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

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Tong Zhanyan arrived at school right on time.

On the playground, Tian Xinqing and his group were lining up.

Tong Zhanyan quickly slipped into the formation.

The moment he stood in place, the class bell rang.

At the front of the line, Devil King glared at him menacingly, looking torn—like he wanted to slap him but couldn’t find a reason.

After finally enduring until noon, Tong Zhanyan was about to find a spot to rest when Su Yanran came over to hurry him along.

He wanted to get to the cafeteria quickly.

If we’re late, we’ll have to wait in line.

After lunch, he still had to go to training.

With only twelve or thirteen days left until the assessment, the countdown had truly begun. This intensified the already tense atmosphere among the first-years, and looking around, nearly everyone’s face was deathly pale.

Su Yanran was no exception.

At the cafeteria, Tong Zhanyan told Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran to find a place to rest while he went to the queue. Though the school hadn’t made any official announcements yet, his assessment spot seemed secure.

This was rare among the entire first-year cohort.

After eating, Su Yanran headed straight back to the field.

Tian Xinqing followed him.

Tong Zhanyan returned to the dormitory.

As he climbed the stairs, he unexpectedly encountered Ning Langdong descending.

“Not working today?” Tong Zhanyan inquired. At this hour, Ning Langdong was usually either working or heading to work.

“Yeah…” Ning Langdong’s face was also deathly pale.

Tong Zhanyan wanted to ask more, but the words died on his lips.

Ning Langdong had ranked among the top five in the class at the start of the semester. But this term, he’d spent nearly every free moment working. Combined with Su Yanran and the others starting intensive training three months early, his grades had now fallen behind.

The pressure must be immense.

Passing each other, Tong Zhanyan returned to the dormitory.

Qing Jiyue was already inside, apparently preparing for an afternoon nap.

Tong Zhanyan had the same plan, which made him feel as if the world inside and outside the room were two entirely different realms.

They were probably the only ones in the entire first-year class who could still sleep at this hour.

The afternoon was reserved for academic classes.

As soon as class ended that evening, Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran headed to the sports field. Tong Zhanyan wasn’t idle either. He returned to the dormitory, gathered a pile of plastic bags, and made his way toward the greenbelt.

Previously, he had to conceal his identity and act furtively. Now, with no such concerns, he picked up leaves openly and unabashedly.

This inevitably drew more attention.

Tong Zhanyan started collecting right after class and kept busy until lights-out, when he finally headed back.

He gathered nearly twenty bags, each packed tightly. Though the leaves themselves weren’t heavy, it still took four trips to carry them upstairs.

He piled everything on the balcony.

Combined with the bags collected over the past few days, there were now at least fifty or sixty sacks, nearly filling half the balcony.

Looking at them, Tong Zhanyan felt a bit embarrassed. Though Qing Jiyue hadn’t said anything, it was still a shared space.

Tong Zhanyan considered renting a training room to store the clutter.

The greenhouse was far away, and the base would be even farther.

Fifty or sixty bags of leaves seemed like a lot, but compared to the base, it was almost negligible.

Fortunately, he didn’t have that many seeds yet.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan spent another day collecting leaves.

The third day was Saturday. After checking the greenhouse early in the morning, Tong Zhanyan headed to the street to borrow a vehicle.

There were too many leaves to carry in a taxi. Bai’s shop had a truck available.

The streets before ten o’clock were quiet, the air crisp and fresh.

“Tong Zhanyan.” A familiar voice suddenly called out.

Tong Zhanyan turned to see Fang Yiguang running toward him from across the street.

“Off to work?” Tong Zhanyan continued walking.

Fang Yiguang paused, halting his stride. “No. Didn’t they tell you?”

“What?” Tong Zhanyan was confused.

“I’m no longer working there.” Fang Yiguang smiled, pointing in the direction he had just been standing on the opposite side of the street. “I work over here now.”

Tong Zhanyan looked over.

It was a three-story shop, even larger than Mr. Bai’s store, named “Yan Family Planting House.”

The shop looked brand new, with flower baskets still displayed at the entrance—clearly just opened.

Tong Zhanyan was speechless.

