At this stage, the chicks couldn’t eat much, and since he’d only bought five to begin with, Tong Zhanyan estimated he’d pluck just four when he entered the greenhouse.

Using the same basin, cutting board, and knife, Tong Zhanyan chopped them into mincemeat in minutes.

Seeing Tong Zhanyan insist on this method, viewers watching the live stream through the camera’s sweeping view couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity.

“I really don’t understand why he just won’t listen to reason.”

“Using manure is one thing, but feeding it to chickens?”

“Chicken feed isn’t that expensive, is it?”

“Could it possibly cost more than crops?”

Seeing the screen flooded with skepticism, Gu Yunyang couldn’t help but frown.

Beside him, Old Xu felt the same way.

Old Xu disapproved of feeding the bok choy to chickens, but since Tong Zhanyan had only chopped up a few this time, he wasn’t overly upset.

“Should we contact Qing Jiyue’s side and ask?” Old Xu remained silent, but Shen Ye beside him couldn’t hold back.

“Such a waste,” Tang Xin echoed.

Senior Da Liu’s batch of cherry radishes and bok choy had been grown haphazardly—they could all tell. Yet even so, their condition was far superior to the ones they’d tended with such care.

Seeing them go to waste like this was truly heartbreaking.

Old Xu took a deep breath. “Let’s wait and see.”

He had promised Qing Jiyue he wouldn’t disturb him lightly.

Gu Yunyang exhaled in relief.

He didn’t agree either, but perhaps because he’d been involved since those first five little tomatoes, experiencing more incomprehensible things than others, he remained relatively composed.

Shen Ye and Tang Xin exchanged a glance, still somewhat conflicted.

On camera.

After chopping the bok choy, Tong Zhanyan stepped outside to check. The previous batch had already been devoured.

He added more.

The chicks didn’t crowd around this time, instead awkwardly preening their feathers—clearly full.

Tong Zhanyan made a mental note to measure out this exact amount for every future feeding.

After finishing, Tong Zhanyan reentered the greenhouse.

He first inspected the corn plant.

Though he knew little about raising chickens, he understood they couldn’t survive on just cherry radishes and bok choy.

The corn had been planted early, and upon closer inspection, he could already see the kernels forming. Yet Tong Zhanyan felt no satisfaction, for the stalk barely reached his chest.

In his former world, nearly all corn varieties—except for special breeds—towered above human height. This plant didn’t appear to be a special variety, making its stunted growth clearly problematic.

Its stalk was indeed thin and spindly.

Tong Zhanyan sighed. He’d just have to nurture the seeds slowly, bit by bit.

Knowing he couldn’t expect quick results, Tong Zhanyan set his mind to mixing fertilizer solution for watering and took the opportunity to check on his other crops.

The orange juice fertilizer had been used up last time, so he mixed fertilizer from the compost of the cherry radishes and bok choy behind.

The cherry tomatoes were the healthiest of all his crops, but after the first two harvests, signs of fatigue were gradually showing. The third batch of fruits remained half-green, half-red for days, even with consistent fertilization and watering.

In contrast, the eggplants and cucumbers had changed significantly in recent days. The eggplants were now three fingers wide, and the cucumbers were two fingers wide. They should be ready for harvest in about ten days.

The strawberries had also grown larger, but since they hadn’t fully expanded, they still didn’t look as impressive as the eggplants and cucumbers.

The bok choy is now fully ready for harvest, while the cherry radishes still need a bit more time. Tong Zhanyan plans to let them ripen and then compost them together with the bok choy.

After watering all the crops, Tong Zhanyan checked on the chicks that had settled down for the night before heading back to school.

Victims’ Alliance, Group 7.

“Pictures.”

“My cherry tomatoes arrived.”

The once-quiet group instantly erupted.

“Aaaah, jealousy is killing me.”

“How do they taste? Good?”

“Hmm… kinda sweet,” the winner replied.

“Sweet?”

“Aren’t cherry tomatoes supposed to be bitter?”

“Only the ones with infection rates over 20% are bitter. Those under 20% aren’t bitter, apparently.”

“Senior’s batch had such a low infection rate? And he was willing to give them away?”

