Tong Zhanyan steeled himself to glance at the comment section and live stream chat. As before, they were flooded with criticism and skepticism, though nearly one-fifth of the posts were earnest discussions about why his seedlings were thriving so remarkably.

Many immediately suspected growth hormones, but these seedlings had already surpassed the one-week mark.

Several also referenced his previous batch of cherry tomatoes, mentioning accompanying photos or videos.

It seemed someone had captured screenshots or footage when that batch ripened—such yields were quite rare in this world.

The situation wasn’t as dire as anticipated, and Tong Zhanyan breathed a sigh of relief. He closed his terminal and headed back to the small building.

He returned around seven or eight in the evening, after the seeds had soaked for four hours.

He planted the corn in disposable cups and buried the sweet potatoes directly into the previously dug plot, watering each a little.

After finishing, he headed back to school.

Tomorrow was Monday; classes would resume.

Though it wasn’t late, the school gates were deserted, save for the constant sounds drifting from the playground.

As Tong Zhanyan entered the campus and prepared to quicken his pace, a voice that made his scalp tingle reached him.

“Tong Zhanyan.”

Tong Zhanyan steeled himself and turned to look.

By the parcel collection room to the right of the school gate, Devil King Wang was staring at him.

“Teacher Wang…” Tong Zhanyan fought the urge to flee.

After the test phase began, the atmosphere of the entire first-year class changed. Yet Devil King Wang remained unchanged, still pushing them to their limits every single day.

Devil King said nothing, only watching him.

Streetlights stood by the gate, yet their glow remained dim. Devil King stood precisely at the edge of shadow, his expression hidden from view.

Still, Tong Zhanyan could sense his gaze upon him, tinged with something complex.

Complex?

Tong Zhanyan’s heartbeat surged. Had the school discovered his livestream?

“Life isn’t limited to one path. Outsiders have their own way of living. Things aren’t that bad.” The Devil King suddenly spoke, then turned and headed straight for the school gates.

Tong Zhanyan froze. What the hell?

Only then did he grasp the Devil King’s meaning. Did he misunderstand that Tong Zhanyan had given up on the assessment?

Tong Zhanyan choked on his words.

Thinking it over, he could only feel helpless.

Ever since Su Yanran and the others could test their scores, they’d been training relentlessly. Only he kept slipping out of school whenever he had a chance—it was easy to misunderstand.

By the time Tong Zhanyan snapped back to reality, Devil King was already far away.

He rubbed his nose and headed back into the school.

The school was only a few minutes’ walk from the main city streets.

When Wang Yanzhou pushed open the door, a group of forty or fifty people were already drinking inside. Principal Chu Yi was particularly tipsy, his cheeks flushed crimson.

“Over here,” Yuan Yuepeng spotted him immediately. “What took you so long?”

Wang Yanzhou sat down. “I was writing something.”

“Your favorite,” Yuan Yuepeng said, handing him a glass and grabbing the strongest liquor in the shop.

“Cheers.” Yuan Yuepeng was seated next to the homeroom teacher of Class 4, and the two were already drinking.

The Devil King raised his glass.

“What are you writing?” Yuan Yuepeng asked after taking a sip.

“My resignation letter,” Wang Yanzhou replied.

Yuan Yuepeng paused mid-pour.

The smile on the Class 4 homeroom teacher’s face froze.

“We agreed on four years,” Wang Yanzhou said calmly. “This is already the fifth year.”

“Why the rush…” Yuan Yuepeng continued pouring, “Didn’t we agree to leave together when the time came?”

“Exactly,” the Class 4 homeroom teacher chimed in.

“I can barely hold on. It’d be terrible if I hurt a student,” Wang Yanzhou said.

Yuan Yuepeng’s hand, holding the raised glass, froze again.

He’d poured too much, spilling it all over his hand.

The Class 4 homeroom teacher’s lips parted, struggling for words before finally managing, “Isn’t that Yang Hong from the Gu Family also nearing the end? I heard he’s refused to eat crops, too.”

Many people refuse to eat crops.

Especially those who’ve returned from the front lines.

Long-term consumption of crops can suppress frenzy to some extent, but it’s merely a suppression.

For many, rather than burdening their families with a desperate, prolonged existence that drained their resources, they preferred to savor life’s final moments before charging headlong into their final journey.

As for gambling on that near-impossible chance of cure—only to be locked away during a full frenzy, confined to a cage for all their bodily functions—that was utterly unthinkable.

