A huge thanks to Salt Rose of Topaz. Thank you for your constant support. Enjoy the bonus chapters!

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The words “hundreds of acres” made Tong Zhanyan’s heart skip a beat involuntarily. Before his eyes, vast fields of thriving crops instantly materialized.

“How much?” Tong Zhanyan demanded immediately.

Everything related to farming in this world was expensive. Hundreds of acres—that would likely cost—

“Over twelve billion.”

Tong Zhanyan’s wildly beating heart abruptly stopped. The shift was so abrupt that it caused a sharp pain in his chest.

Over twelve billion?

This wasn’t expensive—it was an astronomical price.

This batch of cherry tomatoes was nearly eight times larger than his last crop. With relatively ample fertilizer, the total yield should be ten times greater than before. Even so, he could only expect to sell it for around twenty million credits.

Eggplants, cucumbers, and strawberries were nowhere near as productive as cherry tomatoes. Plus, this was only the second batch of seeds. If they yielded half as much as the cherry tomatoes, that would be decent—around thirty million credits.

Twenty million plus thirty million—rounded up, that’s just sixty million.

Sixty million—whether in his former world or this one—was absolutely no small sum. Yet compared to twelve billion, it was a mere drop in the bucket.

Even if he planted nonstop, four cycles a year, it would take six or seven years—and that was without factoring in other expenses and costs.

Tong Zhanyan felt utterly defeated, his heart dead and his entire being drained of strength.

He’d been genuinely pleased earlier—after all, this crop had yielded well, and tens of millions was more money than he’d ever seen…

In that brief moment, Mr. Bai had already sent another barrage of messages.

“Honestly, I don’t think you need to rush so much.”

“The next batch of seeds is about to come out, but we don’t know exactly what they’ll be like yet. What if they’re as difficult to grow as this batch of watermelons? Investing too much now carries significant risk.”

“Plus, once the new seeds arrive, it’ll take time to figure them out. Even if everything goes smoothly, large-scale planting won’t happen overnight.”

The crops Tong Zhanyan had sold at the store so far were all of good quality, but that didn’t guarantee the next batch would turn out well.

This kind of thing was quite common.

In the fifty-plus years since the seed vault was unsealed, they had encountered crops that were relatively easy to grow.

That had once boosted their confidence immensely. But once that batch of seeds was used up and the next batch was unsealed, everything returned to normal.

“I’ll think it over,” Tong Zhanyan sighed.

Mr. Bai’s concerns held little weight for him, though he appreciated the gesture.

Mr. Bai was a decent fellow.

“What are you thinking about?” Su Yanran gave Tong Zhanyan a light slap.

Tong Zhanyan snapped back to reality, only then noticing that less than half the students remained in the classroom, and those left were already heading for the door.

“Where are they going?” Tong Zhanyan asked blankly.

“Lunch. Aren’t you going?” Su Yanran eyed him suspiciously. Was Tong Zhanyan okay?

Tong Zhanyan glanced at the time and realized it was already lunchtime. He hurriedly stood up.

The cafeteria was unusually crowded today.

The lines stretched all the way outside, and every cafeteria was like this.

“It’s the second and third years,” Tian Xinqing said, perching on tiptoes and resting a hand on Su Yanran’s shoulder as she scanned the crowd.

Tong Zhanyan followed his gaze and noticed several people in the crowd sporting minor cuts and scrapes.

First-year training focused on physical conditioning and building foundational rapport and fusion with Spirit Beasts. Second-year training introduced substantial combat practice.

Most combat drills took place in the woodlands surrounding the school, which explained why entire groups would vanish for weeks at a time before suddenly reappearing.

“…Senior Da Liu…”

While observing, Tong Zhanyan caught the familiar phrase. He immediately looked over to see a group of over ten third-year students drinking nutrient solutions and chatting.

Tong Zhanyan held his breath, straining to listen.

The crowd was too loud and chaotic. After listening for a while, he still couldn’t make out what they were saying, nor did he hear any more references to “Senior Da Liu.”

