on them would accelerate the process.

After dumping everything in, Tong Zhanyan added some water and loosely covered the lid.

After washing his hands, Tong Zhanyan looked up at the light screen above the camera.

As his gaze shifted, the live stream’s comment section erupted like a flood once more—a torrent of curses and “unfollow you, goodbye” messages.

Hmm.

As lively as ever.

Tong Zhanyan turned off the light screen and looked toward the patch where he’d planted cherry radishes and bok choy.

Only five or six of the healthiest plants remained there now, along with a trail of footprints, leaving the area looking rather messy.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t rush to till the soil; instead, he walked away.

He planned to sell the remaining cherry radishes and bok choy first, grabbing lunch while he was at it.

When Tong Zhanyan arrived, the shop staff had just finished eating.

Spotting him enter, Fang Yiguang immediately beamed and rushed over. “Have you had lunch?”

He had already noticed the plastic bag in Tong Zhanyan’s hand and the faint outline of cherry radishes and bok choy inside.

“Yeah.” Tong Zhanyan handed over the bag.

After inspecting them, the latter excitedly headed toward the reception room.

“They’re growing beautifully.”

“So big!”

The rest of the shop staff gathered around to join the excitement.

Everyone knew Tong Zhanyan’s crops always turned out exceptionally well, which made them all envy Fang Yiguang.

Tong Zhanyan sat down across from her. “Where’s Mr. Bai?”

Cherry radishes and bok choy required more preparation than cherry tomatoes, especially the bok choy. While its roots were edible, they lacked the ability to suppress frenzy, so they were typically discarded.

“He’s in his greenhouse,” Fang Yiguang replied. “Did you need him for something?”

“Do you have corn and sweet potatoes here?” Tong Zhanyan inquired.

“Corn and sweet potatoes?” Fang Yiguang hesitated briefly before opening his terminal. “I’ll call him.”

Though the corn and sweet potato seeds were from the previous batch, this particular seed stock had been decontaminated over four years ago.

Moments later, the call ended.

“He’ll be here shortly.”

Tong Zhanyan nodded and sat down to wait.

Over ten minutes passed before Mr. Bai entered.

Seeing the cherry radishes and bok choy Fang Yiguang and his team were processing on the table, a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.

Tong Zhanyan’s previous batch of cherry radishes and bok choy had been decent overall, though some were mediocre. This batch, however, was entirely top-tier quality.

Moreover, if he hadn’t miscalculated, it had only been a little over a month since Tong Zhanyan last came to sell.

Considering the time needed for seeds to mature…

Had this batch matured even faster?

Mr. Bai looked at Tong Zhanyan with mixed feelings. “I hear you want to buy corn and sweet potatoes?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have those in my store,” Mr. Bai paused. “You should know the reason.”

Tong Zhanyan nodded.

Once seeds are sown, the infection rate inevitably rises. This batch had been unsealed for over four years—the state of the previous batch was all too obvious.

“But I do know where you might find some,” Mr. Bai said hesitantly.

“Price is negotiable,” Tong Zhanyan’s eyes lit up. He’d only asked on a whim.

“It’s not about that,” Mr. Bai’s tone remained hesitant. “You know the nature of these seeds. I can only connect you with the source. The rest is up to you to negotiate…”

Tong Zhanyan immediately understood.

Setting aside infection rates, no one could guarantee whether the seeds would germinate, whether they would grow after sprouting, or whether they would successfully flower and bear fruit. Therefore, private seeds were extremely difficult to sell.

Consequently, any conflict would become extremely troublesome.

The cultivation costs were no small matter.

Tong Zhanyan quickly assured him, “Rest assured. I’ll buy the seeds outright. Whether they sprout or survive is entirely my responsibility.”

Mr. Bai smiled. “Good to know you understand.”

“Mhm.”

“As it happens, are you free tomorrow? In the afternoon.”

“Yes.”

Tomorrow was Sunday.

“Then come here at two tomorrow afternoon. I’ll take you somewhere.”

“Alright.” Tong Zhanyan agreed.

With the matter settled, Mr. Bai went to assist elsewhere.

When the items were sent for testing, Tong Zhanyan held his breath.

Last time, he’d glossed over the steadily declining infection rate of the cherry tomatoes by blaming the seeds. But if the cherry radishes and bok choy showed the same pattern this time, things would get tricky.

So he’d already prepared his excuse: if he could buy seeds with low infection rates for cherry tomatoes, he could surely get them for cherry radishes and bok choy too.

As for afterward, he wouldn’t be coming back to this shop anyway.

