Tong Zhanyan glanced over twice more before heading back to the greenhouse to continue picking.

Harvesting cucumbers proved trickier than eggplants, as many grew deep within the trellises, requiring him to crawl inside to pick them.

The quantity of cucumbers matched the eggplants, and soon eight crates were filled.

Tong Zhanyan set the remaining ones on the ground, reserving two crates for cherry tomatoes.

As this unexpected fourth harvest came late, the tomato plants were rather neglected, and most fruits were on the small side.

Tong Zhanyan carefully selected the larger ones to pick.

Half an hour later, he had managed to fill nearly two crates.

After finishing them, Tong Zhanyan casually picked the fifty-plus cherry tomatoes that had long since ripened for seed saving.

This batch of seeds wasn’t in too bad shape, so he saved more than usual.

Setting the seed tomatoes aside, he contacted Mr. Bai’s place. Then, he turned and pulled up the tomato plants.

“Why pull them out? There are still so many fruits left!”

“Yeah, those fruits could easily yield several pounds…”

“They’re almost ripe…”

Though many had heard about the fate of the previous batch of cherry tomatoes, seeing Tong Zhanyan suddenly start uprooting the plants still drew a chorus of heartbroken groans in the livestream chat.

“They’re too small. Picking them when ripe would be a hassle,” Tong Zhanyan explained. “Leaving them here to become fertilizer serves the same purpose.”

The audience felt like they were about to spit blood.

A hassle to pick?

Was this even human speech?

Tong Zhanyan added, “Besides, I’m planning to move in a few days. Some things need to be taken care of ahead of time.”

The audience’s attention instantly shifted.

“Moving?”

“But this greenhouse is perfectly fine!”

“This streamer is hands down the most frequent mover I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s not a greenhouse, it’s a base. The greenhouse is only about 500-600 square meters max. Plant a few more and there’s no room left,” Tong Zhanyan explained briefly.

“…While that makes sense, why does it sound so weird?”

“Because the streamer actually manages to grow things, right?”

“I actually think he has a point.”

“No clue where this base is, but anything called a base should be at least a thousand square meters. How much is the streamer planning to plant next time…”

“A thousand square meters? That’s two mu of land…”

The entire livestream audience tried to picture it.

They’d seen bases before. Among planting livestreamers, it wasn’t uncommon for those who could successfully grow some crops to expand their operations using bases.

But Senior Da Liu is expanding his base…

“Why am I getting this rush of excitement?”

“If he plants cherry tomatoes everywhere, harvesting alone would probably kill him…”

“A sea of bright red fruit stretching as far as the eye can see.”

“Two mu of land—that’s gotta be hundreds of pounds…”

“Hundreds? More like thousands!”

“Over a thousand catties… 500 grams per catty, so 1,000 catties is 500,000 grams. Assuming minimal waste, one person needs about 20 grams of produce daily—that’s enough for over 25,000 people…”

“Is this real? I wouldn’t dare dream of such a thing.”

“Ahhh…”

In the blink of an eye, Tong Zhanyan had already pulled out most of the tomato seedlings.

During a break, he glanced at the chat filled with fantasies about “two acres” and merely smiled faintly, choosing not to correct them.

They’d find out soon enough.

Pulling up fewer than two hundred tomato plants took only ten minutes.

After finishing, Tong Zhanyan began hauling the cucumbers outside.

After a brief rest, Tong Zhanyan gathered the tomato seedlings, pulled out an industrial box, a cleaver, and a cutting board, and began chopping.

He planned to compost these small tomato seedlings. Though the resulting fertilizer wouldn’t be highly effective, he desperately needed any fertilizer he could get.

For a moment, the entire livestream was filled with the sound of chopping.

Halfway through chopping, the terminal buzzed. Boss Bai had finally arrived.

Tong Zhanyan got up and headed outside.

This time, Boss Bai came with two people from his shop.

The moment Tong Zhanyan opened the door, the two shop assistants gasped.

“How can there be so many more?”

“Oh my god…”

Tong Zhanyan had seen such gasps countless times in his livestreams. He merely smiled and gestured toward the two empty crates in the car. “There are still some cucumbers inside. You guys start unloading them. I’ll go pack them up.”

