Thanks to Toski’s Mom and Mitch for the kofi, enjoy the bonus chapter!

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

The moonlight was bright, yet it still only allowed Tong Zhanyan to barely make out the face before him—and that alone made his heartbeat accelerate uncontrollably.

Full buyout. No one could influence him. He could do whatever he wanted…

Just hearing those words made his heart race, let alone now that the contract was right in front of him.

“Three billion…” Tong Zhanyan’s lips parted repeatedly. “What did you do?”

“I got them to discount it.”

Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help but chuckle.

Given Qing Jiyue’s temperament, Tong Zhanyan couldn’t even imagine him trying to persuade those people to offer a discount. It was more like he’d beat them into submission…

When Qing Jiyue said he’d help, Tong Zhanyan hadn’t believed it. After all, Qing Jiyue was just a student, barely out of his teens. But now, this contract was undeniably in front of him.

Tong Zhanyan took a deep breath and slowly raised his hand to accept it.

Qing Jiyue let go.

The contract was thick, suddenly feeling heavy in his hands.

“Just sign it and give it back to me.”

Tong Zhanyan said nothing. He didn’t open the contract; instead, quietly felt its weight.

Qing Jiyue had fulfilled his promise. Now it was Tong Zhanyan’s turn.

Qing Jiyue waited silently.

“Could… could I pay in installments?” Tong Zhanyan finally managed to choke out after a long while.

Twelve billion discounted to three billion—that was practically breaking the bank. But even three billion was no small sum, far beyond his current ability to pay in one go.

Qing Jiyue never expected to hear that. His face instantly lit up with a smile. “Sure.”

Tong Zhanyan shot him a resentful look.

This wasn’t funny at all.

Their gazes met, and Qing Jiyue’s smile instantly grew even brighter.

His eyes were clear and bright, filled entirely with the person before him.

In that moment, the air shrouded in darkness around them became restless and charged with a subtle tension.

Tong Zhanyan’s heartbeat involuntarily quickened.

Qing Jiyue’s pulse also surged in that instant. He instinctively took a step forward, drawn closer.

Their heights were similar, and they had been standing close to begin with. His sudden advance brought Tong Zhanyan so near he could almost feel his breath and heartbeat.

“Tong Zhanyan…”

“Thank you.” Tong Zhanyan turned toward his desk, setting the documents down. “I’ll review and sign the contract as soon as possible. You should get some rest.”

It was long past lights-out, so he’d have to review it in the morning.

Qing Jiyue froze.

The heartbeat that had been racing just moments ago abruptly stopped, his breath catching in his throat.

Was Tong Zhanyan… avoiding him?

Qing Jiyue’s hands, which had been hanging naturally at his sides, clenched tightly. The excitement that had filled his heart was gradually replaced by a bitter ache.

In that brief moment, Tong Zhanyan had already gone to the balcony to wash up.

In the bathroom, he turned on the shower. Only as the icy water cascaded down did the heat in Tong Zhanyan’s chest finally subside.

By the time Tong Zhanyan finished washing up, Qing Jiyue had already lain down.

It was late, so Tong Zhanyan didn’t bother checking if he was asleep.

The next day.

When Tong Zhanyan woke up, Qing Jiyue was still sleeping—a rare occurrence.

Even though his abilities had long surpassed theirs, Qing Jiyue never slacked off. Throughout their semester living together, Tong Zhanyan had never once seen him sleep in.

This was the first time.

He didn’t know what Qing Jiyue had been doing these past twenty days, but it certainly hadn’t been easy.

Tong Zhanyan moved as quietly as possible while washing up, grabbed the contract, and slipped out the door without a sound.

It was still early; the hallway was nearly empty, only faint sounds of washing echoing in the distance.

The doors to Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran’s rooms were tightly shut. Tong Zhanyan couldn’t tell if they’d already left for training or were still asleep.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t knock. He silently descended the stairs.