It turned out he’d overthought it. While the infection rates only increased by 1% to 2%, they had indeed risen.

This left Tong Zhanyan distracted throughout the entire accounting process that followed, because now he couldn’t quite figure out what was really going on with those cherry tomatoes.

Was it really just a mistake by the seed packer? Had he happened to get the ones with a low infection rate without realizing it?

Half an hour later, when Tong Zhanyan stepped out, his pockets were thirty-one thousand heavier—fifteen thousand for the cherry radishes, sixteen thousand for the bok choy.

He didn’t rush back. Instead, he visited another nearby clothing street and bought two sets of casual wear.

His original body had limited resources and few clothes. After taking over, he mostly wore the school-issued training uniforms during school hours. For livestreams, he’d change into his own clothes, but considering the farming work, he always chose loose, comfortable, and durable styles.

For formal occasions, this attire was somewhat inappropriate.

By the time Tong Zhanyan returned to the greenhouse, it was already past three in the afternoon.

He didn’t check the livestream. Rolling up his sleeves, he got straight to work.

The cherry tomatoes were ready for fertilizing again, while the eggplants, cucumbers, and strawberries were all ready for transplanting.

He had originally planned to save these tasks for tomorrow, but he had something else scheduled then.

Unlike with the cherry radishes and bok choy, Tong Zhanyan wasn’t stingy with the fertilizer for the cherry tomatoes. He simply diluted it with water and poured it directly onto the soil.

This caused the fertilizer solution to visibly deplete rapidly—just two applications used up a third of the total.

Fertilizing was straightforward, but transplanting proved troublesome.

Starting at four in the afternoon, Tong Zhanyan spent over four hours finally transferring all three types of seedlings into new pots.

After finishing, it took him a while to catch his breath.

That night, he went to bed early.

Perhaps from the day’s exhaustion, he slept exceptionally soundly.

While Tong Zhanyan slept soundly, many others tossed and turned that night, their minds consumed by the livestream incident.

They had ultimately failed to prevent the tragedy.

The more they thought about it, the more their hearts ached, and their anger flared—so much so that they wanted to drag that senior out and beat him senseless.

Especially Gu Yunyang, Yang Hong, and their group of longtime viewers.

They could try to understand the fate of those little tomatoes. After all, it was common knowledge that the later in the season, the harder it was for the fruit to ripen. That much made sense, however strained the logic.

But what about those cherry radishes and baby bok choy?

They were growing so well, even ripe enough to sell, yet Senior Da Liu just chopped them to bits.

He claimed it was for fertilizer, but why use cherry radishes and baby bok choy specifically?

Fertilizer solutions were readily available on the market.

Was he really not doing it on purpose?

Had they all been fooled? Was he actually a thoroughly despicable jerk from the start, while they’d naively convinced themselves he had a point?

They didn’t want to speculate or doubt, but it was incredibly hard to comprehend.

While they struggled to make sense of it, the situation kept escalating.

Many had day jobs, only finding time to go online at night.

Tonight, the moment they opened their terminals, the trending topic “Senior Da Liu Has Gone Mad” jumped out at them.

Driven by curiosity and a desire for gossip, they clicked in.

Then all traces of sleep vanished, replaced by rage surging beneath each video.

“Is this his way of lashing out at society?”

“He did it on purpose.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“This is infuriating.”

Amidst the sea of indignation, a hint of bewilderment began to surface.

“Is that a cherry tomato in the background?”

“Didn’t know cherry radishes could grow that big?”

“Those seedlings look really healthy.”

At first, these murmurs were faint, so faint they went almost unnoticed.

But soon, as more people took notice, the voices grew louder.

Later, some even started dedicated threads discussing these details.

Regardless of why they followed the gardening topic, anyone who paid attention couldn’t help but know the basics.

In their minds, cherry radishes should be no bigger than a mineral water bottle cap, bok choy should have only four or five leaves, cherry tomatoes should be spindly and crooked, and seedlings of eggplant, strawberries, and cucumbers should be sparse and thin…

But what about those in Senior Da Liu’s livestream?

Cherry radishes grow as big as eggs, bok choy leaves spread as wide as a palm, and tomato and eggplant seedlings form dense, lush forests.

Is this real?

Do they truly exist in the same world?

“It’s baffling—how come his plants turn out so much better?”

“With seedlings that robust, I can’t even imagine how much fruit they’ll bear when mature.”

“Someone found pictures of his last batch of cherry tomatoes. Have you seen them?”

“Just checked them out. Are you sure those aren’t photoshopped?”

At 2 a.m., “Senior Da Liu” trended again, but this time it wasn’t followed by “has gone mad”—instead, it was “cherry tomatoes.”