“Yeah, he went first, half a year before me,” Wang Yanzhou said.

Yang Hong was his contemporary, though one belonged to the Gu Family and the other to the Qing Family, so they rarely crossed paths.

He knew Yang Hong primarily because back then, they were always grouped together with two others from the other two major families for discussion.

They were the cream of the crop from that era.

Coincidentally, as if by some unspoken pact, three of them contracted the frenzy within the same year.

“What about the one from the Xu family?” asked the Class 4 homeroom teacher. “Seems like we haven’t heard from him in ages.”

“He died. Last year,” Yuan Yuepeng replied. “He never retreated. Stayed on the front lines. Went on a mop-up operation last year and never came back. Seems he went mad and ran off.”

The Class 4 homeroom teacher’s lips parted again, but this time no words came out.

“The Xu family didn’t want the news to get out,” Yuan Yuepeng added.

The front lines were already stretched thin, and the frenzy issue remained unresolved. Suppressing the news was necessary to prevent panic.

Amidst the clamor, the three fell silent.

“…So where do you plan to go next?” After a moment, the Class 4 homeroom teacher broke the silence.

“The Qing Family,” Wang Yanzhou replied. “I’ve already made arrangements with them.”

Sidi Military Academy had a nickname on the front lines: the retirement home.

Because many infected with frenzy on the front lines chose to spend their final years here, taking a three-to-five-year posting before returning to face their end when they could no longer control it.

“…Just wait another half year. We can go together then,” Yuan Yuepeng said. “At least it’ll be lively on the road.”

Wang Yanzhou opened his mouth, about to say something else, when someone practically crashed into them.

The three turned to look.

Chu Yi had already made his way from the other side of the restaurant to where they were. “Why aren’t you drinking? I’m treating you all, you know.”

The three exchanged glances and ignored him.

It was clearly on the company tab.

“By the way, have you heard about Senior Da Liu?” Class 4’s homeroom teacher abruptly changed the subject. “He’s apparently a pretty popular farming streamer lately. They say he harvested over twenty pounds of cherry tomatoes from just twenty tomato seedlings.”

“Twenty tomato plants yielding over twenty pounds?” Yuan Yuepeng looked up.

“Yeah.”

“Where’d you hear that? Dreaming, are you?”

“Overheard some fourth-year students in the cafeteria. Said they saw it on some trending topic…”

At the school.

Hearing the door open, Qing Jiyue turned from his desk.

The moment he recognized the face, his movements visibly froze.

Tong Zhanyan lowered his gaze. What was wrong with him?

Seeing his own new outfit, he realized what was happening. Tong Zhanyan smiled. “Do you like it?”

Half a year had passed, and his physique had grown much more solid. His face was becoming increasingly similar to his former self. With the new clothes, he looked like a completely different person compared to before.

When he’d seen his reflection while shopping for clothes earlier, he’d startled himself.

Qing Jiyue lowered his eyelids. “Mhm.”

Tong Zhanyan, who’d only asked casually, froze.

The atmosphere in the room suddenly grew strange.

“Tong Zhanyan?”

“You’re back…”

Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran’s voices came from behind him.

Tong Zhanyan turned to look, having forgotten to close the door.

Tian Xinqing squeezed through the doorway. “Nice clothes. New purchase?”

“Yeah.”

“Not bad. You look presentable after tidying up…”

“What do you mean by ‘presentable’?” Tong Zhanyan playfully wrestled with the two.

Half an hour later, lights-out time approached.

Tian Xinqing and the others returned to their rooms. Tong Zhanyan hurried to wash up.

When he finished and returned to his room, Qing Jiyue was already preparing to lie down. Everything that had happened earlier seemed like a figment of his imagination.

Tong Zhanyan withdrew his gaze, about to lie down himself, when Qing Jiyue’s voice drifted over. “Must it be that way? Is there no other solution?”

Tong Zhanyan turned to look.

“Those cherry radishes,” Qing Jiyue inquired.

He had seen Tong Zhanyan’s announcement, so he deliberately set an alarm. Then he witnessed Tong Zhanyan’s composting process.

He had seen Tong Zhanyan turn orange peels into fertilizer and observed how well the cherry tomatoes grew after being watered with that orange juice. Unlike others in the livestream, he wasn’t angry—just puzzled.

Wondering if using those methods, which seemed utterly bizarre to them, could truly grow crops well.