“So, wanna stop by the shop?” Fang Yiguang offered, starting to lead the way.

“I’ve got stuff to do. Maybe in a couple of days,” Tong Zhanyan declined.

“Planting stuff?” Fang Yiguang’s eyes lit up. “Then come find me.”

Tong Zhanyan smiled faintly. “I already made plans with Mr. Bai. Next time.”

With that, Tong Zhanyan turned to leave.

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you,” Fang Yiguang said.

Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help but stop and look at him.

“You…” Fang Yiguang looked uneasy, as if struggling to speak. “Do you know why I quit? Because I couldn’t stand some of the things happening at that shop.”

Tong Zhanyan raised an eyebrow.

“What determines the price of crops isn’t just quality, but also the infection rate. Don’t be fooled by the seemingly fair prices he offers each time. Behind the scenes…” Fang Yiguang didn’t finish the sentence, but the implication was clear.

Mr. Bai’s shop was manipulating the infection rate.

Tong Zhanyan thought for a moment. “Thanks.”

With that, he walked away.

“Hey, you…” Fang Yiguang hadn’t expected Tong Zhanyan’s reaction and grew flustered.

Tong Zhanyan was a major client.

The two shops weren’t far apart—just diagonally across from each other.

Fang Yiguang followed a few more steps but stopped when he saw Tong Zhanyan approaching the entrance of Mr. Bai’s shop.

Tong Zhanyan entered.

Though the shop was quiet that morning, Mr. Bai and his crew were already hard at work. Each wore masks and gloves, their expressions serious as they handled box after box of cherry tomatoes—a rather comical sight.

Unexpectedly seeing Tong Zhanyan arrive, Mr. Bai hurriedly greeted him.

Tong Zhanyan bought a pile of hoes, shovels, and a nearly forty-meter-long section of water pipe. The base had no tools, and he still needed the greenhouse tools for his own greenhouse. Then he mentioned borrowing a car.

He needed not only the car but also a driver.

“Shall we go now?”

“Yes, if it’s convenient.”

Mr. Bai grabbed the car keys and headed for the door.

A few minutes later, the car pulled up at the school gate.

Non-school personnel weren’t allowed to enter freely, so Mr. Bai waited at the gate while Tong Zhanyan went in alone.

He found a utility vehicle, hauled the items down from upstairs, drove it to the entrance, and Mr. Bai helped unload while he went back for more.

After two trips, all the leaves were finally moved.

On the way to the base, learning that Tong Zhanyan had already purchased it, Mr. Bai was quite surprised.

After all, over 12 billion credits wasn’t something just anyone could come up with, especially since Tong Zhanyan had clearly only just started farming.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t elaborate on the matter, only saying he’d pulled some strings through connections.

Mr. Bai didn’t press further.

After discussing this, Tong Zhanyan mentioned his encounter with Fang Yiguang that morning.

Mr. Bai remained silent for a long while after hearing this.

“Thank you for telling me,” Mr. Bai said after a pause.

Seeing Mr. Bai had no intention of elaborating, Tong Zhanyan didn’t press further.

The car soon pulled up before the base’s main gate.

It took Tong Zhanyan a moment to finally unlock the gate.

Though the base now belonged to him, the official transfer of authority hadn’t been completed yet. Qing Jiyue had scheduled the handover for the afternoon, when someone would come over.

The two crossed the river by car and stopped on the concrete area on the opposite bank.

It was Mr. Bai’s first time entering the base. He didn’t rush off, instead helping unload and reload the car before accompanying Tong Zhanyan inside for a look.

“Can you really handle such a huge place?” Mr. Bai looked around the small building with concern. A place this size would have enormous basic operating costs.

“Let’s give it a try,” Tong Zhanyan replied.

Recalling those cherry tomatoes, Mr. Bai shot Tong Zhanyan a complicated look.

After lingering a while longer, Mr. Bai departed.

Seeing him out, Tong Zhanyan returned to the small building.

He retrieved the newly purchased hoe, surveyed the area, and began digging a pit about ten meters in front of the building—intending to bury the leaves he’d brought.

