Thank you KoshkaHP for the kofis, hope you enjoy the bonus chapters!

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Though the crops were all transplanted into the fields, the work was far from done.

Early the next morning, Tong Zhanyan entered the control room behind the small building and began tinkering with the rainfall system.

The system was surprisingly simple, and Tong Zhanyan quickly set up a half-hour rain shower according to the instructions.

Since it was the first trial run, the rain wasn’t falling near the small building but on the mountain behind it.

After setting it up, Tong Zhanyan drove over to take a look.

By the time he arrived, the rain had already begun.

The overhead light panels were shut off, replaced by the dark, looming presence of the sprinkler system.

The dome of the greenhouse was so high that it was difficult to see clearly with the naked eye. The falling rain made it even more blurry, creating a genuine sense of dark clouds pressing down overhead.

Tong Zhanyan also turned on the ventilation. The wind blew the rain at an angle, rapidly lowering the surrounding temperature.

Most of the time in this world, the temperature hovered between 15 and 25 degrees Celsius. Tong Zhanyan was wearing only two thin layers of clothing. The sudden drop in temperature quickly made him sneeze.

Tong Zhanyan hurried back.

Separated by three mountains, not a sound could be heard near the small building.

Satisfied it was usable, Tong Zhanyan began packing up his things.

He stored the tools in the shed. The manure barrels, which couldn’t be exposed to rain, were either covered or moved inside. The chicken droppings were collected. The most troublesome part was the chickens themselves.

The chicks were all packed back into cardboard boxes. The larger chickens couldn’t be moved out of their pen, and Tong Zhanyan wasn’t about to let them defecate all over the warehouse. He had no choice but to seal the top of the swimming pool with cardboard and confine them inside.

Catching the chickens resulted in a flurry of flying feathers and frantic movement.

After finishing, he checked the camera again, confirming it was waterproof before heading to the control room.

Minutes later, the sky darkened rapidly as raindrops began to fall.

It started as a light drizzle, then turned into a steady rain.

The rain didn’t just fall near the small building; it covered the entire base, watering the trees as well.

This quickly dropped the base’s overall temperature to around 10 degrees Celsius.

Tong Zhanyan hurried back to his bedroom.

The live stream audience was seeing rain at the base for the first time, making things quite lively.

Tong Zhanyan watched for a while, exchanged a few words with Tian Xinqing and the others in the small group chat, then started feeling sleepy.

The sound of rain, the low temperature, and the dark, heavy sky made sleeping the perfect choice.

He didn’t resist. He pulled the covers over him and drifted off.

Crops were delicate. Most of the time, planting involved manually watering each one individually. While a rainwater system existed, those without confidence dared not use it.

At first, the live stream audience was intrigued and excited.

An hour later, the crowd grew quiet.

Two hours later, restlessness began to stir.

Three hours later, as dusk approached, anxiety set in.

Those seedlings had just been transplanted—their roots hadn’t even taken hold yet. Would they die if left out in this?

“He went inside and hasn’t come out. Could he have fallen asleep?”

“Highly likely.”

“What do we do?”

“Does anyone have his contact info?”

In front of the screen, Wang Yanzhou had been holding his terminal for quite some time. He did have Tong Zhanyan’s contact details, but would Tong Zhanyan make such a basic mistake?

Tong Zhanyan didn’t want to be disturbed precisely because he didn’t want to have to explain everything.

If he had to explain, every step forward would require endless justifications.

“Should we contact Qing Jiyue?” Yuan Yuepeng asked uneasily.

Wang Yanzhou hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. “Let’s wait and see.”

The edge of the protective shield.

Under the night sky, at a temporary rest stop.

Gu Yinfeng couldn’t help asking, “Aren’t you going to ask?”

Qing Jiyue’s gaze was fixed on the cherry radishes and bok choy being pelted by the rain. He hesitated, but still shook his head.

He trusted Tong Zhanyan.

Gu Yinfeng fell silent.

The rain fell steadily, lasting through the entire night until dawn broke.

When Tong Zhanyan woke, the rain had ceased. The air was heavy with the scent of freshly turned earth.

Puddles mirrored the sky across the ground, while crops thoroughly soaked by the rain stretched their leaves and stems in contentment.

The sight made Tong Zhanyan stretch lazily.

He had slept exceptionally well last night.

Later, after finishing breakfast and preparing to pull some bok choy to feed the chickens, he learned from the light screen above the camera that everyone had been anxious all night.

“The soil here is thick. If the rain isn’t deep enough, it only wets the top layer, which isn’t good for root growth,” Tong Zhanyan chuckled. “Besides, they’re not that easy to kill, are they?”

The live stream audience fell silent.

They desperately wanted to argue back—crops were notoriously fragile, which was precisely why they’d struggled to grow them successfully for decades.

Had this been last night, they might have erupted in angry retorts.

But…

Behind Tong Zhanyan, the seedlings that should have drowned in the rain now stood perky and vibrant.

It was as if they’d wandered through a desert for ages, suddenly spotted a river, drank their fill, and now glowed with renewed vitality.

This defied science.

After harvesting enough bok choy, Tong Zhanyan chopped it up under the eaves before carrying it into the storage shed.

He didn’t let the chickens out immediately—the ground was still damp.

After feeding the chickens, Tong Zhanyan took his hoe to inspect the fields. He straightened a few seedlings toppled by the rain before heading back upstairs.

He looked it up online and signed himself up for driving school, planning to buy a car as soon as possible.

The training room was probably filling up again soon. Constantly relying on Mr. Bai wasn’t a long-term solution.

Planting only had two busy periods: sowing and harvesting.