Upon reaching the small building, Tong Zhanyan didn’t rush into the greenhouse. Instead, he pulled up a stool in the courtyard and began studying the planting base and the contract.

First was the planting base.

Tong Zhanyan searched online.

After learning the price, Tong Zhanyan hadn’t searched once—he simply couldn’t afford it, and looking only added to his frustration.

After the Great Cataclysm, they erected protective shields. Inside, temperature and humidity were perfectly suited for human survival, but that didn’t necessarily mean the same for crops.

Thus, many believed there was only one way to grow plants: recreating the environment of ancient times.

This hypothesis had persisted since the seed vault’s opening. Countless corporations and research institutions attempted experiments, but financial constraints stalled progress.

About a decade ago, after years of discussions, the Planting Alliance, the Four Great Houses, and over a dozen major corporations finally decided to collaborate on an ambitious endeavor.

That cultivation base was constructed during that time.

Artificially flowing rivers encircled the entire facility, complete with an underground water system, climate control simulating the four seasons, and a varied terrain featuring five or six mountains of differing heights…

It was vastly larger than what Mr. Bai had described to Tong Zhanyan. If fully accounted for, it likely spanned thousands of acres.

It was no longer a mere base, but a vast, entirely artificial world.

Yet it all proved utterly futile.

When the base was first completed, everyone was filled with anticipation. But after planting the seeds, the harvest was just as dismal as before.

After six months of consecutive failures, the hopeful crowd grew impatient, offering suggestions and solutions.

The project manager at the time did make numerous attempts, but no matter what they tried, the crops remained stubbornly unviable.

With crops failing to thrive, the monthly operational costs for such a vast base approached a million. After nearly six or seven years of struggle, even with the involvement of the Planting Alliance and the Four Great Families, the project had to be halted.

Half a year later, the base was listed for sale.

It hasn’t sold a single time since.

After all, twelve billion isn’t a sum just anyone can come up with. And those who could, having witnessed the previous failure, wouldn’t dare attempt it again lightly.

After reviewing the basic information, Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help but take a deep breath.

Rivers, temperature, humidity…

Controlling these factors to such precision—not to mention the machinery’s cost—would likely consume over a hundred thousand credit in electricity alone each month, not counting regular maintenance.

The only silver lining was that the original builders had considered sunlight, installing light fixtures on the greenhouse roof.

The question was whether the bulbs would still work.

If not, he’d have to spend more money to supplement that aspect. Nearly a thousand acres—it was obvious it wouldn’t be cheap.

Last night, when that ten million credit hit his account, he’d thought it was a huge sum, too big to even walk home at night. Now, looking at it again, it might not even be enough to buy light bulbs…

Tong Zhanyan took another deep breath.

He had to go see for himself.

After examining the base itself, Tong Zhanyan carefully reviewed the contract once more.

The contract existed in duplicate, just as Qing Jiyue had stated—it was a buyout agreement.

Once he signed and paid, the base would belong entirely to him. There would be no second rights holder, and no one could interfere with his affairs.

Tong Zhanyan signed his name at the bottom.

Setting the contract aside, Tong Zhanyan entered the greenhouse.

The eggplants showed little change, but after last night’s harvest, the cherry tomatoes appeared somewhat disheveled.

Once cherry tomatoes start ripening, it happens fast. Overnight, many had already turned red.

Tong Zhanyan mixed some fertilizer solution and watered the cherry tomatoes separately.

Water control is relative—you can’t just leave them parched forever.

After finishing his tasks, Tong Zhanyan checked his livestream.

He had only opened registration for the giveaway for three hours, and it had long since closed.

The final number of participants reached a staggering 170,000.

The specific winners wouldn’t be revealed until he manually clicked to draw the lottery.

Three hours, 170,000 participants…

After glancing at the final participation count, Tong Zhanyan, feeling a bit overwhelmed, posted an announcement: The second harvest and prize draw would take place three days later, Wednesday night at exactly 7 PM.

Finally, he took the contract back to school.