After staring for a while longer, Tong Zhanyan withdrew his gaze.

He was too nervous.

The fertilizer incident had indeed caused quite a stir, but it was far from common knowledge. After all, not everyone followed cultivation topics constantly.

“What flavor do you want?” Tian Xinqing asked, turning back as their turn arrived.

“Original.”

“They just released a coconut flavor. Want to try it?” Tian Xinqing asked.

Tong Zhanyan had always preferred the original flavor. He and Su Yanran had once speculated it was due to financial constraints, but even after Tong Zhanyan made money in cultivation, his preference remained unchanged.

“No.” Tong Zhanyan declined without hesitation.

“Do you have anorexia?” Tian Xinqing asked curiously while paying for his own order.

Nutrient solutions were one thing, but Tong Zhanyan always wore a look of disgust even at delicious little tomatoes and bok choy.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t bother explaining—it was impossible to put into words.

The place was too crowded, so the three didn’t linger in the cafeteria. After buying their food, they headed straight back to the dorm.

At the cafeteria.

As soon as Dai Shuda entered the cafeteria, he spotted a group from Class 3, Year 3, huddled together, excitedly discussing something. He immediately joined them. “What’s going on?”

“Talking about something online.”

“There’s this super popular farming livestream lately. Apparently, the host is a genius at growing crops—twenty tomato plants can yield over twenty pounds.”

The group chimed in with explanations. Though not from the same class, they were quite familiar with each other from frequent training collaborations.

“Blah blah. Twenty tomatoes yielding twenty pounds? Might as well claim he can fly to the moon!” Dai Shuda scoffed skeptically.

“It’s true. There are screenshots online.”

“What screenshots?” Dai Shuda started to walk away, hungry.

“Screenshots of his previous twenty tomato plants.”

“I think I saved them.”

Dai Shuda, already stepping away, paused and turned back.

The moment he saw clearly, his eyebrows shot up.

In a cluttered corner, a pot riddled with holes, and starkly contrasting with it—a branch heavy with ripe little tomatoes…

Dai Shuda couldn’t resist zooming in on the image.

Terminals were incredibly advanced nowadays. Even someone with basic tech skills could edit photos seamlessly, leaving no trace. But editing required imagination—and this image exuded an oddness.

An oddness that differed from his vision of a bountiful harvest, yet felt strangely harmonious, as if everything was meant to be this way.

After staring for a while without spotting anything amiss, Dai Shuda blurted out, “… …Why does this room look so much like our school’s training room?“

”You think so too?“ Hearing this, someone nearby perked up immediately. ”I told them it looked familiar, but they said I was imagining things.“

”It does look a bit like it, but…” Dai Shuda wasn’t entirely sure either, since the background in the screenshot only showed a corner of the room.

Dai Shuda pulled out his terminal. “What was this livestream called again? Let me check.”

“Senior Dai Liu’s Planting Room.”

After lunch, Wang Yanzhou was passing by the cafeteria entrance, about to head back to the staff dormitory, when he heard this phrase.

Senior Dai Liu?

Wasn’t that the person the Class 4 homeroom teacher mentioned last night?

Wang Yanzhou kept walking forward while opening his terminal.

He had downloaded Green Shade, but rarely paid attention to planting livestreams. This was partly because he didn’t spend much time online killing time, and partly because he deliberately avoided it.

When it came to planting, one couldn’t escape the topic of frenzy.

Senior Da Liu…

Search results popped up, with the livestream at the top of the page and various related discussions below.

He skimmed through the first few popular comments.

Seeing the unfriendly words, he frowned.

The livestream was active. Opening it, a wave of greenery immediately washed over him as the camera navigated through a forest.

Wang Yanzhou froze. Wasn’t this supposed to be a planting livestream?

His confusion didn’t last long, as the camera soon drifted to the edge of the forest. It then soared upward, leaving the trees behind, and began to look down.