Near the cottage lay an area that had likely been cultivated before. Faint traces remained, but that was years ago—the soil had long since hardened into a crust.

As Tong Zhanyan swung his hoe down, the familiar sensation of striking concrete hit him instantly, sending a tingling numbness through both arms.

Tong Zhanyan felt a bit helpless, but he had no choice but to grit his teeth and keep digging.

Fortunately, the pit for the decomposing leaves didn’t need to be too deep. He stopped after digging down about 50-60 centimeters, then began expanding the pit horizontally.

He dug nonstop for two hours, finally stopping only after creating a large enough pit that he could run laps inside it.

After a brief rest, he began filling the pit, layering leaves with soil.

By the time all the leaves were buried, the ground had bulged into a mound.

Tong Zhanyan rested a bit longer, then fetched a hose. He ran water from the small hut and thoroughly soaked the entire mound.

The surrounding area was remarkably flat and barren. The sudden appearance of an earthen mound looked odd to begin with, and after being drenched, the deepened soil color made it look even stranger.

Tong Zhanyan washed his hands and feet, rested briefly, then left the base to grab lunch at a nearby convenience store.

On his way back, he picked up a bunch of cleaning supplies.

The base was too far from school, so once he moved in, he’d definitely be staying here on Sundays.

The small building had previously served as an office. When they left, likely to avoid contaminating the land, they had cleared out all the clutter inside, which made things easier for Tong Zhanyan.

The only issue was that if he wanted to live there, he’d have to buy his own furniture.

Tong Zhanyan had just finished cleaning the third floor from top to bottom when his terminal buzzed.

Qing Jiyue arrived with a group of people.

Qing Jiyue brought around twenty to thirty people. Besides basic permissions, they also taught him how to operate the equipment on the central control console.

Tong Zhanyan hurried to the entrance.

What followed was a series of handovers.

By nearly six in the evening, everything was finally wrapped up.

“Aren’t you going back tonight?” Qing Jiyue asked.

“No, it’s too much hassle running back and forth.” Tong Zhanyan considered buying some daily necessities and bedding later, planning to make do for the night.

“Need help?” Qing Jiyue glanced at the patch of hard, yellow earth in front of the small building.

Tong Zhanyan’s heart raced. “You have time?”

Even if this next batch wouldn’t be planted densely due to seed and fertilizer constraints, tilling the soil alone would be no easy feat.

Qing Jiyue didn’t answer directly, only smiled at Tong Zhanyan.

Suddenly, Tong Zhanyan realized something: for his sake, Qing Jiyue would make time even when he was busy.

His heartbeat accelerated involuntarily.

The next moment, Tong Zhanyan averted his gaze.

While they spoke, everyone else had already boarded the vehicle in front of the cottage. Tong Zhanyan and Qing Jiyue hurriedly followed suit.

As dusk fell, the car headed toward the riverbank.

After exiting the gate and exchanging a few more polite words, the group departed.

Qing Jiyue remained behind.

Tong Zhanyan looked at him. “So you’ll come back tomorrow morning?”

“Can’t I stay here?” Qing Jiyue asked.

“There’s no bed in the house,” Tong Zhanyan replied, feeling a slight headache coming on.

“As long as I can stay.”

Just after six, the streetlights by the gate lit up on their own.

The twilight between day and night was tinged with a hazy blur.

“I’ve been outside the protective shield before with my father and others,” Qing Jiyue said. “Back then, I’d just take a sleeping bag and sleep wherever I ended up.”

“You’ve been outside?” Tong Zhanyan was surprised.

This was the first time he’d heard Qing Jiyue voluntarily talk about himself. The area beyond the protective shield was extremely dangerous, and he was only a teenager. Had his father really trusted his to go?

“I didn’t go far, just wandered around nearby,” Qing Jiyue said. “There’s a relatively safe zone near the shield.”

Tong Zhanyan nodded.

With Qing Jiyue having spoken so frankly, Tong Zhanyan couldn’t very well turn him away now. He led the way toward a nearby supermarket.

This area was on the city’s outskirts, quite remote, though not entirely uninhabited.

With an extra person, Tong Zhanyan’s shopping list doubled. In the end, he bought enough food for both of them for tonight and tomorrow morning, plus his own lunch for tomorrow.