Before leaving, he packed up the box of cherry tomatoes that had been specially set aside.

Less than fifteen days remained until the assessment.

The playground was packed with people.

The moment he entered the school, pressure washed over him.

Walking along the path, feeling that tension, Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help but glance toward the direction of the Academic Affairs Office.

Qing Jiyue had mentioned last night that their school was among the group of people involved. They had agreed not to disturb him, but what about the assessment?

He didn’t believe the school wouldn’t know about his situation.

Were they planning to wait for him to come to them?

Academic Affairs Office, conference room.

Principal Chu Yi, the Academic Affairs Director, homeroom teacher Wang Yanzhou, and thirty to forty other school administrators were all gathered.

“…Our school has been around for nearly two hundred years since its founding. We’ve always upheld strict fairness as our motto. There’s never been a precedent for this kind of thing. If we set this precedent now, then in the future…” The speaker’s face was filled with hesitation.

The group gathered around the table, and all looked somewhat troubled.

“What’s his response?” Chu Yi turned to Wang Yanzhou.

Wang Yanzhou replied, “He’s attending classes as usual and keeping himself occupied.”

Chu Yi raised an eyebrow.

He certainly has patience.

“First-year students only have basic training on campus, which is manageable. But starting in the second year, they begin practical training. That involves frequent field trips lasting half a month at a time…”

Though they knew nothing about farming, they understood plants needed watering. Leaving them unattended for half a month meant the crops would be dead upon their return.

“Practical training involves dealing with beasts. With his results, he can’t even achieve fusion…”

Mentioning this, Wang Yanzhou pinched the bridge of his nose. Dealing with beasts was literally risking your life.

“Should we let him take leave?”

“Every day?”

“Why not create a specialized program just for him?” Yuan Yuepeng suggested.

Everyone turned to look at him.

Yuan Yuepeng pondered aloud, “The Planting Alliance has always wanted to establish a school, right? What if we set up a planting program? Transfer him over—he can attend the basic courses with everyone else, but handle his practical training on his own?”

“That’s a good idea.”

“That’s feasible.”

As soon as Yuan Yuepeng finished speaking, the room erupted in agreement.

With Tong Zhanyan’s entire greenhouse of crops at stake, if anything happened to him during practical training, forget the Planting Alliance—they themselves would never forgive themselves.

Especially since Tong Zhanyan was currently organizing the planting base.

“What about the instructor and course arrangements?” Wang Yanzhou interjected.

Establishing a separate major wasn’t difficult, and given the circumstances with those cherry tomatoes, no one would likely object.

But a major couldn’t possibly have just one student.

Instructors, courses—even if it was just for appearances, they needed to maintain a semblance of legitimacy.

“Why not you?” Chu Yi asked, his eyes crinkling in a smile.

Wang Yanzhou remained expressionless. “I’ve already submitted my resignation to you.”

He had no time left.

Chu Yi’s smile didn’t waver. “Sometimes, not getting something is its own kind of threat.”

Wang Yanzhou frowned.

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Qing Jiyue wasn’t in the dorm.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t catch sight of him until noon.

He handed Qing Jiyue the signed contract, explained the five-year installment plan, and then placed a large bowl of pre-washed cherry tomatoes before him. “Eat up.”

Qing Jiyue glanced at the contract, then at the overflowing bowl of tomatoes. What was this about?

“It’s my treat, as a thank you.” Tong Zhanyan didn’t elaborate; there were too many reasons he owed Qing Jiyue gratitude.

Qing Jiyue set down the contract and picked one up.

“They’re all yours,” Tong Zhanyan said.

Qing Jiyue glanced at Tong Zhanyan. “I can’t possibly eat all of them.”

That bowl held at least four or five pounds of tomatoes. He even had the strange feeling that Tong Zhanyan was treating him like some other creature to be fed.

“No problem, take your time.” Tong Zhanyan’s face was all smiles, but inside, he couldn’t help but shake his head.

I can’t even show off properly, you’re hopeless.