It wasn’t a forest at all, but a sea of green seedlings.

Crops?

Wang Yanzhou was somewhat surprised.

Even without seeking it out, he inevitably came across videos and posts about how difficult farming was, and thus had seen screenshots and clips of crops.

In his memory, crops always looked listless and unenthusiastic. Were these vibrant, spirited plants also crops?

Puzzled, he glanced at the chat stream.

The camera seemed particularly fond of the seedlings beneath his feet. In just a moment, it had already switched to another aisle, traversing through it—a move that excited the live stream audience considerably.

From their discussions, Wang Yanzhou learned those seedlings were cherry tomatoes.

Cherry tomatoes?

Wang Yanzhou looked again. He had seen cherry tomatoes before, but these were worlds apart.

If these seedlings were this robust, twenty plants yielding twenty pounds…

He actually found himself believing it.

After pondering, he clicked to follow.

He was genuinely curious now about who this senior from the sixth year really was.

The afternoon belonged to Devil King’s class.

Back in the dorm, Tong Zhanyan collapsed into bed for a nap.

Sure enough, the Devil King didn’t let them off easy that afternoon.

When evening finally arrived, and they heard the bell ring, watching the Devil King leave, the group collapsed onto the floor, unable to get up for quite some time.

“You guys go back first. I’ll grab dinner. What flavor do you want?” Tong Zhanyan looked across at Su Yanran and Tian Xinqing, still lying on the floor.

With extra training sessions both midday and evening, Su Yanran’s exhaustion was clearly visible these days.

Tian Xinqing had been following the extra training lately, too, though no one knew what he was thinking.

“Tong Zhanyan…”

The rest of the starving class, eyes gleaming, already drifted over like ghosts.

Tong Zhanyan helplessly opened his terminal. “What flavor?”

The group hurriedly called out their orders.

Long lines snaked through the cafeteria.

Tong Zhanyan spotted the shortest queue and started to head over when a group passed behind him.

“Why hasn’t that Senior Da Liu shown up? It’s been a whole day.”

“I’ve been following him for two days and haven’t seen him either.”

“You guys know him, too?”

“Too?”

“I’ve been following him for days…”

Tong Zhanyan’s steps faltered, his heartbeat quickening.

He glanced over.

A group of third-year students passed behind him, heading toward the shortest line to queue up.

With their addition, the line suddenly stretched incredibly long.

Suppressing his racing heart, Tong Zhanyan didn’t proceed further. He chose a nearby line instead.

The group continued discussing, but the distance between them and the diner’s crowded atmosphere made Tong Zhanyan unable to make out their words.

Half an hour later, Tong Zhanyan returned to the dormitory carrying a large bag of nutrient solution.

Tong Zhanyan climbed the stairs, distributed the supplies, and returned to his room.

He downed the nutrient solution in one gulp before inspecting the orange water.

Whenever he had free time, he’d check the orange peels soaked in warm water. A month had passed, and now the orange peels had settled to the bottom. The air no longer carried that distinctive citrus scent.

That was the sign the fertilizer had fully decomposed.

Tong Zhanyan gathered the mixture into a bag, planning to take it to the greenhouse in a couple of days.

After finishing this, he dug out the newly purchased seeds for inspection.

Watermelons demanded strict climate conditions, making cultivation impossible now. However, the other three varieties could be started early.

Their growth cycles were all lengthy. Without early propagation, waiting until planting time would mean delaying harvest by several months.

Tong Zhanyan stuffed them into a bag as well.

Finally, he headed to the back of the cafeteria to see if there were any eggshells and to gather some leaves.

By the time he returned to the dorm, it was already past eight in the evening.

Qing Jiyue was already in the room.

After washing up, Tong Zhanyan read for a while longer. At half past nine, he lay down on the bed and entered the livestream from the backend.

He had the camera set to cruise mode, currently circling around.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t bother controlling it, simply watching as it made a full rotation.

Passing by the sweet potatoes, he glanced over again. Still no sprouts.