Qing Jiyue carried the groceries back, drawing quite a bit of attention along the way.

By the time they returned to the small building, night had completely fallen.

Tong Zhanyan turned on the lights.

The base felt entirely different by day and night. Daytime revealed a barren wasteland devoid of vegetation, while nightfall, with the area outside the small building plunged into pitch darkness, brought an eerie, remote rural atmosphere and profound silence.

After dinner, Tong Zhanyan continued cleaning.

Qing Jiyue silently picked up a rag and began helping.

Tong Zhanyan had intended to tell him to rest, but ultimately said nothing—an extra pair of hands would speed things up.

By the time they finished cleaning both the first and second floors, it was past eleven at night.

Due to his farming routine, Tong Zhanyan was accustomed to the monotonous grind of working for hours on end. Though Qing Jiyue said nothing, fatigue was clearly visible on his face.

Tong Zhanyan hurriedly prepared for bed.

They made up a makeshift bed in the second-floor living room.

After laying out his own quilt, Tong Zhanyan went to wash up. By the time he returned, Qing Jiyue had already made the bed.

Their quilts lay less than ten centimeters apart.

Qing Jiyue went to wash up.

Tong Zhanyan pulled his own blanket slightly to the side.

Qing Jiyue returned quickly.

Tong Zhanyan turned off the light.

The base was vast; from the small building, the sounds of the distant city were inaudible, making the darkness exceptionally quiet.

It amplified the senses.

Though they had previously shared the same dormitory, the spacious room meant their beds were several meters apart.

Now, less than half a meter separated them.

They could hear each other’s breath.

Tong Zhanyan emptied his mind of thoughts.

Fortunately, after a day of exhausting activity, he was already utterly worn out. He fell asleep shortly after lying down.

Under the night sky, hearing Tong Zhanyan’s breath gradually lengthen and steady, Qing Jiyue opened his eyes.

He looked at Tong Zhanyan’s face in the faint moonlight, then at the half-meter gap between their bedding.

Tong Zhanyan was indeed avoiding him.

His earlier perception hadn’t been a mistake.

Qing Jiyue’s hand on the quilt clenched tightly, then slowly relaxed.

He rolled over, turning his back to Tong Zhanyan, and closed his eyes.

Both had already adjusted to the school’s schedule. Before eight the next morning, they were both up.

The base shed its nighttime gloom at dawn, reverting to its barren, desolate appearance, though the air carried a slight chill.

After breakfast, they got busy.

One mu of land was roughly 660 square meters. Considering the severe shortage of fertilizer and the fact that dug-up soil would harden again if left unplanted, Tong Zhanyan only marked out a rectangular area of about two mu in front of the small building for Qing Jiyue to dig.

Qing Jiyue, now experienced, worked with remarkable efficiency.

With no glass walls nearby to avoid, his movements grew bolder and faster.

Sitting on a small stool in front of the cottage, Tong Zhanyan watched the earth-shattering scene unfold, his mind fixated on one thought.

Kitty-cat is so adorable.

The white tiger summoned by Qing Jiyue declined Tong Zhanyan’s invitation to stay near the small building. It followed Qing Jiyue closely, only occasionally turning back to puff up its fur and bare its teeth.

Watching this, Tong Zhanyan’s smile stretched almost to his ears.

This earned him even more puffed-up fur.

In less than half an hour, Qing Jiyue had finished digging.

His abilities were limited. Even after crushing the soil as much as possible, basketball-sized chunks remained scattered everywhere.

Tong Zhanyan would have to go over it all again later.

Even so, this saved Tong Zhanyan more than a month’s worth of work.

After digging, Tong Zhanyan took Qing Jiyue to the riverbank to gather leaves.

Since moving wasn’t urgent, Tong Zhanyan had planned to collect them gradually himself—he could have managed it eventually. But Qing Jiyue’s willingness to help was certainly welcome.

The trees in the base all had infection rates below 50%, making them perfectly suitable for decay.

The only issue was that they had very few leaves to begin with. Plucking them made Tong Zhanyan feel somewhat guilty.