Tong Zhanyan said, “No.”

Lights-out time arrived, plunging the room into instant darkness.

In the darkness, Qing Jiyue remained still, and Tong Zhanyan felt no urge to move either.

Tong Zhanyan said, “At least not at this stage.”

“Will it work in the future?”

“It depends on what kind of future,” Tong Zhanyan replied. “If the soil is properly nourished, if enough is planted, and if the inedible parts of the crops are sufficient.”

“How much would that require?”

Tong Zhanyan considered, “At least several acres, and the varieties can’t be limited. But right now, I only have a 200-square-meter greenhouse and just a few types of seeds.”

A moment of silence fell across the room.

After a pause, the voice spoke again.

“If you had the land and the seeds, could you grow them all?” Qing Jiyue asked, his heart skipping a beat involuntarily.

So far, Tong Zhanyan had encountered eight types of seeds. Of the six he was already growing, he had successfully cultivated all of them, and they were thriving.

His father didn’t have much time left.

Though his father had kept it hidden from him—indeed, the entire Qing Family had helped conceal it—he knew his father’s time was running out…

His grandfather.

The gentle, kind old man from his memories was now imprisoned in the deepest dungeon of the Qing Family’s ancestral home.

He had once sneaked in to see him. Maintaining his beast form, he was emaciated and filthy…

His father had been searching for a solution all these years, yet despite the passage of time, there remained no way out.

They almost never spoke of his grandfather, but he knew that when the day came when he could no longer endure, his father would likely take his grandfather with him.

Because his father would never allow what he himself had endured to be inflicted upon his son.

But he didn’t want to lose two loved ones at once.

Could Tong Zhanyan be the hope he’d been waiting for all along?

Tong Zhanyan didn’t answer the question. He climbed into bed. “Go to sleep early.”

Qing Jiyue didn’t move.

Only after a long while, when Tong Zhanyan was nearly asleep, did movement finally come from his side.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t dwell on it, simply rolled over and fell back asleep.

On Tuesday, the portable swimming pool Tong Zhanyan had ordered arrived. He took it to the greenhouse and inspected the eggplants, strawberries, and cucumbers while he was there.

Due to differences in seed viability, these three took longer to sprout than the cherry tomatoes.

The same gap persisted during the seedling stage. By the time the cherry tomatoes had grown into little forests, these plants were just pushing through the plastic sheeting.

This gap widened further after the cherry tomatoes were transplanted into pots. Now, two weeks after the cherry tomatoes were moved into the field, the others were finally ready for transplanting.

This was good news, yet it gave Tong Zhanyan a headache.

Previously, both the cherry tomato transplanting and their potting had coincided with the weekend. This time, it didn’t.

He could wait a few more days for Saturday, but that would delay their growth.

He didn’t have much time left.

After a moment’s hesitation, Tong Zhanyan resignedly rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

With nearly five hundred seedlings in total, he couldn’t possibly finish transplanting them all in one night. He prioritized the cucumbers.

He planned to plant the cucumbers in the far right section of the greenhouse. This way, when the trellises were erected later, they wouldn’t obstruct airflow to the other crops.

Since trellises would be needed, Tong Zhanyan calculated the spacing while digging the holes, arranging the seedlings symmetrically.

With the holes ready, he used a basin to sort the seedlings. Holding a shovel in one hand and seedlings in the other, he worked with practiced efficiency.

By the time he finished, it was past nine. He washed his hands, took a final look around, and headed back to school.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan went over immediately after class ended. This time, he transplanted the eggplants.

He planted them between the cucumbers and cherry tomatoes.

Once mature, eggplant vines grow twice as tall as cherry tomatoes and are much bulkier, so they require more space between plants.

On the third day, Tong Zhanyan transplanted the strawberries.

Strawberry transplantation differed from the previous two.

Strawberry plants were very low, growing almost flush with the ground, so the berries grew directly on the soil. However, this meant the fruit easily rotted from contact with ground moisture.

Therefore, when planting, those with fewer plants typically place a protective pad under each fruit after fruiting begins. Those with more plants lay a layer of plastic film between the strawberries and the soil during transplanting as a barrier.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t have many strawberries in this batch, but considering he couldn’t watch over them constantly and the fruits changed daily, he chose the latter method.

He piled the soil into two tall mounds, watered them in advance, then found the plastic film and covered both mounds with soil.