After finishing the tour, Tong Zhanyan was about to log off and sleep when he noticed a bunch of new system notifications.

He opened them, skimmed through, and was about to mark them all as read when he noticed one stood out.

Tong Zhanyan clicked to view it.

The message came from Green Shade’s management, inquiring if he was interested in joining Green Shade.

This wasn’t the kind of platform streaming contract he knew from his previous world, but something much deeper.

Upon joining, they would dispatch a dedicated management team to handle his livestream room and various behind-the-scenes tasks. Beyond preserving his current status, he would receive far more generous benefits than any ordinary streamer.

Seeing that message, Tong Zhanyan had only one thought: It finally came.

Their goal likely extended beyond merely managing his livestream—they sought to manage him as a person.

As the frenzy intensified and the planting crisis remained unsolved with no glimmer of hope, the sudden emergence of someone skilled in cultivation naturally drew attention far beyond just his livestream audience—those who’d wince at plucking even two leaves.

Tong Zhanyan had anticipated this outcome.

If he could, he wouldn’t want to get involved, but he had no choice.

Tong Zhanyan clicked reply, offering a blunt refusal before shutting down the terminal.

Lights-out was still half an hour away.

His thoughts drifted back to that cultivation base.

If he continued farming this way, a larger space was inevitable. That cultivation base was undoubtedly his best option.

Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help glancing at the person across from him, tidying their desk.

As the sole heir and future Qing Family Head, Qing Jiyue should be quite wealthy, right?

Catching his gaze, Qing Jiyue looked over.

After washing up, he hadn’t bothered to tie his hair back. As he turned his head, his long locks cascaded down, softening his sharp features with a touch of gentleness.

Tong Zhanyan rolled over.

He had actually considered secretly recording a cultivation video, then approaching the Sidi Military Academy or directly joining the Cultivation Alliance, but he abandoned all those plans.

He couldn’t guarantee how those people would treat him.

Setting aside the various disputes hidden beneath power and interests, and the possibility that someone might want to kill him if they couldn’t get what they wanted, the best outcome he could envision was that they would treat him as an honored guest because of his skills.

That seemed like a decent outcome.

But such “honored guest” status would inevitably mean loss of freedom. They might permit him to pursue personal projects when conditions allowed—but only when conditions allowed.

By then, forget about choosing what to plant; even whether to plant at all would likely be out of his hands.

He didn’t mind sharing his knowledge, but others might. When profit was involved, nothing was certain.

Borrowing from Qing Jiyue…

Over a billion credits—Qing Jiyue personally couldn’t possibly come up with that. The Qing Family…

If he really borrowed it, even if Qing Jiyue managed to refrain from interfering, what about the people around him?

And why would Qing Jiyue go to such lengths to help him?

The Qing Family receives crops directly from the Alliance. Their infection rate is estimated at around 20%. Given the Qing Family’s special status, the Alliance wouldn’t let them run short even if others did.

His livestream channel currently looks promising, but he’s still growing crops with an infection rate below 40%.

What Qing Jiyue truly lacked wasn’t crops, but a cure for the frenzy.

He might manage to grow low-infection-rate seeds, but curing the frenzy? That was beyond his capabilities.

“What’s wrong?” Qing Jiyue asked, breaking the silence.

“Nothing. Just go to sleep.” Tong Zhanyan pulled the blanket over his head.

Qing Jiyue raised an eyebrow.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan was halfway through class before realizing Qing Jiyue was actually there too.

“What are you doing here?” Tong Zhanyan asked in surprise.

Except for the very first session, Qing Jiyue had always done self-directed training for the Devil King’s class.

“Attending class,” Qing Jiyue replied while maintaining a steady pace ahead.

Tong Zhanyan choked on his words. Qing Jiyue had a sense of humor?

Tong Zhanyan overtook him and ran forward.

Half a year on, he was no longer the guy who could only manage two laps while Tian Xinqing and the others ran eighteen. Now, he could complete the entire circuit.