That night, many were too furious to sleep—especially the new viewers who’d started following him since the greenhouse days.

Seeing the new trending topic, their first reaction was “That madman’s gone off the rails again,” followed by heartache for those tomato seedlings.

Those tomato seedlings had been thriving even better than the cherry radishes and bok choy. They had once held such high hopes for them, counting down the days almost daily to when they might bloom and bear fruit.

But when they clicked on the trending topic, what they saw wasn’t the tomato seedlings in the greenhouse. Instead, it was another batch of dwarf cherry tomatoes.

There weren’t many of these tomatoes—just about twenty pots.

They weren’t planted in large pots, but in a room crammed with junk piled against the corner.

Their pots were riddled with holes, and the plants themselves were badly battered, covered in broken branches and leaves. Yet without exception, each bore at least five or six clusters of bright red fruit.

Many of those fruits were nearly thumb-sized.

So many fruits, so large, that their weight bent the plants’ stems.

Their owner clearly wasn’t meticulous—they’d simply strung ropes to suspend the plants. Yet even this couldn’t obscure the fact that every branch was heavy with fruit.

“Did Senior Da Liu grow these too?”

“In all my years, I never knew cherry tomatoes could bear so many fruits at once,”

“Is this really not photoshopped? Any video footage?”

“Did you notice? Nearly every flower bud on his plants set fruit—not a single one dropped. Other streamers consider three or four fruits per bud a good yield.”

“Who is this guy? Is he a farming streamer?”

“Just search ‘Senior Da Liu,’ and you’ll find out.”

“That must be over 20 pounds! Twenty seedlings yielding 20 pounds—that’s insane productivity…”

“Am I really not dreaming? Did I just get so angry today that I lost my mind?”

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Tong Zhanyan slept incredibly soundly, waking up feeling completely refreshed.

His appointment with Mr. Bai wasn’t until the afternoon, so he took his time. After inspecting the seedlings, he browsed shopping apps.

He definitely needed to buy chickens.

Before that, he had to prepare the necessary items in advance, like chicken coops.

To collect manure, he needed to completely separate the chickens from the ground.

Since livestock were rare, this world offered many bizarre farming tools—like smart chicken coops with air conditioning, music players, and 360-degree projection screens onto the grass…

So bizarre it made Tong Zhanyan wonder what his old animal science classmates would think if they saw it.

Obviously, Tong Zhanyan wasn’t buying that. He quickly zeroed in on portable pools.

Though called a pool, it was essentially a large plastic tub with walls and a bottom—perfectly meeting all Tong Zhanyan’s requirements.

The only issue was its shallow depth. It might work for chicks, but larger birds would likely escape.

That wasn’t his immediate concern, though.

After settling on a basic model, Tong Zhanyan dug out his tape measure to check the empty plot’s dimensions. Satisfied it would fit, he placed the order.

Finally, he didn’t forget to add a set of water and food bowls to his cart.

By the time he finished, it was just past one o’clock.

Tong Zhanyan tidied up and headed out.

On the way, he grabbed lunch.

Nutrient solution was certainly more convenient than cooking—from purchase to consumption took mere minutes.

When he arrived, Mr. Bai was already waiting inside the shop.

“Let’s go.” Mr. Bai led the way toward his car outside.

“Where are we headed?” Tong Zhanyan asked as he followed.

“You’ll see when we get there,” Mr. Bai replied mysteriously.

Tong Zhanyan gave him a puzzled look but said nothing more.

The car headed toward the city’s outskirts but didn’t travel far. After about twenty minutes, it slowed down.

They had now reached a gated community of villas.

Tong Zhanyan had seen villa communities before, but those were merely neighborhoods with slightly more spacious living environments compared to the surrounding high-rise apartment blocks.

This villa community, however, featured properties each likely spanning nearly a thousand square meters, exuding considerable grandeur.

After entering the complex, Mr. Bai drove a short distance before pulling into one of the homes.

He seemed quite familiar with the place, likely a frequent visitor.

“This way.” After parking in the underground garage, Mr. Bai led the way to the left.

Tong Zhanyan followed.

A few minutes later, they emerged above ground.

Viewed from within, this entire villa complex was even larger. The main building alone likely covered over 500 square meters, not counting the two flanking wings.

Moreover, the entire estate was clearly professionally designed, with gardens, rockeries, and lush greenery creating an exceptionally pleasant atmosphere.

The most eye-catching feature was the enormous glass structure behind the main building. If Tong Zhanyan guessed correctly, it was likely a greenhouse.

“Tong Zhanyan.”