With Qing Jiyue’s help, everything became simple. In less than two hours, five mounds of earth, each no smaller than a small hill, appeared in the clearing in front of the hut.

Though the soil wasn’t enough for two acres, it was sufficient for one acre with a bit of frugality.

As for more, first, Tong Zhanyan genuinely feared that harvesting too much would kill the trees.

He rather liked them—after all, they reminded him of his former world, evoking a sense of familiarity.

Secondly, haste makes waste. Given the chance, he’d love to decompose all the soil in the base, but such a massive quantity would require stripping every leaf from the school and base—and even then, it wouldn’t be enough.

He’d have to take it slowly.

After finishing up, Qing Jiyue declined Tong Zhanyan’s request to pet the little tiger. He lingered a bit longer before leaving.

He had his own matters to attend to.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t see him off. Resigned, he picked up his hoe and began tilling the soil.

The soil in this base was likely of exceptional quality, meaning it had been sterilized more thoroughly—and consequently, it was more severely compacted.

Especially the soil Qing Jiyue had dug up from deep down. Tong Zhanyan struck it repeatedly with his hoe, but it wouldn’t break apart. Even when he managed to smash it, it resembled nothing more than tiny pebbles.

This made Tong Zhanyan think of the trees and grass. Their survival had been no easy feat.

The poor soil made tilling inefficient, and by nightfall, Tong Zhanyan had only finished half the plot.

Tomorrow was Monday, and he planned to check the greenhouse again that night, so he could only tidy up and head back for now.

This batch of cherry tomato seedlings fared better than the last. After harvesting the second batch, the third still yielded plenty, though their size varied considerably.

Add to that the pile of bare stems left from previous harvests, and the overall sight was rather pitiful.

By contrast, the nearly ripe cherry radishes and bok choy appeared increasingly vibrant and full of life.

Seeds had been sown too densely, forcing many seedlings to crowd together. To secure more nutrients and sunlight, they stretched their leaves desperately.

Especially the bok choy—viewed from above, the ground was nearly invisible beneath a thick blanket of green.

This sight melted the hearts of viewers in the livestream chat.

Tong Zhanyan was quite pleased with this outcome.

Time to buy chickens.

After inspecting them, Tong Zhanyan turned his attention to the eggplants, cucumbers, and strawberries.

The eggplant vines were naturally tall and robust. Even though their growth was far from what Tong Zhanyan remembered—due to lower seed viability and the absence of composted soil—they still towered over the cherry tomatoes.

This made their fruits stand out strikingly, especially when crouching to view them from below—purple, fist-sized fruits were everywhere.

Cucumbers were also visible everywhere, nestled among vines and trellises. The smaller ones were about the width of a finger, while the larger ones already measured ten centimeters.

Tong Zhanyan spent extra time inspecting the strawberries. Even with plastic sheeting, soil still clung to the plant bases, requiring him to reposition the berries near that area.

While rearranging them, Tong Zhanyan also performed another round of flower pinching.

The strawberries’ flowering capacity surpassed that of the eggplants and cucumbers.

Many of the remaining strawberries were nearly thumb-sized.

At this stage, the berries weren’t particularly appealing—tiny and green, covered in dense clusters of seeds. A few oddly shaped ones appeared due to uneven pollination.

After finishing, Tong Zhanyan inspected the breeding corn before turning to leave.

Only when he reached the doorway and turned back did he realize he hadn’t seen the camera.

Stuck again?

Tong Zhanyan hurriedly opened the livestream.

The camera wasn’t frozen; it was simply focused on the small tomato patch.

Through the lens, all that could be seen were the bare, leafless stems of the small tomatoes.

Tong Zhanyan walked over and retrieved it.

As the camera moved, the live chat instantly flooded with comments.

“Lame streamer, you finally showed up.”

“The camera seems broken. These past few days, it’s mostly just sat there motionless except for the occasional patrol.”

“Is there a problem with the settings?”

“Streamer, hurry up and check! I want to see the cherry radishes and bok choy…”

“Streamer, you finally showed up.”

Not moving at all?

Tong Zhanyan released the camera and opened the backend. The settings remained unchanged from before.