The winner explained, “No, it’s actually pretty bitter. The infection rate must be high, but there’s a hint of sweetness in the bitterness.”

“What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“Bitter and sweet at the same time?”

“I can’t quite describe it either. It’s just different from what I’ve eaten before,” the winner sighed helplessly. “And it’s really huge.”

As he spoke, he uploaded another photo.

It showed a single tomato resting in the palm of a hand.

Yang Hong’s adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily. “How about I buy one from you? Just one.”

When his infection entered a state of frenzy and was discovered, the Gu Family had offered to supply crops themselves, promising much lower prices.

Back then, he’d refused without a second thought.

Now, here he was, spending his own money to buy one…

“I want one too!”

“I’ll cover the shipping myself. I want one.”

“No way.” The winner refused.

“Come on, just one…”

“Don’t be so stingy.”

“If I sell to you guys, I’ll have to go buy more myself,” the winner explained.

A brief silence fell over the group.

The winner himself broke the silence: “Relax, you won’t die from waiting a bit. But seriously, it really is tastier than what I’ve bought elsewhere before.”

“Damn it…”

“Aaaah…”

Amidst the screams, Yang Hong switched pages and began searching for related terms on Green Shade.

This giveaway was definitely generous, so many winners had posted about it.

Several threads had even been bumped into hot topics.

Yang Hong skimmed through them. Plenty of people raved about the sweetness, with some even exaggerating that it cured their frenzy after eating it.

Yang Hong couldn’t help but swallow hard again. He clicked on one of the posts, ready to send a private message asking if it was for sale.

Before bed, Tong Zhanyan noticed a message from Mr. Bai. His batch of cherry tomatoes had been nearly counted.

Tong Zhanyan planned to head over tomorrow at noon.

Besides settling accounts, he also had something else to discuss with Mr. Bai.

He’d been racking his brain over the eggshell issue, but hadn’t found a solution until he saw those chicks.

After chicks hatch, the eggshells remain.

The infection rate in hatching eggs shouldn’t be too high. The problem was that while the shells were worthless to the farm, they held significant value to him, making pricing difficult to control.

He’d considered asking about it at the farm before, but ultimately held back, planning to let Mr. Bai mediate the matter.

The next day at noon, Tong Zhanyan headed straight to the shop after class.

Mr. Bai had been waiting for him.

Seeing Tong Zhanyan enter, Mr. Bai—who was holding the ledger for a final check—took a deep breath with extremely mixed feelings. “Take a look.”

Tong Zhanyan took the ledger.

His eyebrows shot up at the figures. Over thirty million?

He’d assumed this batch of tomatoes would net just over thirty million in total, but he’d already sold ten million worth, and another batch remained in the greenhouse, ready for harvest.

“This batch is all top-notch quality,” Mr. Bai said, unsure whether to offer congratulations or a wry smile.

Though Tong Zhanyan’s cherry tomatoes were the second batch, they still ranked among the top quality compared to others’ crops, commanding a naturally high price.

Not only had he drained all his store’s working capital, but he’d also had to borrow from friends to cover the cost.

Tong Zhanyan nodded, saying nothing.

Mr. Bai pulled out his terminal. “Direct transfer?”

“Alright.”

Tong Zhanyan quickly received the transfer notification.

“Is there much in the third batch of cherry tomatoes?” Mr. Bai asked with some concern.

He had already started contacting his store’s customers, but these tomatoes weren’t cheap, and selling them all quickly would be tough.

“Not many left,” Tong Zhanyan replied.

Mr. Bai exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

However, the eggplants and cucumbers were nearing harvest, Tong Zhanyan mused.

Tong Zhanyan mentioned the eggshells.

“Eggshells?” Mr. Bai looked puzzled. “What do you need those for? “

”Farming. Grind them into powder, and they make excellent fertilizer. They also prevent blossom drop. You should try it.“

”Fertilizer?“ Mr. Bai had never heard of such a thing.

Tong Zhanyan’s cherry tomatoes were indeed grown exceptionally well, but was it wise to just blurt out the secret like that?

Tong Zhanyan said no more. “Then I’ll leave it to you.”

