“Huh?” Tao Zhengping froze for a second before breaking into a run.

He dashed in and out of the door, spotting Old Wang sitting perfectly still at his desk. A moment of confusion flashed across his face, but he swiftly handed over the respirator he carried with him. “Old Wang…”

Taking it, Old Wang took two sharp breaths.

On the desk, on the screen, in the previously empty livestream room, a figure that didn’t look very old was busy working with their back to the camera.

“Are you okay?” Only then did Tao Zhengping notice that Old Wang’s face had turned the color of liver.

“Should we go to the hospital?” Tao Zhengping grew anxious.

Gu Yunyang had instructed him to keep a close watch. For the past two days, he hadn’t left Old Wang’s side. Only because the crops in his greenhouse needed watering today did he step away briefly.

And he’d only been gone a few minutes…

“I’m fine.” Old Wang waved him off. His breathing had steadied considerably, though the sharp ache in his chest lingered. “…This must stay between us. Especially keep it from that Xu fellow.”

Seeing Old Wang still had the strength to preserve his dignity, Tao Zhengping’s heart finally settled.

In that brief moment, the camera captured Tong Zhanyan closing the lid on the compost bucket and turning his attention to inspecting the batch of seedlings growing behind him.

Yardlong beans, chili peppers, and carrots were all spring-plantable varieties. After several days, most had sprouted, appearing as tiny, tender green shoots beneath the plastic sheeting.

Watching this scene, the hearts of the live-stream audience softened.

Tong Zhanyan, however, remained expressionless.

Though he was long accustomed to the malnourished, barely alive state of seeds upon first planting, seeing them again still drew an involuntary sigh from him.

Breeding takes time. Those extra months could have easily allowed him to plant another round.

Replacing the plastic cover, Tong Zhanyan turned his attention to the tomatoes. The only seeds he currently had to spare were those little tomato varieties.

Perhaps he could plant more of the next batch?

If only he had enough soil.

But if the soil remained this nutrient-depleted, even the finest seeds wouldn’t survive the ordeal.

Tong Zhanyan hadn’t witnessed the precise sterilization procedures applied to this world’s soil. Yet judging by his few months of cultivation, it seemed not only beneficial microbes had vanished—likely even essential mineral components had been leached away.

His thoughts drifted to his ambitious chicken-raising venture.

He walked toward the cherry radishes and bok choy plants reserved for seed saving.

The flowers were already showing signs of wilting, though harvest day was still a few days away.

After finishing his tasks and giving the garden one last thorough look, Tong Zhanyan headed back to school.

That night, Tong Zhanyan ordered some plant supports online.

Everything related to crops was expensive in this world. He’d intended to find substitutes, but after searching high and low, he couldn’t find anything suitable. In the end, he gritted his teeth and bought the specialized ones.

Metal rods and water pipes were too slippery, while other materials might contaminate the soil.

After finishing his work, Tong Zhanyan instinctively glanced at the bed opposite.

Qing Jiyue hadn’t returned since leaving that day.

Qing Jiyue had offered to help, but how easy could this really be?

In another decade, if Qing Jiyue truly took over the Qing Family and combined it with his own abilities, he might genuinely find a solution. But right now, he was barely a teenager himself.

Tong Zhanyan suddenly recalled Qing Jiyue’s voice, trembling with tears.

Tong Zhanyan turned off the light and went to bed early.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan didn’t go to the greenhouse, but he visited on the third day.

Upon entering, Tong Zhanyan rolled up his sleeves and began pinching away.

As the first batch of leaves and branches suitable for pinching emerged, several crops gradually entered the stage of pruning branches and leaves.

The cherry tomatoes, especially with their higher seed viability, grew branches and flower buds with remarkable vigor. Sometimes, a single plant could yield a handful of leaves and branches to pinch off.

This time, Tong Zhanyan was more selective about pinching flower buds.

This time, the seedlings were healthier than last time, and the fertilizer was relatively sufficient. Therefore, Tong Zhanyan planned to let each plant bear eight to ten clusters of fruit.

Tong Zhanyan felt he was pinching less, but the viewers in the livestream didn’t see it that way.

Watching the flower buds they had worked so hard to grow get roughly handled like that, even though they were mentally prepared, the livestream was still filled with wails.

A day later, Tong Zhanyan returned to the greenhouse.

Upon entering, he began pinching buds again.