Hearing there were more, the two employees exchanged glances. Their gaze toward Tong Zhanyan turned peculiar.

They knew he rented a greenhouse, and they knew it was only 200 square meters. But this yield? Could 200 square meters really produce this much?

Moments later, when Tong Zhanyan emerged carrying cucumbers, the ones on the floor remained untouched.

Tong Zhanyan placed the crate in the truck. “What’s wrong?”

“This much… Can we really sell it all?” one of the employees asked.

“Sell it all?” Tong Zhanyan froze for a second, then instantly understood why Mr. Bai had been distracted since earlier.

Fruits and vegetables have shelf lives; left too long, they spoil.

Many people had contracted the frenzy virus, but not everyone. Plus, this stuff was incredibly expensive—many couldn’t afford it even if they wanted to…

Suddenly having thirty or forty extra boxes in such a short time was indeed a problem.

Tong Zhanyan smiled at the helpless Mr. Bai standing behind them. “…Why don’t you try harder? Like expanding your customer base or opening a branch store?”

Mr. Bai’s mouth twitched. He’d never imagined hearing such a suggestion under these circumstances.

“Then maybe I should try asking other stores?” Tong Zhanyan was starting to get a headache, too.

Ideally, he hoped to establish a long-term partnership with Mr. Bai. After all, if he had to keep stocking these items, he’d be tied up for at least half a month with nothing else to do.

But he still had to make compost, prepare the soil, move house, and harvest a crop before the holiday ended. He simply didn’t have the time.

Mr. Bai took a deep breath and steeled himself to bear this sweet burden. “No, I… I’ll try harder.”

Worst case, he’d really open another branch?

Tong Zhanyan exhaled in relief and quickly helped load the items into the truck.

Finally, Tong Zhanyan handed them the chicken manure he’d set aside earlier. He wouldn’t visit the store—just send him the results directly.

After seeing Mr. Bai off, Tong Zhanyan lingered at the entrance for a moment before returning to the greenhouse.

Tong Zhanyan chopped all the tomato seedlings into pieces and stuffed them into the compost barrels. After adding some water, he casually processed the tomato seeds he’d saved.

“…By squeezing them?”

“Take a deep breath. The host is behind the screen. I can’t hit them. Just hold it in.”

“Won’t the seeds get ruined?”

“…Why does squeezing them feel kinda satisfying?”

Tong Zhanyan added water several times to knead the seeds, discarding any that floated to the surface as insufficiently viable. He then spread the remaining seeds evenly to dry in the sun.

This time, he’d saved a lot of seeds—at least over a thousand.

But looking at them, Tong Zhanyan didn’t feel much better.

When he first bought those five tomato plants, the infection rate was around forty-five percent. This was already the third batch. Even if he managed to keep the infection rate under control for the next few rounds, he estimated he could only plant three more times before the infection rate would exceed fifty percent.

Then the seeds would be useless.

After all the effort to cultivate them, he’d have to start over after just a few plantings…

After another glance, Tong Zhanyan picked up the basin and knife and headed toward the bok choy patch.

Tomorrow, he’d need to prepare the soil at the base.

Having prepped the feed for the chicks, Tong Zhanyan set off for the base early the next morning with his backpack.

Once the initial novelty wore off, the overwhelming sense of desolation hit him the moment he entered the base. Combined with the excessive emptiness and silence, it made Tong Zhanyan feel a bit creeped out.

He decided to summon his chicken.

Even though they were one and the same, having another moving creature around was still more comforting.

It was the chicken’s first time at the base. After appearing, it looked around before strutting about with its head held high, surveying its surroundings.

Tong Zhanyan set down his backpack, grabbed a hoe, and got to work.

He had already cleared half of that plot during his last visit. The remaining land was only about an acre, but the soil was so hard that he labored at it until noon and still hadn’t quite finished.

By the time he finished, it was already past one o’clock.

He took a shower, changed into clean clothes, and headed to the convenience store next to the base—the one he’d visited before—to buy lunch, dinner, and tomorrow’s breakfast.

The base’s sheer size had its downsides; even grabbing a meal required a half-hour trek.

On his way back, Tong Zhanyan kept pondering whether to buy some long-term storage nutrient solutions to keep on hand. Running back and forth like this wasn’t sustainable.