Is it broken?

This camera was originally sourced from who knows where by the previous owner. The model was extremely outdated; it wouldn’t be surprising if it broke.

Just as Tong Zhanyan was about to inspect it further, the released camera drifted slowly toward the patch of cherry tomatoes, then precisely positioned itself back in its original spot.

Tong Zhanyan walked over, picked it up, and examined it.

The camera’s surface showed no signs of impact.

Tong Zhanyan powered it off and restarted it.

After reconnecting, he let go.

The camera hovered, extending its lens to scan the surroundings before drifting back to its original spot and landing precisely.

It stubbornly fixed its gaze on the cherry tomatoes ahead.

The ground beneath them was already indented from its repeated landings.

Tong Zhanyan followed its gaze. Tangled leaves, bare branches—the cherry tomato seedlings after two harvests looked utterly pitiful…

Whether it was Tong Zhanyan’s imagination or not, the camera seemed rather aggrieved, as if he had committed some heinous, heartless crime against those little tomatoes.

Tong Zhanyan’s mouth twitched. He must have overworked his brain from all the land preparation.

He decided not to provoke it further. As he turned to leave, he pondered buying another camera.

First, moving to the base meant more plants, making extra cameras more convenient. Second, if this one truly broke, he’d have a replacement ready.

With that thought, Tong Zhanyan opened the shopping app upon returning to his dorm.

This world was technologically advanced, with cameras ranging from thousands to millions of yuan, boasting all manner of features.

After browsing for a while, he settled on a relatively new model with minimal functions.

For him, streaming was always secondary; farming was the priority.

After placing the order, Tong Zhanyan contacted Mr. Bai again to discuss buying chickens.

Mr. Bai replied after a while, mentioning that his friend would have a batch hatching in the coming days.

Tong Zhanyan promptly confirmed the exact timing, preferring chicks that hadn’t consumed any synthetic feed.

The chicks were expected to start hatching around Wednesday.

Tong Zhanyan arranged to pick them up on Wednesday night.

Even with lights, nighttime tilling proved inconvenient, so he skipped the farm on Monday. Instead, he refocused on gathering leaves and eggshells.

With Qing Jiyue’s help, the next crop’s soil contamination issue was resolved, alleviating the leaf shortage. Eggshells, however, remained scarce.

Livestock were equally scarce in this world, making eggs a rare commodity. Factories churning out egg products like in his previous world didn’t exist here—he couldn’t even buy eggshells if he wanted to.

But collecting them himself…

Few at school could afford such luxuries, and their daily consumption was fairly consistent. It might suffice for the greenhouse, but it was nowhere near enough for several acres of land.

Tong Zhanyan had no choice but to shift his focus to the main city outside the school. The problem was, he had no idea which restaurants on the street sold eggs…

Should he ask Mr. Bai?

On Tuesday, Tong Zhanyan took a stroll around the streets.

Mr. Bai and the others were still tallying up the small tomatoes.

Mr. Bai pointed out three restaurants, but he didn’t know if any of them served dishes with eggs.

Tong Zhanyan went to check them out.

One had a back door leading to the kitchen. As soon as he approached, the kitchen staff eyed him suspiciously, as if he were a thief.

The other two didn’t have anyone watching, but he didn’t see any eggshells in their trash bins either.

Wednesday night, Tong Zhanyan headed straight to Mr. Bai’s place after class.

The farm was also on the city outskirts, in the opposite direction from the base and much farther away.

By the time they arrived, it was already past seven in the evening.

The farm was huge. Before entering, Tong Zhanyan had assumed it was because they raised so many chickens, but once inside, he fell silent the entire way.

Each ten-square-meter room was immaculately clean, housing no more than five chickens per space. Soft music played, green grass was projected onto the walls, and professional caretakers in protective suits, masks, and gloves played with the birds.

Those chickens seemed to live better lives than he did.

For a fleeting moment, Tong Zhanyan doubted he’d traveled through time—he wondered if he’d gone mad instead.

In comparison, the environment for the chicks slightly eased Tong Zhanyan’s mind. At least the incubators looked relatively normal—no single egg per compartment.