With so many buds to remove, and the eggplants now widely entering this stage with their thicker shoots, his fingers soon grew sore from the constant pinching.

Left with no other option, he reached for his tools.

“Pinching them was bad enough, but he actually pulled out scissors…”

“Is he even human? He’s a demon.”

“Don’t get angry, don’t get angry. It’s all for the fruit…”

“Every flower bud he pinched was a potential cluster of fruit. Think of how many fruits that is.”

“These seedlings are so healthy this time, I really don’t think it’s necessary to pinch off so many…”

Tong Zhanyan disliked the scissors because they weren’t very practical.

The branching flower buds grew close to the leaves and main stems. Many spots were too narrow for the scissors to reach, and with so many branches and buds, visibility was often obstructed. One wrong move could lead to cutting the wrong part.

Especially with cherry tomatoes—their undeveloped flower buds were particularly slender, making the task even trickier.

Snip.

After accidentally cutting off a nearby leaf, Tong Zhanyan gave an awkward smile, too self-conscious to glance at the livestream chat.

Though the livestream remained noisy with no shortage of skeptics, more viewers were trying to accept his ventilation and nutrient management methods.

Such obvious mistakes clearly weren’t part of that acceptance.

On screen.

Gu Yunyang, Tao Zhengping, and others looked worriedly at the two people seated at the very front of the crowd.

One clutched nitroglycerin pills, the other a respirator.

“Water…” Tang Xin brought another glass from the side.

Gu Yunyang quickly took it and placed it before Old Xu.

As he moved, he stole a glance. Seeing their faces flushed a liver-like red, he desperately wanted to say, “If you can’t hold on, we should take the medicine and use the respirator,” but ultimately didn’t dare.

The two had never gotten along well, and now they were locked in a silent standoff.

Gu Yunyang retreated to the back row.

“Huff…” Old Wang took a deep breath, grinning at the man beside him whose facial muscles were twitching. “What? Already giving up?”

Old Xu shot him a glance. “Looks more like you, doesn’t it?”

“Click—”

Both men turned their gaze toward the screen simultaneously.

The second leaf fell, trailing its branch.

“Huff—” Old Wang grabbed the inhaler and sucked hard. Old Xu trembled as he poured the pills from his hand into his mouth.

Behind them, the crowd watched with eyes wide and lids twitching. The person at the very back even swung open the office door, ready to rush anyone out for emergency care at a moment’s notice.

In the livestream chat, Tong Zhanyan spoke up, “Honestly, one more leaf or one less leaf doesn’t really make a difference…”

Better left unsaid. The moment he spoke, comments flooded the screen like a burst dam.

Tong Zhanyan chuckled. Should he bow and apologize to this tomato plant?

After this round of pinching, Tong Zhanyan returned two days later.

This time, he brought the support frame he’d purchased.

Upon entering, Tong Zhanyan briefly explained the trellis setup before getting to work.

Assembling the trellis wasn’t difficult: three thicker poles formed tripods at each end, with a crossbar spanning the middle. Then, poles were inserted beside each cucumber seedling, their tops secured to the crossbar.

There were three rows of cucumbers. Since the fruits would gain weight as they ripened, Tong Zhanyan set up three sets of supports for each row.

“But seriously, the streamer is being way too cheap. You bought the supports, so why not just buy some clips too? Using rope to tie them up…”

“Maybe it’s more convenient?”

“Do you actually believe that?”

“Don’t be silly. I’ve bought these supports before—they’re the cheapest kind. If he can’t even spare money for proper support, why would he buy clips?”

“As long as it works, who cares about all that fuss?”

“Wait, you guys have time to argue about supports? Did you forget what we’re supposed to do after setting them up?”

“!!!”

Cucumbers have a natural tendency to climb, but not every vine finds the support accurately. That’s why, after setting up the trellis, people usually guide the vines down manually.

And Tong Zhanyan had never been the meticulous type.

“I’m already starting to feel short of breath.”

“My heart is already starting to ache.”

“No, I need to close the livestream and catch my breath…”

“My hands are shaking…”

Setting up the trellis wasn’t difficult, but it was incredibly tedious. By the time Tong Zhanyan finished nine trellises, two hours had passed.

After setting up the trellis, he took a short break before starting to guide the cucumber vines.

The entire process took less than ten minutes.

The livestream chat erupted in frenzy.

The seeds had poor germination rates. Even though many cucumber vines had grown to twenty centimeters long, the entire trellis still looked sparsely populated.