After covering the mounds, he didn’t rush to dig holes. Instead, he separated the strawberry seedlings, determined their positions, and only then began digging holes while planting.

“Be careful when planting—don’t dig the holes in the plastic film too large, or you’ll have to add more padding later…”

Live Stream.

Listening to Tong Zhanyan’s explanation, the group fell momentarily silent, unsure what to say.

It wasn’t that they didn’t understand the reasoning behind Tong Zhanyan’s actions—this time they grasped it—but they simply couldn’t comprehend it.

Strawberries rot easily when touching soil, so padding is necessary—fine, just pad them. What’s the big deal? Isn’t Tong Zhanyan doing all this just to cut corners?

While it wasn’t a major issue, still…

Shouldn’t crops be treated with utmost care?

This was the first time they’d ever heard someone justify laziness so openly and matter-of-factly.

After planting the last strawberry, Tong Zhanyan washed his hands, took a brief break, and surveyed the entire greenhouse.

With the strawberries planted, all the seedlings were now in the ground. Looking around now, the greenhouse appeared increasingly orderly and proper.

Only the newly transplanted seedlings were still small, appearing a bit sparse.

After admiring the work, Tong Zhanyan turned to inspect the corn and sweet potato plants.

The corn was planted in cups. Though no sprouts were visible yet, he could already see traces where the surface soil had been pushed aside.

Tong Zhanyan breathed a sigh of relief.

Old Jin had stored these seeds for who knows how long. Though the seed buds looked intact, Tong Zhanyan couldn’t guarantee they’d sprout.

The sweet potatoes showed no signs of life yet.

Tong Zhanyan left them undisturbed.

The newly transplanted seedlings needed a few days to acclimate. Since he’d just watered them during transplanting, there was little else to do. For the next two days, Tong Zhanyan didn’t visit the greenhouse.

He did make a trip on Saturday.

He went to the street and bought two floor fans, carrying them over.

Earlier, the seedlings were clustered together, occupying a small area. Two fans—one blowing on them and one on the small tomatoes—were sufficient.

But now that all the seedlings were planted in the field, the area needing ventilation suddenly approached 200 square meters. Two fans were no longer enough.

Beyond the fans, Tong Zhanyan also reconfigured the overhead lighting.

During the seedling phase, light intensity had to be kept low, but that changed now. The growth phase demanded ample illumination.

Tong Zhanyan programmed the lights to turn on automatically at 8 AM and off at 6 PM. He set two sets of lights to operate in the morning and evening, with all three sets running simultaneously for three hours at midday.

Beyond this, he took the opportunity to check on the corn and sweet potatoes.

The corn had already sprouted, while the sweet potatoes still showed no signs of movement.

On Tuesday, Tong Zhanyan went to water and fertilize the cherry tomatoes, taking another look at everything while he was at it.

The corn was growing slowly but steadily, while the sweet potatoes still showed no signs of life.

On Friday, Tong Zhanyan headed straight for the sweet potatoes as soon as he entered the greenhouse.

The sweet potatoes still hadn’t sprouted.

He checked the greenhouse conditions nightly via the camera and knew this already, yet his brow still furrowed involuntarily.

It had been nearly two weeks now.

Even if the sweet potatoes could survive, such a prolonged period was problematic. After all, the temperature here consistently hovered between 15 and 25 degrees Celsius—the comfort zone for most crops.

Should he dig them up to check?

Tong Zhanyan hesitated for a moment, but ultimately resisted the urge.

If sprouts had already emerged, disturbing the soil now risked damaging the buds. Moreover, some fragile sprouts might perish from the sudden shift in temperature and humidity.

Tong Zhanyan glanced at the corn beside them.

They were putting in the effort, but constrained by seed viability, even after two weeks, they’d only produced their first true leaves.

Tong Zhanyan gave them a light watering before turning to inspect the transplants already in the field.

After a brief acclimation period, the eggplants, cucumbers, and strawberries had all entered full seedling growth, changing almost daily.

The most noticeable transformation was with the eggplants. Being naturally large-sized plants, they were catching up to the cherry tomatoes in just a few days.

Then there were the cucumbers. While their height increase wasn’t as dramatic as the eggplants’, many had grown tendrils for climbing.

These tendrils were a vibrant green with a hint of translucency, like tiny hands reaching out to explore the world, melting one’s heart.

The strawberries showed little change, merely sprouting more leaves.