There were indeed nutrient solutions designed for long-term storage, but they contained numerous additives. Much like the pre-packaged meals from his original world, many people found them unappealing.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t mind them much—after all, with his short shelf life, regular food tasted like poison to him anyway.

The difference might just be in the toxicity level?

Back at the base, Tong Zhanyan downed his lunch in one go before taking a nap.

Soil preparation was backbreaking work.

He awoke past four in the afternoon.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t rush back. Instead, he drove the small car around the perimeter of the small building, keeping the structure as his reference point.

When Qing Jiyue had brought people to hand over the base earlier, they’d also driven around nearby, though back then it was mainly to locate specific equipment.

This time, Tong Zhanyan wanted to study the terrain itself, to plan ahead.

Some things, once planted, were hard to change—like those orange and tangerine trees.

The base had two main gates, one at the front and one at the rear.

The rear gate was too far from the school, and Tong Zhanyan had yet to visit it.

Within the base were five hills. Three stood behind the small building, positioned toward the left front of the base near the front gate.

The areas behind and surrounding these hills were entirely open land.

The other two hills were closer to the rear gate.

An artificial river runs between the two mountain ranges, its waters flowing down from the hills, effectively splitting the entire base in two.

With most of his seeds geared toward spring, achieving a year-round cycle across the entire base was unrealistic. The best approach was to first increase the temperature and light levels in a few specific areas.

However, doing so would require those areas to be spaced farther apart.

Space wasn’t the issue; it was the daily running around he’d have to do.

Driving around, the base felt even larger than Tong Zhanyan had anticipated. He set out around 4 PM and explored until nightfall, yet still hadn’t covered everything.

That evening, after finishing his nutrient solution, Tong Zhanyan opened the shopping app to browse basic furniture. Only then did he notice numerous messages from Mr. Bai.

The manure test results were in: infection rates ranged from 45% to 48%.

The chicks themselves had a 40% infection rate. When fed standard synthetic feed, manure infection rates typically hovered around 50%.

The inspection results looked promising.

Tong Zhanyan wasn’t overly excited, though. After all, whether it was usable would require testing—and that carried risks.

A crop cycle would take at least one to two months to mature. If the manure proved problematic, it could drastically increase crop infection rates—worse still, it might contaminate the soil.

Still, the chickens could be raised.

Additionally, the farm finally responded.

This marked the first time anyone had approached them about purchasing eggshells. After deliberation, the offered price matched that of the manure.

Several institutions also purchased manure from them for research on cultivation methods, paying a substantial price—around five or six hundred yuan per pound.

Five or six hundred yuan per pound for manure? Tong Zhanyan momentarily didn’t know what expression to make.

But five or six hundred yuan per pound for eggshells? That he could accept.

First, the shells were genuinely scarce. Second, he had an immediate need for them. Third, eggshell powder required relatively little quantity—one pound would suffice for his entire plot.

Tong Zhanyan replied, stating he’d take whatever quantity of eggshells was available. Additionally, he planned to purchase another batch of chicks.

Mr. Bai responded promptly, confirming chicks would be available within the next couple of days.

Though the breeding base looked large, it actually housed relatively few chickens, so hatching occurred quite frequently. Calculating it out, there would be several batches every month.

Tong Zhanyan scheduled the pickup for tomorrow morning.

Not having classes was convenient.

After finishing his conversation with Mr. Bai, Tong Zhanyan continued browsing the shopping app.

He would spend half of the next three years here, and the small building didn’t even have a bed. That was definitely unacceptable.

Besides a bed, tables, chairs, and a sofa were also essential.

Furthermore, this small building had previously been used as a communal space. Although it had been cleaned, he planned to replace some of the bathroom fixtures.

He still held over ten million in his hands, and with over twenty crates of crops from Mr. Bai, he felt no pang of regret while shopping.

With those crops as a comparison, Tong Zhanyan genuinely felt these items weren’t expensive at all.

By the time he finished, it was already past ten at night. Tong Zhanyan checked the group chat again.

Su Yanran had already arrived home and seemed quite cheerful.

Tian Xinqing was alone in the dormitory, already complaining about boredom after just two days.

Qing Jiyue and Ning Langdong weren’t in the group.