The farm’s owner was a middle-aged man around Mr. Bai’s age; the two had clearly known each other for some time.

After brief pleasantries, they donned protective gear and entered the incubation room.

Outsiders were generally barred from the incubation room to prevent introducing viruses that could sicken the chicks. Tong Zhanyan was only permitted entry because he was brought by Mr. Bai and specifically requested chicks that hadn’t eaten any feed.

Livestock wasn’t Tong Zhanyan’s area of expertise. Calling it “selecting” was a stretch—he basically just picked five that seemed relatively lively.

After selecting the chicks, Tong Zhanyan declined the owner’s recommendation for synthetic feed. Under the owner’s watchful gaze, he reluctantly picked the cheapest transport crate available.

He had originally hoped for a free cardboard box, but feared being kicked out outright.

After paying, Mr. Bai exchanged a few more pleasantries with the other man before they departed.

Mr. Bai escorted Tong Zhanyan to the greenhouse entrance.

Upon entering, Tong Zhanyan set down the crate and immediately retrieved the plastic pool, food bowl, and water bowl he’d prepared earlier.

The pool measured roughly two meters in diameter. To facilitate waste cleanup, Tong Zhanyan had lined the bottom with plastic sheeting using adhesive tape. The water bowl and food bowl were placed along the edge.

After finishing, Tong Zhanyan stared at this overly makeshift new home and fell silent.

He felt inexplicably guilty, as if he’d dragged a group of young masters and mistresses born with silver spoons into a slum to endure hardship.

After processing these complex emotions, Tong Zhanyan brought over the transport crate, opened it, and carefully placed each restless chick inside.

The newly hatched chicks were minuscule, their fluffy, pale yellow down making them resemble tiny, moving balls of fluff. The sight softened Tong Zhanyan’s heart.

It also intensified the guilt gnawing at his conscience.

After landing and a moment of disorientation, the little fluffballs flapped their tiny wings and scattered, chirping as they explored their new world.

Tong Zhanyan watched them for a while before getting up and entering the adjacent greenhouse.

The camera was scanning the area. Tong Zhanyan casually opened the light screen to check.

“What’s the streamer been doing all mysterious since just now?”

“Curious.”

“Curious +1”

The greenhouse walls were transparent. Though the camera couldn’t fully capture the outside activity, the viewers in the livestream chat had all witnessed Tong Zhanyan’s recent bustle.

That left them quite curious about what exactly Tong Zhanyan was up to.

“No waste—I chopped it up to feed the chickens,” Tong Zhanyan explained. “I want chicken manure; it can be used as fertilizer. But I always feel something’s off with the chickens raised on synthetic feed, so I thought I’d try…”

“What?”

“What did he say he’s feeding them?”

“…Chickens?”

“What the hell? Chickens eating crops now?”

“Seriously, is he out of his mind, or am I hearing things? Feeding crops to chickens?”

“What’s wrong with synthetic feed? I thought it had a low infection rate.”

“Chicken manure seems pretty expensive?”

“??? To save money on chicken manure, he’s feeding crops to chickens?“

”I feel like I’m starting to suffocate again…“

”That familiar suffocating feeling…“

”Our crops ran out two days ago, and we still don’t know how many days we’ll have to wait for more. You’re feeding them to chickens?“

”Not to be rude, but are you really not doing this on purpose?”

Seeing the crowd about to erupt again, Tong Zhanyan felt helpless. He’d thought they’d understand after the composting incident.

But he couldn’t really explain why he refused synthetic feed—after all, he had no proof.

As for the frenzy, he couldn’t do anything about that either.

He could help plant more, but without fertilizer, what would he use to grow them?

After pondering, he decided to remain silent.

Tong Zhanyan walked straight to the baby bok choy, plucking the healthiest-looking one. He used a knife to trim the root, rinsed it in a basin, then retrieved his old cleaver and cutting board to chop it up.

The beaks of the newly hatched chicks were still soft. They could tear the leaves apart, but the stems proved tough.

The livestream chat exploded with question marks.

“Wait, is the streamer serious? No way! These are growing so well—they’d sell for a fortune!”