Back in the day…

Tong Zhanyan decided not to dwell on it, because the thought alone made his mouth water uncontrollably.

He walked away with a pained expression.

He didn’t forget to give Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran a pot each. Moving and clearing the land would inevitably require their help.

The moment they saw the entire bowl brimming with bright red cherry tomatoes, their mouths watered instantly.

They had watched Tong Zhanyan’s livestreams too, though lately, with exams approaching, they could only catch glimpses occasionally.

“Are you really giving all these to us?”

“We can’t possibly finish them…”

“No rush. Take your time.” Tong Zhanyan sighed. Overindulging in nutrient solutions had shrunk their stomachs; they were both complete wimps when it came to eating.

When Tong Zhanyan returned to the dorm, Qing Jiyue was sitting obediently in front of the tomato pot, his cheeks puffing up with each bite.

Tong Zhanyan mentioned his plan to visit the base.

“Sure,” Qing Jiyue replied. “When?”

Tong Zhanyan asked, “How about this afternoon?”

Tomorrow was Monday, followed by five consecutive days of classes.

The bus ride from school took about twenty minutes each way—forty minutes total. With only two hours for lunch break, going then was impossible.

At night…

Tong Zhanyan still preferred visiting during daylight hours—after all, visibility was better then.

But that meant rushing things.

“Sure,” Qing Jiyue agreed readily. “Leave at two?”

“Alright.”

After settling the details, Qing Jiyue continued eating while Tong Zhanyan took a nap.

At two o’clock, when Tong Zhanyan woke up, Qing Jiyue was already waiting.

More than half of the tomatoes remained.

The contract was gone—likely taken for subsequent processing.

Tong Zhanyan tidied up.

Before leaving, he informed Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran of the situation.

Hearing Tong Zhanyan had decided to purchase the base and was heading there immediately, both eagerly chose to tag along for the spectacle.

They took a taxi.

The distance proved shorter than Tong Zhanyan anticipated; the entire ride took only seventeen or eighteen minutes.

Upon exiting the taxi, they stood before a transparent palace so vast its edges were invisible.

A wide green belt encircled the perimeter, with only the entrance area connected to the roadway.

The roadway was exceptionally broad—at least fifty meters wide—capable of accommodating numerous large trucks.

The main gate matched the roadway’s width, presenting a rather grand appearance.

They entered through a small side gate to the right of the main entrance.

Compared to the main gate, the side entrance looked like a mouse hole.

Upon entering, Tong Zhanyan noticed surveillance cameras and anti-intrusion devices both inside and outside the gate, indicating extremely high security.

Beyond the gate lay another wide road, but beneath it flowed a gently meandering river.

The river’s outer edge was flush with a glass wall, while its inner side connected to a dam, beyond which lay a forest.

The water was remarkably clear—so clear that the silt below was visible, while the azure sky was perfectly reflected on its surface.

The sky wasn’t real, however; it was a light screen generated by the terminal, with lights hidden behind it—though the naked eye couldn’t distinguish them.

Crossing the river revealed a fairly spacious concrete clearing ahead. On one side of the clearing stood a three-story cottage—the location where the base previously handled all external exchanges.

Tong Zhanyan surveyed the area, tidying things up. From now on, all the fruits and vegetables they grew could be transported here for shipment.

Trees from the riverbank extended to this area, encircling the entire open space.

Unlike the trees in the school’s green belts, upon closer inspection, Tong Zhanyan realized these were species he’d only seen in his former world.

Birch, sycamore, locust…

Quite a variety.

But they looked no different from the crops—all malnourished and stunted.

Continuing deeper, as he passed through the grove, Tong Zhanyan noticed that previous occupants had apparently planted some grass. Yet even worse off than the trees, it was so sparse and yellowed that it was barely noticeable unless you looked closely…

They couldn’t even keep grass alive.

For a moment, Tong Zhanyan didn’t know how to react.

The stretch of road ahead, lined with those trees, looked passable enough.