Tong Zhanyan replied briefly to Tian Xinqing in the small group chat before turning in early.

The next day, Mr. Bai picked him up at the base entrance and drove them to the same farm as before.

They first discussed the eggshells, signed a simple contract, sat for a while longer, and then headed to the hatchery.

The farm didn’t hatch many eggs at a time; this batch totaled only thirty.

Tong Zhanyan purchased twenty-five of them outright.

Given the base’s size, he’d have liked to raise three to five hundred chickens, but he simply didn’t have enough crops to feed them.

Even the chickens he currently had were pitifully subsisting on cherry radishes and bok choy.

Tong Zhanyan was genuinely afraid he might starve them to death.

After buying the chickens, Tong Zhanyan thickened his skin and asked for free cardboard boxes.

Livestock in this world fared only slightly better than crops. Five chickens meant five transport boxes, totaling nearly two thousand yuan.

It made him feel like a sucker.

The owner gave him five free boxes, strictly adhering to the specification of one box per five chickens.

As Tong Zhanyan left, the shopkeeper still looked hesitant, as if he had something to say. This only intensified Tong Zhanyan’s feeling that he was dragging a bunch of spoiled brats to live in the slums.

Tong Zhanyan took the chicks back to Dapeng’s place first, since the base had nothing.

Arriving home, he crouched beside the pool. Tong Zhanyan placed two chicks inside first, confirming the previous five showed no reaction before adding the rest.

Thirty chicks sounded like a lot, but most were still smaller than a fist. The pool, with its diameter of about two meters, proved spacious enough.

The newly purchased chicks were fluffy and vibrant in color. The previous five were noticeably larger and nearing molting season, looking rather scruffy—a stark contrast.

After watching for a while, Tong Zhanyan went to the greenhouse to chop some bok choy.

This feeding went smoothly.

With the previous five chicks leading the way, the others, though a bit hesitant, began pecking at the food.

After a few bites, realizing it was edible, they completely let loose, scrambling to gobble it up.

As usual, Tong Zhanyan planned to wait a few days before collecting the droppings, giving their digestive systems time to adjust.

That afternoon, Tong Zhanyan visited the store.

Eggplants and cucumbers, being large in size but few in quantity, were relatively easy to account for. The tally with Mr. Bai was already complete.

Additionally, Tong Zhanyan wanted to ask Mr. Bai to inquire about oranges and tangerines. He also planned to look into seeds again.

He didn’t hold much hope for oranges and tangerines, but breeding needed to be started urgently.

He had seeds for most of this batch, but from the previous batch, he only had corn and sweet potatoes.

Regarding oranges and tangerines, Mr. Bai immediately advised Tong Zhanyan not to get his hopes up. “As for tomatoes, besides the dwarf cherry tomatoes, there are still regular ones available. But generally, once people have one type, they won’t bother with another. If you want them, I can get them for you right now.”

“For other seeds, you’ll have to ask Old Jin and the others.”

Mr. Bai paused before adding a warning: “And you need to be clear—even if you can buy seeds, survival rates are low. After one or two planting cycles, infection rates could easily exceed 50%. That would drastically cut the price.”

“Some seeds might not even make it past 50%.”

Tong Zhanyan exhaled with resignation. “Go ahead and ask for me. I’ll take whatever you can get.”

He’d already considered all this. The sweet potatoes hadn’t survived before, costing him a direct loss of 170,000 yuan.

But if he didn’t buy now, it would only get harder to acquire in two years—maybe even impossible, even with money.

He’d start breeding them immediately upon purchase. If a solution for the infection rate emerged later, he could use them directly.

“Good that you’ve thought it through,” Mr. Bai said. “I’ll inquire for you later.”

“How are the crops selling?” Tong Zhanyan asked.

Mr. Bai’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by a helpless expression.

Tong Zhanyan chuckled wryly.

His goal achieved, Tong Zhanyan didn’t linger. He retrieved his boxes, requested ten extra for backup, then took his leave.

Watching Tong Zhanyan walk away, Mr. Bai finally withdrew his gaze.

He glanced at the group still bustling in the reception area, then continued contacting his contacts with a headache.

A customer entered.

Mr. Bai looked up.