Tong Zhanyan adjusted the fan near that section, ensuring no dead spots remained.

Finally, he deftly pulled out a pair of scissors.

The livestream chat immediately erupted in frenzy once more.

By the time Tong Zhanyan finished, it was past eleven at night. He peeled off the plastic sheeting covering the cowpeas, peppers, and carrots before rushing back to campus.

Seeing the young seedlings still damp with moisture, the hearts of the viewers—who had been hurt countless times that night—melted. Yet, they couldn’t help but feel even more heartbroken.

These seedlings would inevitably meet the same fate.

Qing Jiyue still hadn’t returned.

Seeing that Green Shade hadn’t replied since his initial blunt refusal, they messaged him again. This time, the other party suggested meeting in person to talk.

Tong Zhanyan replied again, his message still a refusal.

After several rounds of pinching off flowers and leaves, when Tong Zhanyan visited the greenhouse again on Friday, the little tomatoes had fully entered their flowering phase.

The moment he stepped inside, Tong Zhanyan’s gaze was drawn to the sea of blossoms, dotted like stars.

Instead of going straight in, he first turned on the light screen on his camera to take a look.

If he was captivated by those blossoms, the livestream’s buzz was beyond imagination.

Not only did daily viewership climb steadily, but the comment section was constantly refreshed with new content. New followers, in particular, averaged several thousand daily.

This pushed his total follower count ever closer to a million.

But the most dramatic change was in the bullet comments.

Most viewers had only been drawn in after he started fertilizing. Beyond a screenshot, what they saw most was how he “abused” the seedlings. Consequently, voices of doubt and confusion persisted—and weren’t exactly few.

Yet as those little tomatoes collectively burst into bloom, the future of branches heavy with fruit became increasingly clear. Slowly, those voices were replaced by excitement.

The light screen popped up, and the screen erupted with excited screams.

Amid the screams, some asked about the giveaway.

Other livestreams do giveaways.

“There will be a giveaway this time. Details will be announced once the fruits ripen.” Tong Zhanyan glanced back at the small tomatoes.

The affirmative answer sparked an immediate wave of excitement in the chat.

Many had tasted fruits and vegetables before, but Tong Zhanyan’s livestream was clearly different.

Tong Zhanyan smiled. “Then let’s begin pollination.”

“What are the requirements for the giveaway?”

“How many winners?”

“I’ll get ready in advance…”

“At least veteran fans, right?”

Veteran fans: followers who’ve been subscribed for over ten days and logged over fifty hours online.

All livestream platforms have a built-in tier system for fans, though the names can be customized.

Most streamers change theirs to something related to their channel to boost fan loyalty.

But Senior Da Liu had always kept the default.

People had suggested changing it, but Senior Da Liu just seemed “unfazed” by such things. After a few suggestions, they gave up.

“Long-time fans? That’s low. I’d guess Senior’s channel has at least a hundred thousand or two.”

“More than that, definitely. Just look at his daily online numbers—so many people are practically online all day.”

“I’ve been here since I joined…”

“Then what about die-hard fans?”

Die-hard fans: followed for over ten days, logged over 200 hours, and posted over 300 comments or bullet chats.

“That sounds about right.”

“Still too low. Other streams wouldn’t have many fans at this level, but with this stream’s daily online numbers, they could easily scrape together tens of thousands. That win rate is way too low…”

“No way, leave some hope for newcomers.”

“Exactly, what about newcomers…”

“Wait, what’s he doing?”

“Aaaah!”

“I—”

Amidst the lively chatter in the bullet comments, a completely different scream suddenly erupted, instantly drowning out the previous conversation.

Everyone immediately looked up.

The moment they recognized the scene, excitement instantly gave way to heartache and the urge to scream.

On screen, the senior from the sixth year who’d been talking about pollination was now smacking those little tomatoes across the face, slap after slap.

His blows were incredibly forceful, sending the tomatoes swaying violently. For an instant, they even thought they heard the tomatoes crying—

Planting Alliance.

“…He’s used this method before, and the pollination rate was actually pretty high, just like that screenshot—” The moment he heard the word “pollination,” Gu Yunyang jumped in to explain, trying to prepare Old Xu and the others mentally.

“Huff—”

“Water.”

But before he could finish, Senior Da Liu had already started.

Gu Yunyang’s mouth twitched. The respirator was one thing, but could he really pop heart medicine like this every day?