But beyond the small grove, the scenery turned bleak: vast stretches of barren yellow earth, and a mountain so patchy with trees it blurred the horizon…

“Hmm… It’s a bit different from what I imagined,” Tian Xinqing said, his earlier anticipation now gone.

“If they could grow anything here, the experiment wouldn’t have been terminated,” Su Yanran added, equally disappointed.

Both turned to look at Tong Zhanyan.

Tong Zhanyan had braced himself before coming and felt little emotion.

Scanning the surroundings, he looked at Qing Jiyue. “Where’s the control panel?”

Qing Jiyue led the way back.

Only then did they notice a cluster of vehicles parked behind the grove they’d just passed.

The vehicles resembled their school’s shuttle cars—seating up to four, easy to start and park—except their oversized wheels were designed to prevent sinking into the soil.

Seven or eight minutes later, they approached the cluster of mountains.

Simultaneously, a small three-story building with an attached warehouse emerged at the mountain’s base.

After getting out, Qing Jiyue headed toward the rear of the small building.

Tong Zhanyan followed.

Circling around the building, he noticed a single-story cottage hidden behind it.

Though plain and unassuming, the cottage had high security. Qing Jiyue took a moment to unlock the door.

Contrasting with its rough exterior, the interior was filled with electronic screens displaying real-time data and surveillance feeds.

Tong Zhanyan glanced around. While the equipment seemed extensive, the actual operation wasn’t overly complex.

To make it rain, one simply selected the target area and precipitation level, and the rain would fall automatically.

Of course, the accompanying temperature drops and humidity changes after rainfall were another matter entirely.

Tong Zhanyan hadn’t even finished circling the room when he spotted the control console for the “sun.”

He studied it. The lights were highly intelligent, adjustable in both intensity and spectrum. However, previous users had primarily focused on adjusting brightness, leaving the spectrum settings in disarray.

With his most pressing concern confirmed, Tong Zhanyan felt a wave of relief wash over him.

This was all money.

Tong Zhanyan got up and headed out.

Qing Jiyue closed the door.

Circling around to the front of the small building, Tong Zhanyan checked the utilities.

Electricity was on. Water too.

Tong Zhanyan exhaled another sigh of relief.

Qing Jiyue and the others had been watching quietly nearby. Seeing Tong Zhanyan visibly relax, they finally spoke up.

“When do you plan to move in?” Su Yanran asked as she followed.

Tong Zhanyan glanced at the barren, yellow earth in front of the cottage, so poor it couldn’t even support a single weed. “Not anytime soon.”

He had worked so hard to obtain those seeds. Planting them directly into this soil would be nothing short of a waste.

Pondering, Tong Zhanyan turned his gaze toward the mountain not far behind the house. While the slopes held many trees, closer inspection revealed patches of bare, barren ground.

Tong Zhanyan headed in that direction.

Qing Jiyue and the others followed.

A few minutes later, Tong Zhanyan crouched down in the grove at the mountain’s base.

He scooped up a handful of soil and rubbed it between his fingers.

These trees had been planted nearly a decade ago. Logically, the soil beneath them should be exceptionally fertile. Yet, due to insufficient nutrients, the trees grew stunted and sparse, their foliage thin and sparse.

The soil here was indeed looser than elsewhere, but the nutrients were barely enough to sustain the trees themselves.

He’d have to find a solution elsewhere.

“Let’s go back,” Tong Zhanyan said, rising.

The entire journey back, Tong Zhanyan remained silent, his mind consumed by thoughts of the base.

Seeing this, Qing Jiyue and the others followed suit, keeping quiet.

That very night, one copy of the original contract returned to Tong Zhanyan’s hands, accompanied by an additional installment payment agreement.

Tong Zhanyan transferred the entire nine million credits from his account as the first installment.

With that, the base was officially his.

Tong Zhanyan took a deep breath, feeling the contract in his hands grow heavier.