The man sported a shaved head, looking like he wanted to come in but felt awkward about it—which made him appear rather intimidating.

Mr. Bai paused, “You are…”

“Are you selling the cherry tomatoes grown by Senior Da Liu?” Wang Yanzhou asked.

“Senior Da Liu?” Mr. Bai was baffled. “We do have plenty of cherry tomatoes here, but I don’t know who you mean by Senior Da Liu.”

Wang Yanzhou had already spotted the bustling group in the reception area, which also drew his attention to the eggplants and cucumbers.

Tong Zhanyan’s crops were easily recognizable—no one else could grow produce with that particular color and quality.

“Let me see the cherry tomatoes,” Wang Yanzhou said.

Mr. Bai promptly led him to the refrigerated display.

He’d already enlisted acquaintances to help sell them, but five or six boxes remained in the store.

“I’ll buy some…” Wang Yanzhou offered.

Mr. Bai quickly fetched a bag.

A few minutes later, Mr. Bai escorted him out the door.

Returning to the cash register, Mr. Bai was about to sit down when movement stirred at the entrance again.

This time, the person entering looked like a student.

“Are Senior Dai Liu’s crops sold here?” Dai Shuda asked.

Mr. Bai grew increasingly puzzled but patiently explained, “We do have cherry tomatoes here, but I’m not familiar with the senior you mentioned.”

Dai Shuda hesitated briefly before changing the name. “Tong Zhanyan.”

Mr. Bai looked startled, then quickly replied, “Tong Zhanyan’s produce is indeed sold in our store.”

“Really?” Dai Shuda nearly jumped for joy.

“Mhm.” Mr. Bai led the way toward the refrigerated display.

Before Mr. Bai could open the door, Dai Shuda dashed out. “Wait…”

Stepping outside, Dai Shuda found an empty corner and quickly opened his terminal to access the Victims’ Alliance group chat.

The group was buzzing.

“Damn it, I’ve asked everyone I could find. Either they’re sold out, or they won’t sell.”

“You asked too? I already tried a couple of days ago.”

“I did find one seller earlier, but the price was ridiculously high. I hesitated, and by the time I decided, they were sold out.”

“Aaargh, I really want to try it…”

This situation had persisted since the lottery ended, now stretching over half a month.

Precisely because of this, Dai Shuda decided to try his luck. Unexpectedly, with only two shops on the street, his first attempt succeeded.

His excitement made his hands tremble slightly.

The Victims’ Alliance had now expanded to eleven groups, each a massive 2,000-member chat.

Though he’d been around since the first group formed—making him practically a veteran—his daytime classes and frequent field training left him no time to constantly monitor the terminal. He hadn’t been selected for management back then.

He did help promote the group initially, but with so many contributors, he remained largely invisible.

But then…

Dai Shuda took a deep breath before composing and sending his message: “I can get Senior Da Liu’s crops.”

“What?”

“Seriously?”

“Didn’t they say all available crops were sold out?”

Over a dozen messages flooded the group instantly.

Dai Shuda returned to his shop, snapped two photos of the cherry tomatoes through the display case, and sent them to the group.

Senior Da Liu’s tomatoes were noticeably larger than everyone else’s, and each one was perfectly uniform—something others couldn’t replicate.

The photos set the group ablaze.

Dai Shuda didn’t rush to reply. He waited a moment for everyone to calm down before speaking. “I found the store where the senior sells his crops. I can help you place orders there, but let’s be clear—I’m just helping out, no charge. So if something happens during shipping…”

Mr. Bai had returned to the cash register but couldn’t focus on contacting anyone. The student at the door had already dashed in and out several times, each time more excited than the last.

Senior Da Liu?

Does Sidi Military Academy even have a sixth year?

As Mr. Bai stood bewildered, the student reentered the store. This time, however, he wasn’t heading toward the refrigerated display—he was coming straight for Mr. Bai.

“Can you ship crops via courier?” Dai Shuda asked.

“Courier?” Mr. Bai hesitated.

Crops were extremely fragile, shipping times were long, and the high cost meant even a small purchase could be worth tens of thousands. They generally avoided online delivery channels.

“I have a lot of orders,” Dai Shuda stated.

“How many is ‘a lot’?”

“At least a hundred or two.”