On camera.

After pollinating and pruning the flower buds, Tong Zhanyan hurriedly repotted the cowpeas, peppers, and carrots.

Time was already running short.

He transplanted the corn into the field, reserving a dedicated plot for breeding later.

The sweet potatoes still hadn’t sprouted.

Nearly twenty days had passed since planting. If he’d held onto hope before, it was now completely dashed.

After transplanting, Tong Zhanyan collected seeds from the cherry radishes and bok choy.

These seeds could be sown immediately, and he needed them to feed the chickens, but he decided to let them rest for a day.

This would help the seeds detach more easily from the plants, and he needed time to prepare the soil.

The next day, the first thing Tong Zhanyan did upon entering the greenhouse was to process those seeds.

After rubbing all the seeds loose, he immediately soaked them in hot water and then began preparing the soil.

He loosened and broke up all the previously used soil, then brought in some decomposed soil from behind the greenhouse, spreading it evenly. He mixed in some plant ash and eggshell powder.

The tasks weren’t numerous, but they were tedious, especially the soil transport. He couldn’t lift a full bucket, so he stubbornly made over ten trips back and forth.

He used up four buckets of soil in total.

By the time he finished thoroughly mixing all the soil again, it was already 1:00 AM.

The livestream had quite a few viewers, but in the real world, it was already deep into the quiet of the night.

After resting, Tong Zhanyan didn’t pull out a stack of disposable cups like before. Instead, he divided the freshly prepared soil into two evenly sized rectangular sections and began watering them.

After confirming every bit of soil was thoroughly saturated, he picked up the seeds, shook off excess water, and carefully scattered them.

The soaked seeds were sticky, making the task quite difficult.

In his old world, seeds weren’t soaked because they’d sprout and grow just as quickly without it. But here, things were different, and he needed them urgently to feed his chickens.

After spending a considerable amount of time finally finishing the scattering, Tong Zhanyan sprinkled a thin layer of soil over the surface. He then retrieved plastic wrap and covered both sections separately.

Victims’ Alliance.

“You can do it like this?”

“Didn’t they say growing seedlings in cups is faster?”

“Everyone else plants them individually. Isn’t scattering them like this too dense? Won’t they crowd each other once they sprout?”

“Feels like he’s just cutting corners…”

The live stream audience kept growing. Yang Hong and his group could no longer chat freely in the bullet comments like before, so they all moved to the group chat.

The group chat wasn’t much better.

As the live stream’s daily active fans increased, their group had long surpassed 1,000 members and was about to hit capacity again.

Yang Hong had been pondering whether to create a second or third group.

This wasn’t really his responsibility, but Senior Da Liu hadn’t made a move on it.

Precisely because Senior Da Liu hadn’t acted, Yang Hong had seen several people creating their own groups recently.

Creating groups wasn’t a big deal—his own group was unofficial, too—but with more people came the inevitable influx of weirdos…

If trouble brewed, all the blame would land squarely on Senior Da Liu.

While he was genuinely furious with him early on, and still often gritted his teeth at the senior’s carelessness, he had watched the senior build his position step by step.

If all the messes were dumped on the senior, he’d be the first to object.

But creating a group isn’t just about setting it up—it requires management…

Yang Hong pinched the bridge of his nose.

After pondering, he asked the group, “What do you think about starting a second group?”

“Is the group about to fill up again?” asked Changge.

Fish-Loving Kitten: “Lots of new people joining lately.”

Midsummer Madness Feels Cool: “No surprise. Senior’s livestream has nearly a million followers, and the daily activity is crazy high.”

Since it was late at night, the group wasn’t as busy as during the day. Most of those online were from the original founding group.

“I’m thinking about setting up an official group,” Yang Hong said.

“Official?”

“Did you get in touch with Senior?”

“Ahhhhh—!”

The group exploded with replies.

“No, what I mean is we set it up first, then hand it over to him later when he wants to manage it…” Yang Hong quickly explained his idea and concerns.

“With more people joining, it’s time to start managing things.”

“Senior should handle this himself. Without his authorization, we can’t manage it even if we wanted to.”

“It baffles me—aren’t livestreams all about views? Why does he seem so indifferent? But if he doesn’t care, why even set up a channel?”

“Because of those crops. Do you think someone who’s grown them to this level can stay out of the spotlight? Who knows how many people are eyeing them greedily?”