Qing Jiyue watched Tong Zhanyan’s retreating figure for a moment before slowing his pace to run alongside Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran behind him. “What’s up with him?”

Both Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran, who were running, froze.

“Who?”

“Tong Zhanyan,” Qing Jiyue replied.

Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran exchanged glances.

They’d both noticed Tong Zhanyan seemed distracted lately, but hadn’t given it much thought—usually when he was preoccupied, it was about the greenhouse.

They knew nothing about those matters, let alone offer advice, so they could only watch.

Getting no answer and seeing the two were equally clueless, Qing Jiyue said, “Go ask him.”

Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran were friends with Tong Zhanyan.

The two exchanged another glance, then looked suspiciously at Qing Jiyue before accelerating forward.

“You okay?” Tian Xinqing scrutinized Tong Zhanyan up and down as he approached, finding nothing amiss.

“What—”

“Tong Zhanyan.”

Before Tong Zhanyan could finish his sentence, the Devil King’s roar echoed through the air.

The three had no time for words, sprinting forward at full speed.

Caught daydreaming, Tong Zhanyan’s legs trembled as they headed to the cafeteria at noon.

“…Twelve billion? Are you insane, or are my ears failing?” Su Yanran looked utterly shocked.

“It’s this world that’s gone mad,” Tong Zhanyan replied flatly.

It’s just a piece of land, yet they’re demanding such an astronomical price.

“How about I lend you some?” Tian Xinqing hesitated.

Tong Zhanyan glanced at him—Tian Xinqing’s family seemed quite well-off.

“Lend you… thirty million?”

Tong Zhanyan and Su Yanran exchanged glances, both seeing astonishment in each other’s eyes.

They knew Tian Xinqing’s family was well-off, but with average wages of only around three to five thousand, how could a student like Tian Xinqing dare ask to borrow such a large sum? What kind of family was Tian Xinqing from?

“But I need to talk to my dad first.”

The mere mention of his father made Tian Xinqing visibly resistant—he’d been sent here by his father.

Tong Zhanyan sighed. ”It’s not necessary for now.”

Thirty million credits was certainly no small sum, but even with that, he’d still be twelve billion short. It was meaningless.

The afternoon was devoted to academic classes.

That night, Tong Zhanyan carried orange juice and seeds to the greenhouse.

At the Planting Alliance.

Shen Ye stood at the doorway, peering out nervously.

Further down the corridor, Tang Xin also craned his neck, leaning sideways.

“Are they here yet?”

“Not—” Tang Xin stopped mid-sentence as two familiar figures came into view. “Here they come!”

“What is it?” Old Xu looked utterly perplexed.

“It’ll be here soon. You’ll understand when you see it.” Thinking of what was about to happen, Gu Yunyang’s heart raced past 180 beats per minute, making his hands tremble.

Old Xu noticed Gu Yunyang’s nervousness, deepening his confusion.

Gu Yunyang had always been a remarkably steady person.

Reaching the doorway, Gu Yunyang paused.

Shen Ye and Tang Xin, who had been guarding the doorway, had retreated back inside. The door was now ajar.

Old Xu stopped in his tracks.

Gu Yunyang took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Old Xu glanced at him once more before stepping inside.

Upon entering, he saw Shen Ye and Tang Xin. Just as he was about to ask what was going on, his gaze suddenly froze.

Behind them stood over a hundred small tomato seedlings. Each had grown to chest height, and by all logic, they should have branched profusely by now. Yet these plants had only one or two pitiful main stems.

The leaves below the main stems were entirely absent.

Numerous broken branches were visible on the plants, as if they had endured brutal mistreatment, causing anyone who saw them to frown involuntarily.

Without exception, each plant bore five or six clusters of green fruit, each about the size of a finger.

Old Xu paused briefly before heading over to them.

Shen Ye and Tang Xin, filled with trepidation, immediately looked toward Gu Yunyang. Gu Yunyang shook his head, signaling them not to disturb him.