Tong Zhanyan wasn’t particularly surprised that Mr. Bai still hadn’t discovered his livestream. Mr. Bai was a farmer himself and wouldn’t be glued to someone else’s livestream every day.

His batch of cherry tomatoes had indeed caused a stir before, but that buzz was confined to the niche of gardening and hadn’t reached the point of being common knowledge.

After receiving the payment, Tong Zhanyan headed back to campus.

He transferred another twenty million to the account Qing Jiyue had given him, then went downstairs to gather fallen leaves and eggshells.

Soil for this crop was sufficient, but the next batch remained uncertain.

While excess stems from growing more crops could eventually decompose into soil, that required having enough soil to grow the crops in the first place…

Without external intervention, this was a dead-end cycle in the short term.

Moreover, as he cultivated more crops, his responsibilities multiplied, leaving him less and less time to gather these materials…

He had to figure something out.

It was an afternoon cultural studies class, and Ning Langdong wasn’t there.

At first, Tong Zhanyan thought he’d just sat somewhere else. Only when exhaustion made his eyelids droop, and he started observing his adorable classmates, did he realize Ning Langdong wasn’t in the classroom at all.

“Where’s Ning Langdong?” Tong Zhanyan whispered to Tian Xinqing on his right.

“He passed out at lunch.”

Tong Zhanyan was genuinely unaware. “What happened?”

“He’s been working nonstop, right? They said it was from overwork.”

Tong Zhanyan didn’t know what to say. He’d always thought it wouldn’t be surprising if Ning Langdong dropped dead from exhaustion one day.

“His mom’s in a shelter,” Su Yanran’s hushed voice suddenly came from behind.

Both turned to look.

“I overheard him on the phone downstairs the other day,” Su Yanran said. “Seemed like he lost another job and couldn’t pay up. He kept begging for a few more days. It’s just him and his mom, I think.”

Tong Zhanyan and Tian Xinqing exchanged glances, surprise visible in each other’s eyes.

After the initial shock came silence.

Frenzy, shelters—even for Tong Zhanyan, such things had become commonplace this semester. But when it happened to someone close, it still felt unbearable.

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

After the last class ended, Tong Zhanyan didn’t rush to the greenhouse. Instead, he headed to the school clinic.

He and Ning Langdong had met while job hunting.

The house was sold, the assessment looked hopeless, his body was weak and still feverish, and he had just over thirty thousand yuan in total…

Back then, he’d considered taking a part-time job, knowing he wouldn’t be able to earn money once he returned to the outer city.

He and Ning Langdong happened to apply at the same shop. Being classmates, they struck up a conversation while waiting.

Knowing he was also from the outer city and it was his first job, Ning Langdong shared a lot of advice and even helped polish his “resume.”

In the end, Tong Zhanyan didn’t take the job. Working one hour at noon and five hours at night would only net him a little over a thousand credits a month.

Ning Langdong, however, took the job.

After that, they only exchanged a few words when they met in class or on the way to school. Beyond that, they had little interaction, but Tong Zhanyan always held a favorable impression of him.

Someone who could find the strength to help others while struggling themselves couldn’t be all that bad.

The school clinic was empty, so it meant that Ning Langdong left as soon as he woke up.

Tong Zhanyan had to head to the greenhouse first—those chicks were waiting for him to feed them.

By the time he arrived, the baby bok choy had already been devoured.

The moment they spotted him, the chicks flapped their tiny wings and chirped incessantly.

They were starving.

The noise gave Tong Zhanyan a headache, so he quickly chopped up a few more heads of bok choy.

Once they got their food, they finally quieted down.

After two days, droppings were already visible in the pool. Tong Zhanyan didn’t rush to clean it, deciding to observe for a few more days.

With little else to do in the greenhouse, Tong Zhanyan left after feeding the chickens.

Returning home early, he grabbed a plastic bag and headed downstairs.

After collecting eggshells, he was about to gather leaves from the nearby grove when he faintly heard sobbing.

The sound felt vaguely familiar.

“…Ning Langdong?” Tong Zhanyan called out.

The crying stopped abruptly.

Tong Zhanyan sighed.

The next moment, he headed toward the grove.