“??? What do you mean? Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Senior already revealed his expertise. What more do they want?”

“What’s the point?”

“Who turns down money? As long as frenzy isn’t too problematic, there’s no shortage of people needing them. Twenty seedlings yielding twenty pounds—that’s massive profit potential!”

“Beyond the profits, whoever controls Senior will hold all the cards in the future.”

“???”

“Don’t scare me…”

“I’ve been thinking about this too. Do you think Senior started streaming to ask us for help?”

“Help?”

“Think about it. He was so skinny when he started streaming—obviously struggling financially. What options does an ordinary person have when faced with this?”

“Even if we don’t know why he’s such a skilled farmer, he must’ve anticipated this situation. That’s why he chose streaming—to put himself under everyone’s watchful eye and deter those with ulterior motives.”

“So revealing everything he knows is also a form of protection?”

The group fell into dead silence.

Moments ago, the crowd had been moved and conflicted, but now their minds filled with images of people in the livestream room fuming with rage, cursing, and ranting.

Was that for protection?

Silence.

Prolonged silence.

After a long pause, the original speaker continued, “Anyway, that’s the situation now. I reckon quite a few people have already noticed him.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We’re just ordinary people…”

“Create groups. More groups,” the speaker said. “The power of the masses is immense. Though we’re ordinary people, if our numbers are large enough and we stand up bravely, we can still make a difference. They can’t possibly kill us all.”

The group fell silent.

After a moment, someone asked, “Will this really work?”

“Got any other ideas?”

No one spoke.

The group fell silent again, a silence longer than any before.

“I’m in.” After the prolonged quiet, someone suddenly spoke up.

“My mom contracted the frenzy. We refuse to give up, so our whole family is working hard to earn money. But often, even with money, we can’t buy fruits or vegetables.”

“If things really turn out as they say, I think ordinary folks like us will only have it harder.”

“Senior, teach us everything you know. I can’t grow crops myself, but I’m sure someone can learn. If enough people master it, fruit and vegetable prices will drop. Maybe we’ll even find a cure for frenzy.”

“So I’m in.”

No one spoke.

These words lingered in everyone’s gaze.

They couldn’t help but smile bitterly.

The frenzy phenomenon was severe and worsening. Only a few could escape it entirely.

Most of them weren’t among the fortunate ones.

“Honestly, I think he wasn’t so much trying to teach us as he was just laying it all out for us to see. Whether we could learn it or not—well, that was beyond his control.”

“…”

“That’s the spirit.”

“…Yeah, that’s the feeling.”

“Trash streamer.”

“Hahaha…”

After a burst of laughter, the group suddenly fell silent again.

This time, however, the quiet didn’t last long. Someone spoke up almost immediately.

“I’m in too.”

“Count me in.”

“My place is pretty much the same as the one upstairs. But I’m saving up to try growing my own. I’ll have to learn from him then.”

“Done.”

“Count me in.”

The rapidly flashing messages instantly buried the earlier discussions.

Yang Hong, who had been watching the entire exchange, lifted his fingers repeatedly but couldn’t type anything for a long while.

He had already considered everything these people were saying. As someone who had once been in the limelight, his thoughts ran deeper than theirs.

But his glory days were just that—past. With his current abilities, protecting Senior Da Liu was nothing short of a pipe dream. So he could only hope in his heart that things wouldn’t turn out too badly.

Stop it with their strength?

Protect it with their strength?

“…But how do we do it?”

“Create more groups, invite more people in, then explain the situation clearly?”

“Won’t they think we’re crazy? After all, not everyone thinks this deeply.”

“If we make groups, do we need group rules?”

“Wouldn’t that make it harder to create groups in the senior’s name?”

Yang Hong took a deep breath, forcing down the frenzy churning within him. His mind raced as his fingers flew across the keyboard. First…

The discussion finally concluded at dawn.

“But doesn’t that mean our group name ‘Victims’ Alliance’ is no longer appropriate?”

Yang Hong looked up at the group name.

“…No, I think it’s still fitting. Who among us isn’t a victim of his livestream?”

“…I’m speechless.”

“Trash streamer.”

“Trash streamer +1”

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Tong Zhanyan finally wrapped up work at 3 a.m., collapsing into bed immediately.

The next day, he practically sprinted into the classroom right on time.

Thankfully, the morning was filled with cultural studies classes.