Mr. Bai was tempted, yet still hesitant.

If something happened during transit, each order meant tens of thousands in losses. Even without mishaps, the insurance per order was steep.

“Three hundred orders,” Dai Shuda gritted his teeth.

Eleven groups should cover it.

Mr. Bai glanced back at the conference room where calculations continued, then gritted his teeth. “Alright.”

The moment Tong Zhanyan entered, he was met with a cacophony of chirping.

He walked over to the pool and saw that the baby bok choy he’d placed there that morning had been completely devoured.

Tong Zhanyan was somewhat surprised. He’d given them five times the amount he’d previously fed the five chicks, which should have been more than enough.

As he approached, all the chicks crowded toward him, their chirping growing even more frantic.

They were hungry.

Tong Zhanyan had no choice but to roll up his sleeves and enter the greenhouse.

A few minutes later, he emerged carrying a basin of shredded bok choy.

Squatting before the pool, he scooped handful after handful into the feeding trough, determined to see just how much they could consume.

Only after the fifth scoop did the chicks finally stop scrambling for food.

Tong Zhanyan couldn’t resist grabbing one that was preening its tiny wings for a closer look. He couldn’t understand why their appetite increased proportionally with their numbers.

Did more chickens mean tastier food and faster digestion?

The little creature disliked being held, kicking its legs and flapping its wings frantically.

Tong Zhanyan had no choice but to set it back down.

But this meant less of the cherry radishes and bok choy could be used for compost.

Pondering this, Tong Zhanyan proactively contacted Qing Jiyue.

When it came to oranges, he still had to rely on Qing Jiyue.

Qing Jiyue replied promptly, “I already checked for you before my vacation. There won’t be any available in the short term. That plant has an extremely long growth cycle and only bears fruit once a year. If you want more, you’ll have to wait until next year.”

“I’ve also asked the Planting Alliance to help inquire if any private research institutions have any. But don’t get your hopes up.” “

Qing Jiyue had already inquired for him beforehand?

A strange feeling stirred within Tong Zhanyan. He pushed the thought aside, thanked her, and ended the call.

That night, Tong Zhanyan posted a harvest notice.

Early the next morning, he was awakened by noise—the furniture he’d ordered had arrived.

Tong Zhanyan hurried over.

The delivery and installation crew were visiting the base for the first time, their eyes brimming with curiosity.

With so many items, installation wrapped up past six in the evening.

Tong Zhanyan rushed straight back to the greenhouse.

He’d scheduled the harvest for seven sharp. By the time he reached the greenhouse, only minutes remained.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Tong Zhanyan began preparations.

This batch of eggplants and cucumbers was only equivalent to the small tomatoes he’d grown in his training room. The first batch had a few decent ones, but the second batch was mostly just… meh.

“Even though these are bigger than any eggplants I’ve seen before, why do I feel this sense of disappointment?”

“You’re just spoiled now, even though I am too, haha…”

“Enough. Ever since joining this stream, I can’t watch any others anymore. Especially when I see those streamers getting all emotional over a few pitiful fruits…”

“Don’t say that. Honestly, just getting them to grow is impressive enough. The problem clearly lies with the streamers.“

”I just want to know when the streamer is moving? I’m dying to see the new planting base.“

”Speaking of which, I saw people starting to imitate the streamer’s planting a few days ago.“

”Really?“

”What’s it called? I’ll go check…”

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

The second batch of eggplants and cucumbers wasn’t large—only about fifteen crates total.

After picking them, Tong Zhanyan didn’t rush to notify Mr. Bai. Instead, he inspected the strawberries.

Many berries had already begun turning red.

Unless they were a specific, harder variety, strawberries became extremely soft once overripe—a light touch could bruise them.

That meant they couldn’t be harvested like cherry tomatoes; they had to be picked as soon as they ripened.

After going around once, Tong Zhanyan had picked only about twenty.

This was the first strawberry harvest. After picking them, looking at the bright red berries, Tong Zhanyan couldn’t resist tasting one.

Bitter and astringent.

“What’s with the streamer’s face…”

“You’re actually complaining about the biggest, reddest one?”

“Even if it’s a bit bitter, it can’t be that bad, right? Is the streamer’s sense of taste off? He seemed to react the same way to the bok choy last time.”