The most delightful surprise came from the cherry tomatoes. Previously obscured by the camera angle, closer inspection revealed many had already begun developing branching buds.

Though these buds were still rice-grain sized, reaching this stage meant rapid growth was imminent.

After inspection, Tong Zhanyan fertilized them.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t skimp on the eggplants, cucumbers, or strawberries either, applying fertilizer to all using the drenching method.

However, as they were also transplanted, each watering session required increasingly more fertilizer.

This time, he used up half of the remaining compost from the second batch of cherry tomatoes.

The remaining portion would likely last for one more application before he’d have to switch to the orange water.

The orange water was nearly fully decomposed, so it would be ready in time. Still, seeing the fertilizer he’d painstakingly saved being consumed so quickly stung a little.

The next batch wasn’t secured yet.

With that in mind, Tong Zhanyan deliberately saved a bit of the fertilizer solution and watered the cherry radishes and bok choy reserved for seeds.

Nearly two weeks had passed, and they had changed significantly, most having already sprouted flower stalks.

However, harvest was still far off.

Seeing them reminded Tong Zhanyan of earlier events, so he opened his livestream to check.

Nearly two weeks had passed. His follower count, which had been just 430,000, had long surpassed 500,000 and was now approaching 600,000.

It was enough to give Tong Zhanyan a headache.

His cherry tomatoes were about to start branching out.

Besides the cherry tomatoes, the strawberries and eggplants also needed leaf and flower pinching. The cucumbers might need to be topped depending on their growth.

And these four crops were all due within a short span.

If this happened every time he came…

Lost in thought, Tong Zhanyan checked his system notifications.

Since that first recommendation, Green Shade periodically sent him similar messages. Since no action was required, he mostly ignored them, only occasionally glancing through them in bulk.

This time, opening it revealed another row of over twenty messages.

Tong Zhanyan skimmed through them and marked them all as read with one click.

Having finished reading, he was about to exit when his peripheral vision caught one message that stood out from the rest.

“Event?” Tong Zhanyan tapped to open it.

The message notified him he’d passed the initial screening for an event called “Most Valuable Live Stream Room.”

The event offered generous prizes—choose three out of two hundred—and required no action from him, relying entirely on viewer votes for selection—

Tong Zhanyan exited without finishing the rules. People voting for him? That would be a miracle.

Especially given his upcoming month of nonstop pruning and leaf-pinching.

Green Shade could host a “Most Annoying Live Stream” poll—he’d confidently take first place in that.

Planting Alliance.

Gu Yunyang stood arms crossed, eyes sparkling with excitement. Before him, Tang Xin and Shen Ye crouched down, inspecting his cherry tomatoes.

Neither spoke, simply moving from one tomato to the next.

Gu Yunyang didn’t rush them, patiently waiting.

Several minutes passed, his posture growing stiff from standing still, before they finally looked up.

“They…” Shen Ye was stunned and doubtful.

“…” Tang Xin frowned, then hesitated, unable to form words.

“They really aren’t falling off.” Gu Yunyang voiced the question on their minds.

“But…” Shen Ye furrowed her brow, trying to grasp the logic behind it.

“He said it’s because of insufficient nutrients.”

“Nutrition?” Shen Ye knew exactly who ‘he’ referred to without Gu Yunyang’s explanation.

“Yes, he said…” Gu Yunyang quickly repeated Senior Da Liu’s words. He had recorded the screen and reviewed it countless times, memorizing it long ago.

“Insufficient nutrition, self-preservation…” Shen Ye murmured, stunned by this revelation. For a moment, she felt dazed.

Gu Yunyang didn’t interrupt. In a good mood, he picked up the notebook beside him, ready to continue today’s entries.

Moving closer, he saw the clusters of tiny tomatoes, already finger-sized. His excitement, already high these past few days, surged even higher.

His smile stretched almost to his ears.

His tomato seedlings were taller than Senior Dai Liu’s, yet he’d pruned away more branches and flower buds. As a result, even though every bud had turned into fruit, they lacked the bountiful, heavy-laden look of the tomatoes in Senior Dai Liu’s livestream.

Even so, this batch was still considered a high yield within their planting alliance.

He was already looking forward to the harvest, and even more so to the next planting.

Researchers with independent planting spaces had harvest quotas. Meeting the quota allowed them to apply for the next batch of seeds.

Next time, he planned to grow cherry tomatoes again, this time following Senior Da Liu’s method to the letter.