After barely surviving until noon, Tong Zhanyan urged Tian Xinqing and the others to the cafeteria the moment class ended. His eyes were barely open; he wanted to eat quickly and catch up on sleep.

The afternoon belonged to the Devil King’s class.

Cafeteria.

Dai Shuda frowned, his expression grave as he stared at the chat logs on his terminal.

He had joined the Victims’ Alliance group a week prior.

Knowing many members were veterans who’d been there since Senior Da Liu first started planting, he felt quite excited. So lately, whenever he had free time, he’d open the group to check.

He opened it again the moment class ended at noon.

Seeing the 999+ notification, his first thought was what Senior Da Liu had done this time. But that wasn’t the case.

Someone lurking in the shadows?

Creating a group?

Protection?

Honestly, Dai Shuda hadn’t even considered any of that. He was still completely caught up in the excitement of discovering a streamer with exceptional cultivation skills.

Yet he had to admit the group members’ concerns were valid—perhaps even closer to the truth.

But could a group of ordinary people really stand up to those forces?

“…Dai… Dai Shuda… Dai Shuda! What have you been staring at since just now? Are you even going to eat?” A familiar voice called out from ahead.

Dai Shuda looked up.

They had reached the cafeteria entrance. His two classmates had already gone inside, while he lingered at the doorway.

From the other side, three people emerged, chatting and laughing.

Dai Shuda’s mind went blank for an instant. After the blankness, he immediately turned to look—and then slammed into the doorframe with a clang.

Pain surged through him, but he couldn’t spare a thought for it. He turned back again in a hurry.

Hearing the commotion, people entering and exiting the door all turned to look at him.

“Are you okay?”

“What the hell were you doing?”

His two classmates rushed over.

“Senior… Da Liu—” Dai Shuda pointed in the direction where he’d seen them.

His two classmates, along with a crowd of onlookers nearby, all turned to look in that direction.

It was lunchtime, and the cafeteria entrance was packed with people.

“Did you see things?”

“Did you hit your head?”

Dai Shuda grew frantic, shoving his friends aside as he rushed toward the spot. He scanned the area, insisting, “I swear, I really saw him.”

Seeing him act like he’d lost his mind, the onlookers lost interest and went back to their business.

“Senior Da Liu, who was it?”

“Seems like some farming streamer. Heard a lot of sophomores talking about him lately.”

“Farming streamer?”

Back in the dorm, Tong Zhanyan collapsed onto his pillow and passed out instantly.

By afternoon, Tong Zhanyan finally felt somewhat refreshed.

After Devil King outlined the training regimen, Tong Zhanyan joined the group in running drills.

After a few strides, he couldn’t resist glancing back.

Devil King was watching him, his gaze carrying a hint of complexity.

Tong Zhanyan was bewildered.

He always felt Devil King knew about his livestream, yet over a week had passed without any contact.

Why?

Or did Devil King still not know?

It wasn’t impossible.

The Devil King clearly wasn’t the type to surf the web for fun…

Many first-years came from the outer city. Leaving here, they’d likely never get another chance at education. With only a month left before the exams, every extra minute of sleep felt like a sin. It made sense they wouldn’t be online much.

Fourth-year students spend most of their time off campus.

Discussions have already started among the second and third-years. Recognizing him is only a matter of time…

But his time is running out.

“Tong Zhanyan!” Wang Yanzhou’s forehead veins bulged. His instinct was to double the training load, but he forced himself to change his words at the last moment. “Pay attention.”

He’d seen Tong Zhanyan working until three in the morning last night.

He’d normally be asleep by then, but watching that figure on the screen—exhausted from the day’s training yet still grinding away—left him wide awake.

Hearing this, Tong Zhanyan’s eyes widened in disbelief.

The vein on Wang Yanzhou’s forehead throbbed even more violently.

So Tong Zhanyan wasn’t used to him not yelling or adding extra drills, was he?

Wang Yanzhou opened his mouth to speak, but before the words left his lips, he saw Tong Zhanyan bolt away as if fleeing for his life.

“You little brat.”

Because he had planted wide varieties, the flowering times varied. That night, Tong Zhanyan went out again to pollinate the tomatoes.

Two days later, he performed the third pollination.

Four days later, during his fourth pollination, the tomatoes began entering the full fruiting stage.

Countless wilted blossoms fell away, replaced by tiny green fruits the size of grains of rice.

Even at this early stage, these fruits were something most people in this world had never seen. The livestream’s excitement reached new heights.