This grove was one of the quieter spots nearby. Ning Langdong probably hadn’t expected to be found hiding here and was quickly wiping his cheeks.

As he drew closer, Tong Zhanyan momentarily lost his words. Comfort felt hollow.

After a long pause, he finally managed, “How about you work for me?”

“What?” Ning Langdong visibly froze.

Tong Zhanyan waved the plastic bag in his hand. “You know my greenhouse. I’ll be getting busier, so I need help…”

Though constantly suspecting others of harming him was unreasonable, his current situation meant he dared not employ anyone he didn’t trust.

Ning Langdong was a decent option.

Ning Langdong remained silent for a long while before speaking up, “What would I be doing?”

Seeing Ning Langdong wasn’t putting on airs, Tong Zhanyan breathed a sigh of relief and carefully explained the situation, “…That’s all for now.”

After a pause, Tong Zhanyan added, “Focus on your assessments these next few days. I still need to rent a training room first, so there’s no rush.”

At the mention of assessments, Ning Langdong fell silent.

His performance had plummeted, and he wasn’t sure if he could even stay.

Tong Zhanyan transferred five thousand credits directly to him. “This is your salary for the next month.”

After a long moment, Ning Langdong finally spoke. “If I fail the assessment, I’ll pay you back.”

“Alright.” Tong Zhanyan didn’t refuse.

Ning Langdong pulled himself up from the floor.

He stared in Tong Zhanyan’s direction for a while. “Thanks.”

“Go wash your face and get some sleep.” Tong Zhanyan patted his shoulder.

Ning Langdong stood there blankly for a while longer before wiping his face and leaving.

Watching him walk away, Tong Zhanyan glanced at the bag in his hand and went back to work.

The next day at noon, Tong Zhanyan went to the training room payment counter and rented the same training room he had last time.

The school had many training rooms, and that particular one was rarely rented, which worked out conveniently for him.

After renting it, Tong Zhanyan immediately moved the mountain of leaves piled up on the balcony over to the training room.

That night, Tong Zhanyan posted his third notice about picking cherry tomatoes.

By then, there were fewer than five days left until the assessment.

The tense atmosphere among the first-years reached its peak, leaving Tong Zhanyan feeling suffocated.

On the third-to-last day, all physical education classes for the first-years were changed to indoor self-study sessions. The intention was to let them rest and be in better shape for the assessment, but for those who felt uncertain, it became a form of torment.

Many secretly rented training rooms to practice.

Fearing accidents, the school had to dispatch nightly patrols.

That same night, Tong Zhanyan harvested the cherry tomatoes.

The third batch yielded far fewer tomatoes, and their smaller size made the harvest look rather meager compared to the previous two rounds.

Even so, Tong Zhanyan still picked five crates.

After harvesting, Tong Zhanyan initially planned to pull up the plants. But this batch seemed well-fertilized—many flowers that bloomed during picking had already set fruit. The tomatoes were already thumb-sized, and he estimated he could harvest another box.

That would easily be over twenty pounds.

His previous batch had only yielded a little over twenty pounds.

Tong Zhanyan thought about it and decided to leave them.

Since he only picked five crates, Tong Zhanyan didn’t ask Mr. Bai to drive over. He hailed a cab himself and headed to the store.

At the store.

Mr. Bai had just helped load two crates of tomatoes into a friend’s car, intending to have them sold. Turning around, he saw Tong Zhanyan unloading tomatoes from his own car.

“You picked more…” Mr. Bai didn’t know what emotion prompted those words.

“Yeah.” Tong Zhanyan replied, lifting the final crate from the trunk.

Mr. Bai smiled bitterly. Four crates.

Tong Zhanyan opened the front door.

Mr. Bai’s smile stiffened slightly.

Tong Zhanyan turned and handed over another box.

This time, Mr. Bai couldn’t muster even a wry smile.

He still had half of the dozen or so boxes of tomatoes he’d previously received, and that was after asking friends everywhere to help sell them.

Now Tong Zhanyan was bringing five more boxes…

“Why don’t you guys handle the calculations first?” Tong Zhanyan had no intention of waiting around.

“Alright.” Mr. Bai forced a smile, his voice sounding dry.