Disposable paper cups and plastic film were manageable, but composting cherry radishes and bok choy…

The sound of “snap” instantly echoed in his mind. His instincts rebelled, but…

Gu Yunyang gazed at the clusters of emerald-green fruits before him. Truth be told, he was deeply tempted.

“…Are you planning to speak with Old Xu?” Shen Ye asked.

Gu Yunyang’s contemplative smile froze on his face.

The produce cultivated by these researchers served multiple purposes: part was used for treating frenzy, part was sent to the front lines, and part was reserved for seed stock. The situation was quite urgent.

If everyone’s yield could match what Senior Da Liu showed in his livestream, the situation would be much more manageable. But…

Gu Yunyang wasn’t thinking of claiming the credit for himself. Now that the fruits had borne, he wasn’t afraid of being questioned. His hesitation was whether he should really involve Senior Da Liu.

In the current climate, mastering the cultivation method was tantamount to controlling the lifeline of the entire world.

The stakes involved were far too immense.

It wasn’t just him—even mobilizing the full might of the Alliance might not be enough to contain it.

What if…

He had never joined the Cultivation Alliance for fame or profit. He simply wanted to end this nightmare as quickly as possible.

He had long anticipated this moment. Yet now that tangible hope finally appeared—however faint—fear gripped him.

Not fear of impending chaos, nor dread of imminent danger. Rather, terror that this hard-won glimmer of hope might slip through his fingers, extinguished before his very eyes.

If it truly came to that…

The mere thought made Gu Yunyang’s grip on his pen and notebook tighten involuntarily, his face turning pale.

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

At the school.

At noon, Tong Zhanyan suddenly received a communication request from Mr. Bai.

It startled him.

After all, they weren’t on the kind of casual terms where they’d casually message each other for a chat, and he hadn’t asked the shop to do anything for him recently.

Mr. Bai did indeed have business. He asked Tong Zhanyan if he was interested in purchasing more seeds.

This batch of seeds had been unsealed for over four years. Based on past patterns, it wouldn’t be long before the Planting Alliance ran out of seeds.

A price surge would follow.

After the price hike, new seeds would emerge while the old ones gradually faded from the market. By then, buying them wouldn’t be a matter of a few thousand credits.

Even with the money, securing them might prove impossible.

Tong Zhanyan was experiencing this for the first time, completely inexperienced, while Mr. Bai’s shop had been operating for over a decade.

He’d sensed the winds of change, which is why he’d deliberately stocked up on extra seeds this time.

Mr. Bai didn’t know exactly how many seeds Tong Zhanyan had, but judging by the crops Tong sold at his shop, there were some seeds he simply didn’t possess.

“I’ll swing by your place tonight to take a look,” Tong Zhanyan said.

“Alright.”

After the call ended, Tong Zhanyan felt a headache coming on.

He’d known these seeds had been unsealed for over four years, but he’d never considered this possibility. The situation had come too suddenly, leaving him completely unprepared.

Especially regarding money.

He’d made some cash selling cherry radishes and bok choy earlier, but after buying corn and sweet potatoes, he only had a little over ten thousand credits left. He’d had another four thousand credits saved up, but combined, it still didn’t reach twenty thousand.

If he could afford it, he’d buy all the seeds available to stockpile them, but twenty thousand credits could only buy four seeds at most…

Not to mention he still needed to eat.

He’d just withdrawn funds from Green Shade…

Tong Zhanyan opened the Green Shade app to check.

Surprisingly, the earnings on Green Shade were quite decent.

Probably because he had more followers and traffic now. Even though it had only been over twenty days since his last withdrawal, the share of revenue plus tips had already added up to over five thousand.

But that was only enough for one seed.

Tong Zhanyan withdrew it all.

That night, Tong Zhanyan brought his pitiful twenty-five thousand credits over.

Mr. Bai must have notified every customer in the shop involved in cultivation. When Tong Zhanyan entered, there were easily twenty or thirty people inside.

Seeing all those unfamiliar faces, Tong Zhanyan, who had initially considered asking if he could buy on credit, immediately backed down.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t bear the embarrassment, but in this situation, Mr. Bai probably wouldn’t have time to listen to his slow explanation.

His hunch proved right. He arrived at six and lingered for over three hours. As closing time approached, Mr. Bai still hadn’t finished his tasks.

Five or six people remained in the shop.

“Tong Zhanyan.”

Tong Zhanyan was feeling awkward when Mr. Bai’s voice called out.