For the next two days, Tong Zhanyan didn’t visit the greenhouse. Instead, he devoted all his time to gathering leaves and eggshell powder.

Leaves, in particular, were urgently needed.

The soil at the base couldn’t be used directly. Decomposing it with leaves would take at least a month. Fortunately, the assessment was still some time away. By starting preparations now, the soil would be fully decomposed ten days after the assessment ended.

He planned to move then as well.

The cherry tomatoes were already being harvested, but the eggplants, strawberries, and cucumbers in the greenhouse wouldn’t be fully ready until around that time.

Then there were the chickens.

The cherry radishes and bok choy could be harvested before the holidays, but raising the chickens he’d bought would require time for experimentation.

If it worked out, he could buy more after moving and raise them all together at once.

But that would put pressure on the cherry radishes and bok choy…

On Wednesday evening, Tong Zhanyan headed to the greenhouse early.

The live stream’s online audience had already surpassed 250,000 an hour ahead of schedule. Tonight involved not only the second round of cherry tomato harvesting but also the prize draw.

“Seventy thousand participants? How low did the host set the entry requirements…”

“Seems like slim chances.”

“Why make it so easy?”

“It’s not that it’s easy—there are just too many eligible people. Forget the rest, I’ve clocked over 120 hours online in the last two weeks alone.”

“Over 120 hours in half a month +1”

“Me too…”

“Damn it.”

Upon entering, Tong Zhanyan immediately scanned the small tomatoes.

After four days, they were already glowing red. Since the second batch yielded the most, they were even more densely covered in red than before.

Tong Zhanyan turned back and hauled all the boxes he’d bought earlier inside.

“Ten boxes…”

“Each one must weigh at least fifteen pounds, right?”

“More than that. At least twenty pounds each.”

“We already had four boxes before. If we add ten more…”

After lining each box with foam padding, Tong Zhanyan wiped down his shears.

By the time he finished, the clock struck seven sharp.

Without hesitation, Tong Zhanyan began.

“Snip… snip…”

The familiar sound echoed.

Having witnessed his rough harvesting technique before, the live stream audience wasn’t as overwhelmed as they had been previously, though their excitement remained palpable.

Some watched while chatting in the comment stream and group chats, while others turned off the comments to simply enjoy the spectacle.

“Snip snip snip…”

The first crate was full.

“Snap snap…”

The second crate was full, too.

“Snap snap…”

After finishing the fifth crate, Tong Zhanyan paused to rest.

Even though he used shears, repeating the same motion thousands of times inevitably made his hands ache. His legs, constantly shifting while crouched on the ground, had long since grown stiff and painful.

“First time I’ve seen someone get exhausted from harvesting crops.”

“What a blissful problem…”

“How about the next lucky winner from the streamer’s giveaway helps you out?”

“Don’t be silly, upstairs. Even though the streamer makes it look easy, farming isn’t that simple.”

“Exactly. What if they mess things up?”

“I was just saying.”

During his break, Tong Zhanyan glanced at the screen and thought the idea wasn’t bad. But he’d already picked half his tomatoes—it was too late to hold a giveaway now.

After resting, Tong Zhanyan got back to work.

In the end, he didn’t quite fill ten crates; the harvest ended with the ninth crate.

Even so, those nine boxes brimming with tomatoes sent the live stream audience into a frenzy.

It was a visual feast.

Before this, they hadn’t seen even one full box, let alone nine.

Even larger farming streamers occasionally had bountiful harvests, but they wouldn’t just toss all their crops haphazardly into a single crate. Moreover, few could harvest this much in one go.

Tong Zhanyan washed his hands, grabbed the pre-purchased shock-absorbing foam pouches, and selected a relatively clean flowerpot from the pile. He approached the small tomatoes.

Approaching, he flipped the pot upside down onto the ground and sat down.

“Now for the prize draw…” Tong Zhanyan said as he opened his terminal.

Hearing this, the crowd—who had been waiting for this moment—held their breath, anticipating the potential in-app message.