Tong Zhanyan left.

That night, Tong Zhanyan didn’t return to the school dormitory. Instead, he spent the night at the greenhouse.

As the assessment drew nearer, the pressure grew increasingly palpable, weighing heavily on him.

On the final night, the dormitory building was unusually lively, though the laughter carried a distinct note of forced cheer.

The written exam was held for all classes together, while the physical fitness tests were conducted by class. The entire process spanned four days, with results distributed uniformly afterward.

The written exam wasn’t difficult, and after finishing, everyone visibly relaxed.

That sense of relief lasted only an afternoon. The moment the physical assessments began the next day, the atmosphere turned oppressive once more.

Tong Zhanyan’s class, Class 25, was quite late in the rotation. By the time their turn came, it was already the morning of the fourth day.

The assessments were conducted in groups of ten, with each group taking about half an hour. Tong Zhanyan was in the last group.

Tong Zhanyan had mentally prepared himself, but by the end of the assessment, he felt like he could have slaughtered a chicken.

Knowing he was cultivating it, the chicken refused to cooperate, doing the exact opposite of what he commanded.

Judging by the examiner’s expression, he was pretty much guaranteed to be the bottom of his class.

That night, the entire dormitory building was deathly quiet.

The results were sent to their terminals at eight o’clock the next morning.

Tong Zhanyan’s total score was 1.3.

Qing Jiyue scored 9.7.

Tian Xinqing got 4.3, Su Yanran 4.1, and Ning Langdong 4.0.

Knowing all three would remain, Tong Zhanyan’s taut nerves finally relaxed.

There was no celebration. From the moment the results were released, the sound of sobbing filled the dormitory building.

Though the school didn’t disclose exact figures, past patterns suggested at least half would be expelled.

Many of those affected came from outer cities, including families like Su Yanran’s and Ning Langdong’s.

The day after the results were released, notices of retention and dismissal were distributed simultaneously.

Those with retention notices were to report back on schedule next year.

Those receiving dismissal notices had three days to leave, with no lingering permitted.

Tong Zhanyan received neither.

Inside the dorm room shared by Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran.

“Why don’t you go ask?” Tian Xinqing suggested.

“No rush.” Tong Zhanyan, who had been slightly anxious, now felt relieved.

Not receiving a withdrawal notice already said everything.

“When are you guys going home?” Tong Zhanyan asked.

Sidi Military Academy only had one semester per year, starting in February and ending in early October, leaving nearly four months for vacation.

“I’ll apply to stay on campus during the break and see if I can find a part-time job. But before that, I plan to go home first,” Su Yanran said.

Temporary work wouldn’t pay much, but it was still significantly better than wages in the outer city.

“I’ll wait until you’re done moving before I leave. As for the rest… I need to think it over,” Tian Xinqing scratched his head.

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

What Tian Xinqing needed to decide wasn’t whether to stay on campus, but whether to continue his studies at all. Yet they both sensed he’d already made his choice.

Neither voiced it aloud.

“We’ll connect through the terminal then,” Tong Zhanyan said. After moving, he planned to stay at the base.

“Mhm.”

“Alright.”

After discussing this, Tong Zhanyan went to Ning Langdong’s dorm next door and handed him the training room key card he’d prepared earlier.

Ning Langdong took it. “I want to go back and check things first. I should be back in about a week.”

“Alright.” Tong Zhanyan wasn’t in a hurry. The leaves were more for preparing the next crop, and moving would still take another ten days or so.

After making his rounds, Tong Zhanyan returned to the dormitory to find Qing Jiyue had already packed his things.

Qing Jiyue was definitely going back.

As the future Qing Family Head, his time at school felt more like a respite.

“Contact me if you need anything,” Qing Jiyue said.

“Alright.”

Qing Jiyue paused, “You can contact me even if you don’t need anything.”

Tong Zhanyan smiled. “Alright.”

The next morning, Qing Jiyue, Su Yanran, and Ning Langdong departed one after another.

Most of the school left with them.

Some departed in tears.

Only when the dormitory building fell silent again did Tong Zhanyan notice he’d received a notification from the school.

He took a deep breath and opened it.