The live stream consistently drew at least 20,000 to 30,000 viewers, and during peak late-night hours, the numbers soared toward 100,000.

Meanwhile, the countdown to the final assessment officially entered its last month.

The atmosphere grew increasingly tense and anxious. Laughter was scarce in the freshman dormitory buildings throughout the day, and classrooms and playgrounds were even quieter.

On the first Friday of the final month, Tong Zhanyan headed to the greenhouse early in the evening.

The cherry radishes and bok choy had sprouted, and the cowpeas were ready for transplanting. With tomatoes bearing fruit in abundance and eggplants beginning to bloom profusely, there was also the task of pruning the cucumber vines…

Though the situation here wasn’t as tense as at the school, it had also reached a critical stage.

Upon entering, Tong Zhanyan inspected the cherry radish and bok choy seedlings.

The newly sprouted plants stood only a finger’s length tall, but since they’d been broadcast-sown, they formed a dense, sprawling patch.

Even Tong Zhanyan, who saw this often, couldn’t help but linger on the sight. The livestream audience’s reaction was predictable.

Tong Zhanyan deliberately lifted the plastic mulch longer for the camera, though it only added about half a minute.

The cowpeas and such required only a few seeds, making transplanting a matter of minutes.

Cucumbers didn’t branch much, so pinching off side shoots was minimal work.

In contrast, pollinating the eggplants proved a major hassle.

Unlike cherry tomatoes, simple vibration couldn’t guarantee 100% pollination success. Tong Zhanyan had to meticulously brush each flower with a small brush.

Though he knew this was only the second batch of seeds and the soil wasn’t ideal, so he’d left only three or four flowers per plant, that still meant hundreds of flowers.

Every day, he’d squat down to brush them, spending two or three hours at a time. After three straight days of this, he finally finished.

But no sooner had he finished than the cucumbers began blooming, his aching neck barely having recovered.

Cucumber pollination proved even more troublesome.

While both plants bore similar numbers of flowers, many cucumber blossoms hid beneath trellises and tangled vines. Finding them was difficult enough, but their awkward angles demanded constant crouching and kneeling—a grueling physical ordeal.

Days later, when he finally finished, Tong Zhanyan felt every muscle in his body ache.

Training during the day might not have been this grueling, but as the assessments drew nearer, their training intensified.

The only slight comfort for Tong Zhanyan was that during his busy week, the little tomatoes hadn’t slacked off either.

When Tong Zhanyan checked again, most of the fruits, which had been no bigger than grains of rice, were now about the size of his index finger. The healthiest ones were nearly as large as his thumb.

This time, he’d left even more flower buds than last time—eight to ten on each plant.

Though not every bud bloomed or bore fruit simultaneously, most of the fruits were larger than the previous batch. Even just the half that had set fruit was enough to weigh down the once-sprightly branches, bending them downward.

The live stream audience went absolutely wild.

As the cherry tomatoes bloomed, they’d been imagining how many fruits this batch might yield. But you can’t conjure something you’ve never seen just with imagination, so they only had a vague sense.

Yet in this moment, what they couldn’t even imagine was laid out before them in stark clarity.

Each cluster bearing every single fruit, the bends in the stems, the emerald-green sheen…

Planting Alliance.

“How many grams is that? No, how many pounds…”

“If only every harvest could be this productive…”

“Imagine planting five hundred trees at once…”

“Mr. Xu, why don’t you sit down for a moment?” Gu Yunyang pulled a stool over from the side.

“Yes, Mr. Wang, you too.” Tao Zhengping promptly pushed his own stool forward.

Neither Mr. Xu nor Mr. Wang could sit still.

If these were fruits with a low infection rate…

“When did Qing Jiyue say he’d arrive?”

“Around ten tomorrow morning.”

“Tell him to hurry.”

“Well… he’s flying.”

“Then tell the pilot to speed up.”

Gu Yunyang and Tao Zhengping exchanged glances, both seeing excitement and awe in each other’s eyes amidst their helpless laughter.

That batch of fruit would weigh at least two hundred pounds, maybe even three hundred.

Over a hundred seedlings yielding three hundred pounds…

Especially Gu Yunyang—having seen the previous batch of cherry tomatoes firsthand, he knew all too well that Senior Da Liu had cultivated this crop even better than last time.

Each time surpassing the last. If this is the result now, then next time…