Approaching, Old Xu first circled halfway around, confirming all seedlings were in the same state before casually selecting a spot to crouch down and examine closely.

Upon closer inspection, the seedlings appeared even more wretched. Particularly jarring were the deeply severed branches—some clearly mature yet brutally snapped off, their wounds starkly visible.

Equally shocking were the clusters of green tomatoes hanging from the vines.

Cherry tomatoes are prone to blossom drop, and most often, they naturally shed enough flowers to stabilize. Thus, typically only about half the flowers on a cluster develop into fruit, leaving the rest bare.

But not these tomatoes. They too experienced blossom drop, yet only one or two flowers fell per cluster. Some clusters remained entirely intact, not a single flower lost.

The clusters bore so many fruits that they appeared crowded.

Gu Yunyang and the others waited patiently until Old Xu looked up.

“What’s going on?” A faint flush had already appeared on Old Xu’s face, a sign of blood rushing to his head.

Seeing him like this, even Gu Yunyang couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

Having never overcome the challenges of cultivation, Old Xu developed heart palpitations in his later years and couldn’t handle strong stimuli.

If this upset caused him serious harm…

Gu Yunyang took a deep breath and hurriedly explained, “Do you remember the question I asked you during that public lecture?”

Old Xu remained silent, only staring at Gu Yunyang.

He had long since recalled it.

He also remembered his response then—having ideas was a good thing.

He still felt the same way now.

Plucking buds prematurely just because flowers might fall was utterly absurd.

“The reason these cherry tomatoes are dropping flowers is due to insufficient nutrients…” Gu Yunyang quickly recited the words he’d memorized long ago, “… After I pinched them off, the blossom drop stopped on the fourth day. As for what happened afterward, you saw it yourself.“

”Lack of nutrients…“ Old Master Xu’s face alternated between flushing red and furrowing his brow. He certainly didn’t believe the notion that ”since the flowers were going to fall, we should pinch them off early,” but if it was about nutrient deficiency, that was another matter entirely.

Old Xu’s expression shifted repeatedly, while Gu Yunyang and the other two watched their hearts skip beats.

“You came up with all this yourself?” Old Xu finally spoke after a long pause.

He never hesitated to share his knowledge with others, genuinely hoping someone would master crop cultivation.

Gu Yunyang was young—this was only his first year running an independent greenhouse.

What had eluded Old Xu his entire life, this young upstart had grasped in a single year.

“No.”

Old Xu’s mood was already complicated when he heard this answer.

Old Xu froze for a second, then hurriedly asked, “Then how did you know?”

“This is precisely why I asked you here,” Gu Yunyang said, glancing at Shen Ye and the other person. One rushed to fetch a stool, the other hurried to pour water.

“Please sit.”

“Here’s some water.”

Old Xu was eager to return to verify this method, but he sat down nonetheless.

“Have you heard of planting livestreams? It’s live-streaming the planting process,” Gu Yunyang asked.

“Planting livestreams?” Old Xu frowned.

He actually knew about them and had even watched for a while a few years prior.

His original intention was to learn something or engage in mutual exchange, but cultivation proved so difficult that few succeeded. Consequently, most focused on the live-streaming aspect itself.

They wore pristine white sneakers, uttered words that likely weren’t their own, and treated farming as a tool for gaining followers.

Many even marketed “death” as a selling point.

In today’s climate, who doesn’t have a couple of frenzy-infected people in their circle?

Crops die, they cry, fans get sentimental—and in the end, their follower counts might even outpace those who actually grow thriving crops.

Having witnessed it firsthand, Old Xu felt nothing but disgust for that whole scene.

Gu Yunyang swiftly opened his terminal and pulled up two screenshots. “These are his previous batch of tomato seedlings and the fruits when they ripened.”

“His?”

Gu Yunyang offered no explanation, simply handing over the terminal.

Old Xu looked at the screenshots.