“I thought we were harvesting! I was just about to get excited. What are you doing?”

“Host, are you out of your mind? These are crops!”

“You know how to pick ’em—this one was growing the best…”

Tong Zhanyan chopped the baby bok choy over and over, grinding them down as finely as possible until they were no bigger than grains of rice.

After finishing, he cleaned the knife and cutting board, then carried them outside.

In the pool, the chicks had already explored the surrounding area and were now gathered together, chirping away.

Seeing Tong Zhanyan approach, they flapped their tiny wings and rushed over in a flurry.

Tong Zhanyan scooped some chopped bok choy into the feeding trough. “Here, eat up.”

The chicks followed Tong Zhanyan’s hand toward the bowl, but none ate. Instead, they chirped at him incessantly.

Synthetic food had been the norm even before the great catastrophe, and with over a millennium having passed since then, crops had likely long been eliminated from these livestock’s diets.

Tong Zhanyan had considered the possibility of the infection rate failing to decrease, leading to the experiment’s failure, but he truly hadn’t anticipated encountering a problem at this very step.

Thinking back to the skepticism in the livestream chat, Tong Zhanyan felt his head spinning.

“Eat.” Tong Zhanyan tapped the food bowl with his finger.

A flurry of chirping ensued.

Tong Zhanyan even considered crouching down to demonstrate.

After a moment of frustration, he abandoned the idea.

He picked up the water bowl and returned to the hut to fetch drinking water.

When he came back, the bok choy still showed no signs of being touched.

He placed the water bowl beside the food tray and tapped it lightly with his finger.

The two chicks were drawn by the sound.

This time, they reacted, clumsily pecking at the water.

Seeing this, the other three immediately came over to drink as well.

As for the bok choy, they remained utterly uninterested.

Tong Zhanyan stared at them for a moment, a headache forming, before getting up to attend to other tasks.

He took a piece of foam padding previously used for tomatoes and placed it inside the shipping crate. He then removed the crate’s door and set it in the pool, creating a nest for them.

With the nest set up, Tong Zhanyan took more foam sheets and roughly covered four-fifths of the pool’s surface.

Most of the time, temperatures in this world hovered between 15 and 25 degrees Celsius, so it wasn’t particularly cold. Still, nighttime temperatures dropped lower than during the day.

These chicks had just hatched and needed warmth.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t return to school that night, planning to check on them again the next morning.

If things didn’t work out, he’d have to go back and buy some synthetic feed, mix it with the baby bok choy, and gradually transition them later.

But that would take even more time.

In the morning, when Tong Zhanyan checked again, the chicks were huddled asleep inside the shipping crate.

The baby bok choy hadn’t moved at all.

Tong Zhanyan felt a headache coming on.

Worried about it, he felt restless all morning.

At noon, the moment class ended, Tong Zhanyan rushed over to the greenhouse.

Bok choy had been moved out of the food bowl, but there were no signs of it having been eaten.

He hadn’t put much in to begin with, so it was obvious.

They must be hungry. Spotting Tong Zhanyan, the chicks chirped incessantly at him.

Tong Zhanyan dragged the bok choy closer to them. “This is food. Are you guys stupid?”

The flock of chicks stared at him blankly, as if he were the fool.

Tong Zhanyan sighed in resignation.

He hesitated for a moment, then decided to wait a little longer.

By evening, if things didn’t improve, he’d have to mix in some feed for now.

That night, Tong Zhanyan rushed over immediately after class.

As soon as he approached the door, the chicks chirped and fluttered toward him.

They were hungry.

Getting closer, he saw clearly. Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, his tense nerves slowly relaxing.

The baby bok choy was gone.

They’d finally discovered that stuff was edible.

“Silly things,” Tong Zhanyan muttered as he grabbed the leftover bok choy and dumped it all in.

Spotting the greens, the chicks swarmed over, scrambling to eat.

Tong Zhanyan exhaled deeply, picked up the basin, and headed back to the greenhouse to chop a few more bok choy plants for later.

Lunchtime was too short, and running back and forth was too much trouble. He decided to come over every evening instead. That meant he’d have to prepare enough for the entire day each time.