His eyes widened in shock upon reading it. “Planting Department?”

Tong Zhanyan looked again.

The notification before him shared the same color scheme and design as the ones Tian Xinqing and the others had received. Only the content had changed—congratulating him on becoming a second-year student in the Planting Department of Sidi Military Academy.

Had they created a department just for him?

So this was why the school had been silent all this time?

Sidi Military Academy only had a Combat Department. Given his academic standing and circumstances, he certainly wasn’t suited for the subsequent curriculum. But creating an entire department just for him…

Did that mean his coursework would change, too?

Tong Zhanyan pondered this, then promptly shared the news with Tian Xinqing and the others.

“An entire department just for him…”

In the small group chat, Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran both fell silent.

Sidi Military Academy had been renowned for its strict and impartial standards for two hundred years since its founding. Even Qing Jiyue had only received self-directed training in physical education classes at most. Yet now, they were creating an entire department just for Tong Zhanyan…

Tong Zhanyan, however, felt indifferent about it.

After all, crops truly couldn’t do without people. If he were to disappear for half a month every few days, that wouldn’t be a viable solution.

As for the specific course schedule, the notice didn’t mention it. The school was probably still figuring it out.

If the school wasn’t in a hurry, Tong Zhanyan certainly wasn’t either.

When Tong Zhanyan and Tian Xinqing headed to the cafeteria at noon, the usually bustling space was now sparsely populated, with only a few scattered groups remaining.

After lunch, Tong Zhanyan took a nap and then began packing his things.

He planned to spend the next period of time living over at the greenhouse.

The eggplants and cucumbers were ripe, and the chicks needed daily feeding—running back and forth was too much hassle.

He also needed to prepare for moving.

Upon entering and setting down his things, Tong Zhanyan immediately checked on the chicks.

The newly hatched chicks grew remarkably fast. In less than ten days, they’d visibly filled out, with the sturdier ones even beginning to molt.

This made it resemble Tong Zhanyan’s Spirit Beast more and more—both radiating a certain… awkward charm.

Their appetites had also changed dramatically.

At first, they couldn’t finish even a single piece of bok choy. Now, he had to chop up about ten every day, causing that patch of bok choy to shrink visibly.

The only silver lining was that with their voracious eating came equally voracious excretion. The plastic liner at the bottom needed replacing just two days after installation.

Tong Zhanyan slipped on shoe covers and stepped into the pool.

Pulling out the old liner and replacing it with a new one, Tong Zhanyan had already developed a knack for the task.

Equally experienced were the chicks themselves. They showed no fear of the towering figure of Tong Zhanyan, often choosing to disrupt his work whenever he was busy.

“Get away…” Tong Zhanyan would push one away only for another to burrow out from beneath his hips.

Exasperated, Tong Zhanyan decided to catch them and put them back in the transport crate.

The moment his hand extended, the chicks scattered in a flurry of chirps, as if sensing danger.

Tong Zhanyan turned back to his work, and they immediately gathered around again.

Tong Zhanyan summoned his Spirit Beast. “Watch them. Don’t let them come near.”

The chicken glanced at Tong Zhanyan, then at the chicks, and remained still.

The chicks seemed startled by its sudden appearance, each freezing in place.

“What are you afraid of? You’re their kind,” Tong Zhanyan said, finding it slightly amusing.

The next moment, the chicken he summoned lunged at him, followed by a flurry of sharp pecks.

“Ow!” Tong Zhanyan cried out in pain, quickly shielding his head. But while his head was protected, his arms were exposed.

Seeing this, the entire flock of chicks charged forward, mimicking the attack and pecking at him.

As the chaos escalated, Tong Zhanyan swiftly recalled his Spirit Beast and shoved the fluffy little creatures away. “Back off.”

Pushed aside, they remained defiant, poised to attack again.

Without hesitation, Tong Zhanyan grabbed them and stuffed them into the transport crate. “You learn the wrong things instead of the good ones.”

Soon, they were all confined.

The pool wasn’t large; changing took only a few minutes.

This time, Tong Zhanyan didn’t discard the plastic sheeting immediately. Instead, he set aside a portion to take for later testing. If usable, he planned to start collecting manure.