They were too tense, too focused, to even feel like mocking the flowerpot.

“Ahhh, I’m so nervous, I can’t even watch.”

“I’ve refreshed until my fingers hurt. It has to be me, it has to be me.”

“Why only thirty winners? There are so many people…”

“Hey, listen to yourself. Thirty is already generous! How many other livestreams would give away that many?”

“Exactly. One fruit per winner? That’s over a pound already. Most streamers can’t even harvest two pounds of fruit in a whole batch.”

“It’s open.” Still no dramatic buildup. Tong Zhanyan got straight to the point.

“Did you guys get it? I didn’t.”

“Me neither.”

“Aaaah, I won!!!”

“Nooooo, why haven’t I gotten a message yet?!”

“I didn’t win, I’m crying so hard…”

“Aaaah, the person above me—”

“Jealousy is driving me mad, grabbing the person above by the neck and shaking them violently.”

The chat exploded with screams.

The sheer volume made Tong Zhanyan completely lose sight of himself.

But he wasn’t focused on the visuals anyway.

After clicking the draw button, a string of IDs popped up in his backend.

Tong Zhanyan skimmed through them, then bent down to start filling small bags.

“???”

“Is the streamer packing prizes?”

“Is that the prize? Streamer, tell me it’s not!”

“Those are prizes? Streamer, tell me they’re not, okay?”

“No, streamer, you…”

“I feel like jealousy isn’t just driving me crazy anymore—it’s making me want to die…”

“Those are prizes?”

“Aaaah—!”

“Why didn’t I win? Why wasn’t it me? Aaaah…”

Watching Tong Zhanyan fill bag after bag with his little pouch, the crowd—who had been frantic moments ago over not winning—now truly lost it.

Though Tong Zhanyan’s pouch wasn’t large, each bag could hold at least one handful.

A whole handful.

Most crops weren’t cheap. Even the cheapest ones could fetch over a hundred per gram, and that was for low-grade stuff with extremely high infection rates.

Other streamers might give away one small tomato per portion. Drawing ten portions in a single giveaway was already considered generous. For heavier items like bok choy, some even drew by the leaf.

Tong Zhanyan is getting a whole bunch per serving?

“That bag must hold at least ten, right?”

“Aaaah!”

“At this quality, even with higher infection rates, it should easily fetch 250 per gram. If this bag holds 150 grams, that’s worth 30,000. Thirty bags would be…”

“Aaaah! Frantically writhing.”

“Spitting blood, why wasn’t I included?”

After filling one bag, Tong Zhanyan twisted it shut and weighed it. Feeling it was lighter than before, he stuffed in two more before setting it aside and grabbing a new bag to continue.

One bag, two bags…

He filled thirty bags in one go before stopping.

Glancing up, he saw the crowd on screen screaming themselves hoarse, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

He’d studied others’ prize draws before. Seeing those little bok choy leaves being drawn made him feel both helpless and amused.

He’d considered adapting to local customs, but this batch of cherry tomatoes weighed nearly 300 jin. Giving just one per person felt downright stingy.

The bags he bought weren’t large—one handful per portion. Even thirty portions would only amount to about seven or eight pounds. To him, that seemed just right.

As for money, he truly wasn’t short on this small amount now. After all, he was carrying debts measured in billions.

If he really wanted to repay the money, he still needed to get that base up and running as soon as possible.

Tong Zhanyan’s consolation didn’t ease the crowd’s frustration; if anything, it made them more frantic, unsure how long they’d have to wait next time.

After offering his comfort, Tong Zhanyan got up to arrange shipping.

While waiting for the courier, he contacted Mr. Bai.

Nine boxes—even by taxi, it would be difficult for him to transport alone. Tong Zhanyan planned to have Mr. Bai drive over himself tomorrow morning to pick them up.

Mr. Bai agreed readily.

Old Jin often did this, even when the quantity was small.

For him, the process itself was a pleasure, much like the act of harvesting.