Mr. Bai had already entered the garden.

Tong Zhanyan hurried to catch up.

Upon entering the garden, a pavilion immediately caught his eye, along with the figures of six or seven people.

They were a mix of men and women, all on the older side, currently gathered around a table drinking tea and chatting. It looked like they were hosting a small gathering.

Old Jin was clearly among them.

Tong Zhanyan instantly understood the situation.

He had previously heard rumors about small planting circles.

“What is he doing here?” Old Jin glared at Tong Zhanyan the moment he saw him.

“He wanted seeds I don’t carry, so I brought him to look around,” Mr. Bai said casually, finding a seat and motioning for Tong Zhanyan to join him.

“I knew you’d suddenly decide to come for some reason,” Old Jin snapped, realizing the situation. “I won’t sell them. I don’t have them.”

Tong Zhanyan stepped forward and sat down.

Mr. Bai poured himself a cup of tea and then poured one for Tong Zhanyan as well.

“Thank you.”

“I already said I don’t sell them,” Old Jin stated.

Mr. Bai looked over with a smile. “You won’t sell them, but what about those?”

Old Jin choked.

The next moment, just as he opened his mouth to say it was his family’s, someone beside him spoke up, “From your shop?”

“Yes.” Mr. Bai gave a brief introduction. “Don’t let his youth fool you—the quality of what he grows is truly exceptional. Especially the cherry tomatoes. I haven’t seen such fine quality in over a decade.”

“Cherry tomatoes?”

When the group turned their gaze back to Tong Zhanyan, their eyes held a new layer of confusion.

“Speaking of which, Old Jin, haven’t you been growing cherry tomatoes lately, too?”

“Didn’t you say you weren’t interested in that stuff? Why the sudden change of heart?”

Tong Zhanyan looked over.

Old Jin’s weathered face flushed crimson instantly. “What nonsense! Who said I was growing them?”

“But you said yourself…”

Mr. Bai chuckled, having already grasped the situation.

After witnessing Tong Zhanyan’s batch of cherry tomatoes, Old Jin had become considerably more subdued. He’d initially thought Old Jin had changed his ways, but it turned out he’d been biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to prove himself.

Just as Old Jin was about to say something else, someone else spoke up beside him, “What seeds do you want?”

They hadn’t known each other for just a day or two. Old Jin’s temperament was well-known to them. Seeing his reaction, they had already figured out most of the situation in just a moment.

They were quite amused.

“Corn and sweet potatoes,” Tong Zhanyan said.

“From the last batch…” The group exchanged glances before turning their eyes to Old Jin.

They’d all been farming for years, but they didn’t have much seed stock from that particular harvest.

Only Old Jin had the habit of collecting seeds, deliberately saving extra.

“Not for sale,” Old Jin remained firm.

“Whether they grow or not is gonna be your problem,” Tong Zhanyan stated his position.

“Still not selling.”

Mr. Bai chuckled. “You’re worried his crops might turn out better than yours, aren’t you? Like those cherry tomatoes.”

Everyone turned to look at Old Jin.

Old Jin’s face flushed red all the way to his neck, clearly caught off guard and too embarrassed to react.

That made them all look at Tong Zhanyan.

While Old Jin’s love for flattery was irritating, he did have real skill. Among their group, he was probably the best grower.

And Tong Zhanyan was supposed to be even better?

Tong Zhanyan blinked, lifted his cup, took a sip, and said nothing.

He could tell Boss Bai was backing him up.

Though this method of backing seemed a bit…

“Me, afraid of him?” Old Jin recovered. “Thirteen thousand per corn cob. Seventeen thousand per sweet potato.”

Tong Zhanyan’s hand holding the cup paused. He only had three hundred thousand in his pocket altogether.

“No haggling.” Old Jin glanced at Tong Zhanyan.

This time, Mr. Bai remained silent, his gaze fixed on Tong Zhanyan.

The others watched quietly or sipped their tea, showing no intention of intervening.

“…Can I see the seeds first?” Tong Zhanyan abandoned bargaining.

Old Jin was clearly the type who got more fired up the more you engaged him.

He wasn’t short on money now; what he lacked was space and time.

Buying the seed meant he’d only have one plant. He’d need to spend months breeding it, then another few months planting it after breeding.

Tong Zhanyan’s decisiveness caught Old Jin off guard, stifling the barrage of refusal he’d prepared.

After a long pause, he finally spoke again, “I offer no after-sales service. If you can’t grow it, that’s not my problem.”

“Fine.” Tong Zhanyan nodded lightly.