Livestock also had infection rates. Those with low rates were typically protected as breeding stock, while commercially available ones generally had higher rates.

This batch of chicks had an infection rate around 40%.

According to the data Tong Zhanyan had researched, their feces typically carried an infection rate of about 50%.

Tong Zhanyan hadn’t started collecting right away because he wanted to clean out their digestive tracts first.

Even if they hadn’t eaten anything since hatching, their bodies might still carry some nutrients from the incubation period.

After cleaning the pool, Tong Zhanyan retrieved the cardboard boxes he’d used earlier and began packing up the other miscellaneous items.

Flower pots, perforated cups, lamps, various tools—there were quite a few things.

After finishing, Tong Zhanyan released the chicks that had slept through the night, added some feed, and then retrieved the pots that had held cherry tomatoes earlier. He moved them into the greenhouse, preparing for harvest.

He’d requested the boxes back after settling accounts with Mr. Bai.

The eggplants and cucumbers had been ready for picking for the past couple of days.

He’d posted the notice last night.

At exactly seven o’clock in the evening, Tong Zhanyan pulled out his scissors.

“No giveaway this time?”

“Don’t get greedy up there. How are you supposed to draw with eggplants this big?”

“Exactly. The streamer’s eggplants probably weigh over 200 grams each.”

“Alright…”

“Two hundred grams each… Could they really grow this big?”

“Stop it upstairs. I always thought eggplants were supposed to be fist-sized.”

“Fist-sized +1”

“Could it be that the streamer’s batch mutated?”

“One mutation per field?”

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

At the Planting Alliance.

Before the screen, the crowd fell silent.

Because they too had always believed eggplants were only fist-sized.

Especially Old Xu, who had planted this batch. With decent fruit set rates, he’d been quite pleased—even holding a special public lecture on it.

Now his face burned with embarrassment.

He dared not recall what he’d said during that lecture—it felt like he’d been misleading his students.

Gu Yunyang and the others who attended that session now avoided even glancing his way, fearing the sting of recognition.

“Let’s begin,” Senior Da Liu announced.

The group, who had been zoning out moments before, instantly focused their attention.

“Snap…”

The first eggplant was pulled from beneath the sapling.

Held against Senior Da Liu’s hand for comparison, the eggplant appeared even larger—nearly as thick as the forearm of a five- or six-year-old child.

“This batch of seedlings just won’t cut it,” Senior Da Liu declared after his inspection.

This time, many couldn’t help but instinctively glance toward Old Xu.

A twitch involuntarily crossed Old Xu’s face.

If even these weren’t up to par, what about the ones he’d cultivated?

If these weren’t good enough, what would be?

The live stream audience felt the same way.

“Host, maybe you should just stay quiet. Every time you speak, my stomach hurts.”

“Stomachache +1”

“Not me—I get liver pain.”

“If these aren’t good enough, what is? Basketball-sized?”

“Impossible! That’d crush the seedlings!”

“…I kinda get what he means by ‘no good’ now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hard to explain. Those little tomatoes before felt so good—vibrant leaves, sturdy stems, just looked so lively. But these eggplants…”

“These eggplants look lively, too? Leaves aren’t wilted…”

Yang Hong, however, understood a bit.

These eggplants were growing exceptionally well—taller than any seedlings he’d ever seen, with fruits larger than anything he’d witnessed. Yet, they felt distinctly closer to those little tomatoes Senior Da Liu had cultivated in the training room.

They were good, but not quite that good.

But what exactly constituted “that good”? Having never seen it before, he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Perhaps only seeing it would reveal the answer.

Harvesting eggplants was relatively easier than cherry tomatoes, but a new problem arose: the large fruits left gaps that couldn’t be filled, quickly filling the crate to capacity.

Tong Zhanyan had to pause and rearrange the eggplants, using them to build makeshift barriers and increase the crate’s volume.

“…Couldn’t you just buy a few more crates?”

“Are you sure this won’t break?”

“I’m already feeling uncomfortable all over. What if it breaks?”

“Why do you always find ways to make people uncomfortable, host?”

“My eggplants…”

“Aaaah…”

After expanding the space with four additional boxes, Tong Zhanyan finally finished picking all the eggplants.