The seedlings looked decent.

As for the fruit, Old Xu was quite surprised—but not by the tomatoes themselves. With good luck, he could achieve similar yields.

What astonished him was the identical, pitiful state of those tomato seedlings compared to Gu Yunyang’s, and the fact that nearly every flower bud on each cluster bore fruit.

His own fruits were what remained after shedding; his “luck” merely meant minimal blossom drop.

These tomato plants, however, had retained every single flower bud.

The two situations were entirely different.

After Old Xu finished viewing, Gu Yunyang retrieved the terminal and slowly pulled up a video segment. “This is footage of his later batch of cherry tomato seedlings during their early growth stage.”

Old Xu immediately watched.

Those seedlings were visibly exceptional—so much so that his first thought was growth hormones.

He couldn’t grow seedlings of that caliber.

What astonished him even more was that behind those tomato seedlings were five other types of seedlings, all thriving remarkably well.

After Old Xu finished watching, Gu Yunyang opened the third video. “This shows the seedlings fifteen days later.”

As he watched, the astonishment faded from Old Xu’s face, replaced by solemnity and deep thought.

Because as those seedlings grew larger, they didn’t gradually weaken like his own seedlings. Instead, they became increasingly lush and vigorous.

“This is twenty-five days…”

This time, Old Xu didn’t wait for Gu Yunyang to hand him the terminal. He stood up and leaned in to watch himself.

The seedlings showed no signs of weakening. Instead, they appeared more vibrant than ever, resembling a small forest.

If seedlings of this caliber bore fruit, imagine how many cherry tomatoes they’d produce…

Master Xu waited.

But Gu Yunyang didn’t open another video. Instead, he found Senior Da Liu’s livestream and handed it over. “This is his livestream.”

Old Xu paused, then quickly took it to watch.

The camera was panning across the field, directly facing that patch of cherry tomatoes.

They had now been transplanted into the ground. Though the spacing made them appear less dense than before, their sturdy stems stood out more clearly.

Equally evident were the numerous buds bursting with life, ready to sprout.

Gazing at the little tomatoes, Wang Yanzhou’s expression softened involuntarily.

Nothing soothes the soul quite like the sight of thriving crops—even he couldn’t resist their charm.

The others in the livestream felt the same way.

“I’ve been staring at them all afternoon.”

“+1”

“I want to crawl right in there.”

“I want to sleep among them.”

“All that green looks so soothing.”

Watching the stream of comments float by, Wang Yanzhou’s expression softened further as he reached for a glass of water beside him and took a sip.

“Host?”

“Is that the host?”

“Trash host, you finally deigned to show up. It’s been three days—what kind of host acts like you…”

The livestream erupted instantly.

Wang Yanzhou, whose heart had just found calm in that verdant view, immediately followed the gaze. Anyone capable of growing such crops couldn’t be too young—

“Pfft—”

Wang Yanzhou sprayed water everywhere.

On camera.

Entering the room, Tong Zhanyan set two buckets of orange juice against the wall and rubbed his palms.

Each bucket held five liters of orange juice—quite heavy.

Rubbing his hands, he surveyed the space.

The cherry tomatoes showed little change; they’d stopped growing much taller. The eggplants, however, had shot up another inch, nearly surpassing the tomatoes in height.

The strawberries hadn’t grown taller, but their leaves had visibly multiplied. Over by the cucumbers, vines were already visible.

Estimating today’s tasks, Tong Zhanyan pulled the seeds he’d brought from his pocket, found a cup, filled it with hot water, and soaked them.

“Time to fertilize first,” Tong Zhanyan said, walking toward the second batch of compost buckets for the cherry tomatoes. “This is the compost I made earlier. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough materials back then, so I only managed to make this little bit… I’ll probably use it all up today.”

As he spoke, he poured the last of the liquid fertilizer from the bucket into an empty pot nearby.

His actions revealed the contents of the bucket, leaving those seeing it for the first time on screen utterly baffled.