After confirming the time, Tong Zhanyan glanced back at the other crops.

Another week passed. The first batch of seeds—green beans, corn—had grown slightly, though not noticeably. They still looked pitiful.

In contrast, the cherry radishes and bok choy were thriving vigorously.

The cherry radishes had already formed fruits, the larger ones nearly thumb-sized.

Many bok choy leaves had grown wider than three fingers, and their height had long surpassed ten centimeters.

At this rate, the bok choy would be ready for harvest in a week at most.

Tong Zhanyan gave them another round of fertilizer water.

No sooner had he finished than the terminal buzzed—the delivery person had arrived.

By the time he wrapped up, an hour had passed.

Tong Zhanyan returned to the camera feed to announce his departure, tidied the remaining tomatoes, and headed back to the small building next door.

The next morning, Mr. Bai appeared at the door early.

“Hold on a moment,” Tong Zhanyan said, turning to fetch the items.

Many people disliked others entering their greenhouses without permission, so Mr. Bai obediently waited at the entrance.

Moments later, Tong Zhanyan arrived carrying one of the same boxes as before.

Mr. Bai hurried forward to take it.

Tong Zhanyan turned back to continue carrying.

Mr. Bai loaded the items onto his vehicle.

Tong Zhanyan returned, another box in hand.

Mr. Bai took it.

Tong Zhanyan turned back…

By the time he handed over the fifth box, Mr. Bai’s smile finally slipped. “There’s more?”

Though this was the second batch, and the second batch would naturally contain more than the first, this was already the fifth box.

Last time, there had only been three boxes.

“Yeah, four more boxes.” Tong Zhanyan turned and headed back to the greenhouse to continue loading.

When he returned with the sixth box, Mr. Bai was still standing motionless, holding the previous box.

“What’s wrong?” Tong Zhanyan placed the box in his hands onto the truck.

Mr. Bai snapped back to reality, his expression intensely complex as he looked at him. “You… really only grew one hundred and seventy?”

“That should be it.”

Mr. Bai opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to speak for a long while.

Tong Zhanyan glanced at him twice more before hurrying to bring out the remaining two boxes.

After loading all the boxes onto the truck, Tong Zhanyan clapped his hands. “Then I won’t be going to the store.”

He still had to attend class later.

“…Why don’t you go anyway?” Mr. Bai finally managed to squeeze out after a long pause.

“Huh?” Tong Zhanyan looked confused. Hadn’t they agreed on this last night?

With this quantity, using Mr. Bai’s method of inspecting and testing each seed individually would take at least three or four days.

He simply didn’t have time to wait around.

“…” Mr. Bai’s facial muscles twitched. He was momentarily at a loss for words.

His shop had been open for over a decade, business consistently steady. Beyond regular suppliers like Old Jin, he’d built up a loyal customer base for purchasing crops.

Due to the frenzy, supply often fell short, but overall it remained balanced.

But now, Tong Zhanyan had suddenly dumped nine huge boxes on him…

He hadn’t even sold all three boxes Tong Zhanyan had brought last time.

Who was he supposed to sell all this to?

His regular customers who needed produce?

That would be like feeding them until they burst…

Mr. Bai’s face twisted even more. He’d never imagined he’d be troubled by this.

“Mr. Bai?” Tong Zhanyan asked, puzzled.

Mr. Bai rubbed his nose, trying to calm himself. “You really won’t go?”

“I trust you.” Tong Zhanyan flashed an exceptionally kind smile.

If possible, he genuinely wanted to establish a long-term partnership with Mr. Bai from the bottom of his heart.

First, because Mr. Bai was genuinely a decent person. Second, if things continued like this, he’d have to stay and handle the accounts every single time. That meant half his year would be spent just sitting there.

Mr. Bai didn’t know how he got back to his car, nor how he contacted someone from the store to drive it. By the time he came to his senses, he was already sorting through his entire fortune.

He was just a small shop on the street with limited working capital. Nine boxes at once…