After a brief rest, Tong Zhanyan immediately contacted Mr. Bai, instructing him to drive over with a truck to haul them away.

“Bring over a dozen or so boxes when you come—larger ones, preferably bigger than mine.” Tong Zhanyan reminded him, as he still had cucumbers to pick and some cherry tomatoes left.

“Got it.”

At the store.

After replying, Mr. Bai rubbed his temples in frustration while instructing a nearby clerk to prepare the crates.

“That Tong Zhanyan again?”

“Mhm…”

“The largest size?”

The store had oversized crates for other goods, which they never used for produce. But in this urgent situation, no alternative was immediately available.

“Yes.”

“Will fifteen be enough?”

Mr. Bai estimated, “Ten should suffice.”

Tong Zhanyan’s greenhouse was only about 200 square meters. Though he claimed to have planted just 170 cherry tomato plants, he seemed uncertain himself. Mr. Bai guessed it was closer to 200, maybe even 250.

That would leave little space for other crops.

Eggplants and cucumbers weren’t as prolific as cherry tomatoes. Combined…

Ten crates would definitely suffice.

Visualizing that scene, Mr. Bai couldn’t help but smile bitterly.

He’d enlisted friends and contacted all his old customers, finally managing to sell most of those nearly twenty crates of cherry tomatoes. He was still fretting over the remaining ones—and now another ten crates were coming…

After wrapping up the call, Tong Zhanyan briefly addressed his livestream audience before starting to move the eggplants toward the door.

Just as he finished moving the eggplants outside, a knock sounded at the door.

Tong Zhanyan hurried to open it.

“The boxes—I—” Outside, Mr. Bai was about to say he’d brought the boxes when his smile froze at the sight of the pile of eggplants at Tong Zhanyan’s feet.

Ten boxes—a full ten boxes.

Four of them were even overflowing.

And the boxes contained only eggplants.

Not eggplants and cucumbers—just eggplants.

“Why did you only bring these?” Tong Zhanyan was already inspecting the boxes in the truck. He had clearly asked for extra.

Mr. Bai turned back, his tone dry. “…Didn’t you say there’d be cucumbers too?”

“Right.” Tong Zhanyan deftly unloaded the empty boxes from the truck. “Take these eggplants back first, then come back later.”

“The cucumbers… how many are there?”

“About this many.” Tong Zhanyan gestured with his chin toward the eggplants on the ground.

Mr. Bai’s lips twitched. For a split second, he nearly lost control of his expression.

After a long pause, he finally managed to squeeze out, “About… ten boxes?”

“What’s wrong?” Tong Zhanyan asked, puzzled.

Mr. Bai nearly gasped for breath.

What was wrong?

Tong Zhanyan asked him what was wrong?

Ten boxes of eggplants, ten boxes of cucumbers—and Tong Zhanyan was asking him what was wrong?

“Oh, right, there are also some cherry tomatoes.” Tong Zhanyan glanced at the boxes he’d unloaded. Mr. Bai had definitely brought too few.

He had clearly reminded him.

Mr. Bai was usually so dependable, wasn’t he?

“Need help loading these into your car?” Tong Zhanyan glanced at the eggplants. His livestream audience was waiting for him to return.

“No…”

Tong Zhanyan nodded, hoisting a crate toward the back of the shed.

Watching Tong Zhanyan leave, Mr. Bai stood dumbstruck for a long moment before snapping to and contacting his shop staff.

He was too drained to drive now.

He needed to save his energy to figure out what to do next.

He’d already contacted everyone who might need them during this period. These weren’t cheap, and they’d spoil if stored too long—no one would buy more anytime soon…

His friend still hadn’t sold all their cherry tomatoes.

Maybe offer a discount?

Catching himself in thought, Mr. Bai found the idea absurd.

Crops were always in high demand—when had they ever started discounting?

“Oh, and bring two extra boxes when you come.” Tong Zhanyan, who had already turned to leave, popped back up.

Mr. Bai’s facial muscles twitched.

“Are you okay?” Tong Zhanyan glanced at the distracted man before him, puzzled.

“…I’m fine.”