Tong Zhanyan looked up to see Mr. Bai heading toward the door while waving him over.

Tong Zhanyan hurried out after him.

It was nearly ten o’clock, and the street was nearly deserted except for this shop.

“Is it that you don’t have enough money?”

Tong Zhanyan felt his face flush. Was he that obvious?

“No worries, I’ll put it on your tab. You can settle up once your crops are ready later,” Mr. Bai said with a faint smile. “Have you decided what seeds you want?”

Tong Zhanyan felt his chest burn. “Thank you.”

The next moment, he hurriedly added, “I currently have dwarf cherry tomatoes, eggplants, cucumbers, strawberries, cherry radishes, bok choy, corn, and sweet potatoes. I’ll take everything you have that isn’t already in my store.”

Mr. Bai led the way back inside. “How many of each would you like?”

Tong Zhanyan thought for a moment. “Two of each.”

One seed carried the risk of not germinating; two provided better insurance. Plus, some crops couldn’t self-pollinate.

“Hold on.” With that, Mr. Bai headed toward the counter.

Over there, Fang Yiguang and the others were attending to the other customers in the shop.

A few minutes later, Mr. Bai returned with a small, palm-sized bag. “Watermelon, cowpeas, chili peppers, carrots—four varieties total, two seeds each.”

Tong Zhanyan took the bag, checked the contents, and nodded in confirmation. “Thanks.”

“Hurry back,” Mr. Bai urged.

This street was near Sidi Military Academy, and he knew the academy’s lights-out time.

Tong Zhanyan said nothing more and hurried back.

Back in the dorm, before Tong Zhanyan could even glance at the seeds again, the lights went out.

Tong Zhanyan could only go to sleep.

The next day, before heading to class, Tong Zhanyan examined the seeds once more.

Four types of seeds, two of each kind, all showed infection rates around 45%.

Seeds with infection rates below 20% belonged to the Alliance. Those between 20% and 30% were snapped up by major corporations and private research institutions the moment they hit the Alliance market. What was available externally was mostly below 30%, with rates under 40% being the most common.

After stowing the seeds away and heading to class, Tong Zhanyan spent the entire morning pondering his 200-square-meter plot.

That palm-sized patch of land already felt cramped with just these six seed varieties. Adding corn, sweet potatoes, and these four more…

Plus, one of them could only be planted in the summer.

Reaching this point, Tong Zhanyan immediately looked it up online.

Sure enough, watermelon seeds had the lowest survival rate among this batch, so low that ripe fruits were almost never seen for sale.

Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help but consider renting another greenhouse.

He now had twelve types of seeds. Even planting minimal quantities of each would require renting at least one more 200-square-meter greenhouse.

The problem was that new seeds would be arriving soon…

He had surveyed the area around his current greenhouse. There were no other greenhouses within at least a mile radius. Renting two separate spaces would mean constantly shuttling fertilizers and seeds back and forth between them.

Or should he just rent a 400-square-meter one?

But what about this current one?

And a greenhouse that size would definitely come with a hefty rental fee.

Tong Zhanyan looked down at the ground beneath his feet, helpless. Though surrounded by soil everywhere, he couldn’t plant anything.

Pondering this, Tong Zhanyan sent a message to Mr. Bai, asking if there were any larger greenhouses nearby.

“How big do you need?” Mr. Bai replied promptly.

“What’s the largest available?” Tong Zhanyan asked.

Four hundred square meters wasn’t much better than two hundred. Especially if he needed to divide it into sections, each plot would only be about a hundred square meters per season—spring, summer, fall, and winter. How many different crops could he possibly grow in that space?

“The largest?”

“For greenhouses, the biggest ones are like the ones Old Jin and others built on their own property. Each is around seven or eight hundred square meters. But we don’t have any greenhouses that large available for rent right now.”

Mr. Bai sent two replies in succession.

“What about something around twenty or thirty acres?” Tong Zhanyan sighed inwardly. What difference did seven or eight hundred square meters make compared to six hundred?

“There is.”

Tong Zhanyan’s eyebrow twitched.

There is?

“East of Sidi Military Academy lies a cultivation base. Over a decade ago, several top-tier corporations joined forces with the Four Great Families to create it artificially. Excluding the mountains and water features, the flat land suitable for cultivation alone spans at least several hundred acres.”

“That land has been on the market for years, but it’s been unsold due to its exorbitant price.”