“I’m starting to wonder if he secretly dumped that bok choy last time…”

“???”

Another attempt, another disappointment. Tong Zhanyan expressionlessly tossed the remaining fruits into another small basin before contacting Mr. Bai.

After sending the produce away, Tong Zhanyan returned to the greenhouse and began pulling up seedlings.

He had been quite strict with flower and fruit thinning on the eggplants and cucumbers. After harvesting the fruits, not a single extra flower remained—keeping them would serve no purpose.

“Now comes the heart-stopping part.”

“Ahhh, are we really just going to pull them out like this? I feel like they could still bloom and bear fruit again.”

“It’s all for the move, all for a brighter future… Maybe we should postpone the move?”

“My heart aches.”

Two hours later, except for a few eggplants and cucumbers saved for seeds, half the greenhouse was cleared out. Even the cucumber trellises were dismantled.

The entire greenhouse no longer buzzed with life; it was a scene of utter chaos.

“It feels like waking up from a beautiful dream.”

“Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if I was dreaming all along.”

“It’s okay. Things will be better after we move. This new place is bigger—we’ll be able to grow more.”

“When exactly is the streamer moving?”

After pulling out the seedlings, Tong Zhanyan chopped them all up and tossed them into the compost bin.

He bundled the shelves by length, tying them securely, and placed them near the tool shed for easy transport later.

After finishing up, Tong Zhanyan took a break.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan made another trip to the base, bringing the remaining furniture.

Watching it all get installed, Tong Zhanyan did another round of cleaning.

Before leaving, Tong Zhanyan watered the soil mounds once more, as the leaves hadn’t fully decomposed yet.

On the third day, Ning Langdong returned.

Tong Zhanyan went back to school and explained in detail about the leaves and eggshells.

The leaves were definitely needed, and the eggshells would be ideal too—after all, he’d already spent money to buy them.

After explaining everything, Tong Zhanyan took him to see the greenhouse.

Tian Xinqing followed along. Living alone in the dormitory, he was already on the verge of losing his mind.

Inside the greenhouse, Tong Zhanyan turned off the camera before letting the two men enter.

Given his current situation, it was best to keep others—besides Qing Jiyue—from getting too deeply involved for now.

After understanding the situation, Ning Langdong returned to school, while Tian Xinqing stayed at the greenhouse until nightfall.

It was his first time seeing baby chicks in person, and he was quite excited, chirping away at them for hours.

The day after Ning Langdong returned, Mr. Bai had the accounts settled.

Tong Zhanyan went to settle the bill.

Upon entering, he saw Mr. Bai and his crew busily packing his cherry tomatoes, eggplants, and cucumbers. A pile of already-packed boxes lay on the ground beside them.

Had this evolved into online sales?

Tong Zhanyan now looked at Mr. Bai with a hint of amusement. It seemed pushing someone to their limits could indeed spur growth.

“How are sales going?” Tong Zhanyan inquired.

“…Should sell out.” Mr. Bai momentarily didn’t know how to answer Tong Zhanyan’s question.

He’d already heard from Dai Shuda about Tong Zhanyan’s livestreaming and knew exactly what these packages were for—it had stunned him.

He knew Tong Zhanyan’s crop harvest had been almost unrealistically bountiful, but a million followers? Hundreds of thousands of concurrent viewers? Over a dozen groups, each with two thousand members?

If he weren’t currently selling Tong Zhanyan’s produce, if he hadn’t already shipped over four hundred orders with another two hundred pending, and if Dai Shuda wasn’t still placing new orders, he’d suspect he was dreaming.

“That’s good,” Tong Zhanyan exhaled in relief.

This batch would be handled for now. The next one was massive—that would be the real challenge.

Mr. Bai handed the invoice to Tong Zhanyan. “I haven’t gathered the full payment yet. Can I transfer half now? I’ll send the rest by month-end.”

“Sure.” Tong Zhanyan agreed readily. Money was the last thing he lacked right now.

Mr. Bai processed the transfer.

After settling the accounts, Tong Zhanyan inspected the farm tools, purchased a few more items he needed, and prepared to leave.

“Those packages are all from viewers of your livestream,” Mr. Bai mentioned.