That filthy-looking stuff is fertilizer?

Won’t this kill the seedlings?

Others were thrilled.

“I told you that stuff looked familiar! You all said I was mistaken. Look—those are clearly the same little tomato seedlings from before!”

“Seems like it really is…”

“So he chopped down those seedlings earlier just to make fertilizer?”

“…”

On screen, Yang Hong was utterly speechless.

Back then, seeing those seedlings treated so horribly had infuriated them—they’d even felt murderous.

They never imagined they’d see those seedlings again, especially not like this.

Tong Zhanyan measured out the liquid fertilizer, dividing it proportionally among several pots of stored water before stirring thoroughly.

The water mixed with the fertilizer solution turned slightly yellow, with some residue floating on top. It didn’t look very pleasant, but it didn’t smell bad either.

Tong Zhanyan filled a large basin with the solution, grabbed a big plastic cup, and carried them over to the seedlings.

Though he used the watering method, mindful of the limited fertilizer, he poured sparingly to avoid waste, adding just a little at a time.

After finishing one pot, he filled another.

For the 150-160 square meters of land, he made over twenty trips back and forth.

By the time he finished, all the buckets were empty, and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

He refilled every container with water.

While the water drained, he inspected the strawberry seedlings once more.

Strawberries also require leaf pinching, though the purpose differs slightly from the root aeration goal of cherry tomatoes. Here, it primarily stimulates growth.

Once strawberry leaves reach a certain number, new leaf growth slows considerably. While not fatal in itself, many of the older leaves are still from the seedling stage. Not only are they small, but their photosynthetic capacity is weak. Keeping them severely impacts later flowering and fruiting while consuming nutrients.

Therefore, after transplanting, all the old leaves are typically pinched off to encourage the growth of a new set of larger leaves.

Some of those strawberry leaves were already ready for pinching.

Tong Zhanyan had never been one to spare anything alive. Spotting leaves he could pinch during his inspection, he promptly snapped them off with a series of sharp snips.

“Pfft…”

Wang Yanzhou, who had just regained his composure, took a sip of water only to see Tong Zhanyan suddenly grab a perfectly healthy strawberry plant and start snapping off leaves. Within minutes, it was stripped down to just four or five bare leaves.

They had nearly ten leaves before, forming a lush, green cluster.

This made the water in his mouth spray out again.

What on earth possessed Tong Zhanyan?

“???”

“What’s the streamer doing?”

“Seriously, what are you doing?”

“Aaaah, my strawberries…”

The chat exploded with question marks.

Many viewers had only recently joined the stream.

The group chatting casually in the chat room simultaneously shifted their focus.

“Why did he pinch off those strawberries, too?”

“Again? Why do I keep saying ‘again’?”

“He said pinching cherry tomatoes improves ventilation—is this also for ventilation?”

“Strawberries grow close to the ground, so ventilation does seem necessary. But isn’t this pruning a bit extreme? He’s practically pruning them all off…”

“He’s cut off at least half of them.”

“Only four or five leaves left. Won’t they die from this?”

Out of over a hundred strawberry plants, only seven or eight needed pinching now. Tong Zhanyan finished watering and promptly pinched them all.

After pinching, he tossed the leaves into the compost bin and explained, “…Strawberries are like this. You have to pinch them, and pinch them hard. Otherwise, it affects later flowering and fruiting.”

Gu Yunyang, who was meticulously explaining the process to Old Xu step by step according to the plan, hadn’t expected Senior Da Liu to disregard proper technique and just start pinching. He froze in surprise.

But he was somewhat used to it by now. Though his brow instinctively furrowed and his heart ached—those little tomatoes hadn’t been pinched this harshly—he didn’t react with the same fury as before.

“Even though he often seems to be acting recklessly…” After hearing Senior Da Liu’s words, Gu Yunyang turned to continue, only to see the person beside him falling straight backward.

Gu Yunyang froze for a moment before reacting, rushing to support him. “Master Xu?!”