Once again, a flood of words remained unsaid. After a long pause, Old Jin could only walk away silently, seemingly to fetch something.

Watching him leave, laughter filled the pavilion.

They rarely saw Old Jin so thoroughly outmaneuvered.

Tong Zhanyan smiled along with them.

Moments later, Old Jin returned carrying two rather elegant lacquered boxes.

Each box bore an inscription: one labeled “Corn,” the other “Sweet Potato.”

Opening the corn box revealed small packets of seeds neatly portioned inside.

The sweet potato box contained a single tuber.

The corn kernels looked small, but the sweet potato was even more eye-catching. It was clearly a common variety that could grow as long as an adult’s forearm, yet it was only the size of a baby’s fist, looking quite pitiful.

Tong Zhanyan reached out. “Can I at least take a look?”

This time, Old Jin wasn’t stingy and pushed the items over.

The corn’s buds were perfectly intact.

As for the sweet potato, it felt slightly wilted to the touch, looking rather worrisome.

“What’s the infection rate?” Tong Zhanyan asked.

“Forty-eight or forty-nine. Here’s the certification.”

“That high?” Tong Zhanyan was taken aback.

Once planted, the infection rate would inevitably climb. With figures like these, even if he managed to grow them, the infection rate would easily surpass fifty percent.

He’d never encountered such a high infection rate before.

If the ones in their forties were already this bitter, crossing fifty would only make them worse.

Even if used as chicken feed, it would be pointless if the manure became unusable.

“What more do you want from the last batch of seeds?” Old Jin asked.

Tong Zhanyan found himself speechless.

If infection rates could be controlled, the world wouldn’t have become what it is now.

“Want them? If not, I’m putting them away.”

Tong Zhanyan hesitated for a moment before opening his terminal.

“Just so we’re clear—whether they grow or not is none of my business.” Old Jin made no move.

“Whether they grow or not is entirely my own responsibility,” Tong Zhanyan repeated earnestly.

Old Jin stared at Tong Zhanyan for a moment before finally taking out his terminal.

After payment was made, Tong Zhanyan carefully examined his corn seed and sweet potato, while Old Jin collected the remaining corn.

He also took the sweet potato’s brocade box.

Mr. Bai didn’t leave immediately but continued chatting with the others.

They all appeared to be customers from Mr. Bai’s shop.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t urge him, quietly listening nearby.

His understanding of cultivation in this world came almost entirely from the internet. This was his first real-life encounter with other growers.

He was quite curious about Old Jin’s cultivation chamber, but people here were extremely guarded about such things. After all, cultivation chambers could reveal too much, and the crops themselves were incredibly valuable.

Two hours later, the two departed.

Mr. Bai escorted Tong Zhanyan to the entrance of his greenhouse.

Upon entering, Tong Zhanyan immediately retrieved the sweet potato and scraped away some of its skin with his fingernail.

Without the plastic bag, the sweet potato felt softer to the touch, though it hadn’t turned black—just clearly been stored for too long.

Tong Zhanyan breathed a sigh of relief, then promptly grabbed a cup of water and soaked them.

Sweet potatoes aren’t typically soaked because their large size means they already hold ample moisture, making soaking prone to rot. But this one was nearly dried out.

Tong Zhanyan placed the cup beside the work area in the greenhouse.

Finally, he pondered how to plant them.

Once the cherry radish and bok choy seeds arrived, he’d need to plant them immediately. Their designated spots couldn’t be occupied, and other areas were already packed full…

Tong Zhanyan looked down at the patch of land beneath his feet.

Near the tool shed, he’d reserved a patch for drying pots and buckets.

After some thought, he gathered those containers and cleared a small square meter at the far right edge.

He loosened the soil with a hoe, then mixed in some decomposed soil from the cherry tomato patch. The spot was now ready.

Finished, Tong Zhanyan felt no relief, only a touch of helplessness.

Now, just two extra seedlings required him to scrounge for space everywhere. What would happen once the seeds sprouted?

He returned the hoe to the tool shed and, filled with resignation, opened his livestream to check the situation.

This time was different. He needed the livestream to attract the school’s attention and prove he’d grown these plants himself. Harvest time for those cherry tomatoes and eggplants was less than two months away.

The livestream opened, and a flood of comments instantly filled the screen.

Tong Zhanyan skipped the details and looked straight at the follower count. Last time he checked, it was 250,000. This time, it had to have dropped by at least 100,000—

Followers: 430,000.

Tong Zhanyan blinked, then looked again.

Still 430,000.

It did not drop? It actually increased?

Tong Zhanyan froze in momentary bewilderment.

Had they… finally lost their minds over him?