Dai Shuda had repeatedly warned him never to mention him in front of Tong Zhanyan, but Bai felt some things were better known to Tong.

Tong Zhanyan paused before grasping Bai’s meaning. He glanced at the packages again. “That’s good.”

Anyone wanting his information had likely already found it, and these crops were meant for sale anyway.

Seeing Tong Zhanyan wasn’t concerned, Mr. Bai said no more.

Tong Zhanyan left with his purchases.

That night, Tong Zhanyan picked strawberries.

He hadn’t planted many of this batch, and since he’d left only five or six berries per plant, the harvest filled just under half the previous box.

He could harvest twice more afterward, but each time wouldn’t yield much.

Tong Zhanyan also saved strawberry seeds.

Two days later, Tong Zhanyan harvested strawberries for the third time.

This time, some plants bore no fruit at all.

Tong Zhanyan pulled them up immediately.

Strawberries could propagate through runners—spreading stems that produced new plants without seeds. But this time, Tong Zhanyan didn’t intend to use that method.

The seeds from this batch were simply too poor.

Plants grown from them wouldn’t be much better.

After picking the strawberries, Tong Zhanyan calculated the chicks’ appetite and pulled up one-third of the fully ripe cherry radishes and bok choy to use as fertilizer.

The greenhouse was already sparse. Without the few strawberries, cherry radishes, and bok choy removed, it truly looked nearly empty.

The live stream audience murmured with regret.

Tong Zhanyan, however, breathed a sigh of relief. Now, they could genuinely move.

Tong Zhanyan immediately posted an announcement.

The live stream audience had been waiting for this moment. Upon seeing the announcement, the once-quiet livestream room erupted with lively chatter.

That night, Tong Zhanyan formally discussed the move with Ning Langdong, Tian Xinqing, and Su Yanran.

Su Yanran had returned a couple of days prior.

All three readily agreed.

After coordinating with them, Tong Zhanyan contacted Mr. Bai to borrow a truck and driver.

Tong Zhanyan had considered buying his own vehicle—he had the funds and would need transportation frequently—but he currently lacked time to get his driver’s license.

The next morning, the small building bustled with activity from early on.

Tong Zhanyan briefly outlined what needed to be moved first. Then he, Tian Xinqing, the three of them, Mr. Bai, and the two people he’d brought along to help—seven people in total—got busy.

First up was the soil that had long since rotted.

Each bucket was as tall as an adult’s chest. Without Qing Jiyue’s help, it took at least two people to lift one.

With over ten buckets of soil alone, they were enough for one trip.

Tong Zhanyan had them stack some lighter miscellaneous items on top.

This time, Tong Zhanyan brought the camera along too.

Having it just hovering around wasn’t a viable solution.

Upon arrival, Tong Zhanyan released it first.

The livestream continued, with the camera set to anti-face-capture mode.

The audience waiting in front of their screens had no objections to this—after all, moving wasn’t something Tong Zhanyan could handle alone.

Compared to that, they were far more intrigued by Tong Zhanyan’s base itself, as the place was larger than any of them had anticipated.

“Is that a mountain in the back?”

“Why would a base have a mountain inside?”

“Is this really a base? I don’t see any isolation glass walls.”

“Is that a forest up ahead?”

“Impressive. This must be at least five or six hundred acres…”

“Five or six hundred? It’s definitely over a thousand acres.”

“There’s a mountain inside the base, and not just one… Is this really a base?”

“If you plant this entire area, host, you’re not leaving any room for others to survive…”

After letting the camera cruise on its own, Tong Zhanyan got things moving again.

The soil in the barrels had been decomposing for nearly two months and was fully matured. Tong Zhanyan had a group of people help him dump it directly into the plot he’d prepared earlier.

Other miscellaneous items were temporarily stored in the warehouse next to the small building.

Tong Zhanyan planned to take the empty buckets back, intending to also remove the soil from the greenhouse—soil that had been decomposed, mixed with plant ash and eggshell powder.

In the old world, if someone told him they’d dig up every last bit of soil after farming, he’d have laughed his head off.

But here, Tong Zhanyan felt perfectly justified.

That soil had taken him months to cultivate. Though it still fell far short of his ideal, having something was better than nothing.