Once the most labor-intensive transplanting of tomato, eggplant, and cucumber seedlings was done, the bulk of the work was essentially finished.

Beyond that—weeding, loosening soil, fertilizing, watering, pest control—weeds and insects were eradicated before they could thrive, and the irrigation system handled watering. That left him with just soil loosening and fertilizing.

This meant he’d have about a month of farming downtime ahead.

Tong Zhanyan had seen Mr. Bai drive; the control system itself wasn’t difficult. The biggest hurdle was traffic regulations.

After paying, Tong Zhanyan quickly received a link containing a wealth of knowledge points.

He skimmed through it briefly before starting from the beginning.

The next day, once the ground had dried sufficiently, Tong Zhanyan let the chickens out and took the opportunity to transplant the low-infection-rate crops.

With only about thirty plants in total, it took him just half an hour.

After finishing, Tong Zhanyan pulled up a stool under the eaves to continue memorizing his lessons.

A week later, Tong Zhanyan took a day off to remove the plastic cover from the third batch of cherry radishes and bok choy, transplant the corn and cowpeas, and transplant the last batch of pumpkin seedlings.

He also made a trip to the school, hauling back the leaves from the training room.

Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran seemed to have grown accustomed to Ning Langdong’s style, looking quite spirited.

When Ning Langdong heard Tong Zhanyan planned to get his driver’s license, he looked thoughtful.

By then, Tong Zhanyan had already reviewed all the materials once.

Meanwhile, the livestream was once again heading toward an argument.

As the transplant recovery period ended, the little tomatoes, eggplants, and cucumbers entered their rapid growth phase, changing almost daily. This sparked disagreement among the group.

Some wanted to see the tomatoes, others the eggplants or cucumbers, some wanted to watch the chickens, and others wanted to see the streamer recite books…

Before they could react and likely start cursing him, Tong Zhanyan pulled out the camera he’d bought earlier.

The livestream could connect multiple cameras, with viewers controlling the main and sub-screens—or even multiple screens simultaneously. But previously, the space was small enough that one camera sufficed, so Tong Zhanyan hadn’t bothered with the setup.

Faced with this, the entire livestream audience felt both flattered and surprised.

When had Senior ever been this generous with them?

Was he scheming up something sinister again?

Suddenly, they found one camera perfectly adequate.

Seeing their speculations, Tong Zhanyan, busy calibrating the camera, couldn’t help but twitch his lips.

Did he look like that kind of person?

The new camera was simply superior to the old one. Beyond basic patrol functions, it could autonomously generate routes based on live chat comments and viewer engagement.

After confirming the connection, Tong Zhanyan activated one-click automation.

Spotting the new camera, the old one immediately scurried over, seemingly eager to make acquaintances with its new partner.

Camera Two didn’t even glance at it before starting its patrol and mapping.

The old camera followed along, still wagging its tail.

Tong Zhanyan noticed but couldn’t be bothered. After packing up the packaging, he prepared to carry his books again.

“Streamer, check the comment section!”

“Comment section…”

Tong Zhanyan, who had already prepared to close the backend of his livestream, paused his movements. He switched to the homepage and looked at the comment section.

The first comment was from someone who claimed to be a big fan of his planting livestreams. They had tried growing a batch of cherry tomatoes following his methods, but the leaves had turned yellow.

He’d tried countless solutions, but nothing worked. The problem only worsened, with leaves starting to fall off. At this rate, the plants might die.

The comment was posted two days ago.

Due to constant arguments, Tong Zhanyan rarely checked the comments section. Yet viewers kept seeing it, many bumping the post up. Now, it had become the top trending comment.

Tong Zhanyan clicked on the profile of the user named “Heihei Yixiao.”

In the livestream, the person was watering the little tomatoes, looking very focused.

The person was indeed a bit dark-skinned.

Tong Zhanyan zoomed in to take a closer look.

The person was growing plants in a greenhouse.

The greenhouse was only about 100 square meters. With the tool shed and a corner filled with a pile of watering pots just like his, it looked quite cramped.

The seedlings appeared slightly earlier than his own batch, but their growth wasn’t robust. A large area showed yellowing leaves.

Tong Zhanyan zoomed in specifically on the leaves of several plants. The veins remained green, but the leaf tissue itself had turned yellow.

Tong Zhanyan then looked at the ground that hadn’t been watered yet. The soil color was indeed very dark.

He returned to his homepage and replied to the comment: “Overwatering caused root rot. The surface isn’t getting enough airflow. Stop watering for now and monitor the situation. If the yellowing stops, it should be fine—just space out watering more in the future. If the yellowing continues, you’ll need to dig them up and replant.”

“Your soil leans toward clay, which has poor aeration. Next time, mix in more leaf ash or add some sandy soil.”

After replying, Tong Zhanyan scrolled down to confirm no other similar comments existed before closing the terminal and resuming his studying.

Just as Tong Zhanyan sat down, Heihei Yixiao’s livestream was flooded with a wave of bullet comments.

“Stop watering it! Quick, stop!”

“Halt right now.”

“Senior said you’re overwatering…”

Busy with his task, Heiheyi only noticed the comments after emptying the watering can and going to refill it.

The Senior Da Liu replied to him.

Heihei Yixiao’s heartbeat instantly quickened. He hastily tossed aside the watering can and rushed to check his terminal.

In Senior Da Liu’s livestream room, the comment he’d sent earlier had indeed been replied to.

Heihei Yixiao nearly jumped out of his skin in that instant.

He’d gone there purely out of desperation, just to give it a shot. He never imagined Senior Da Liu would actually respond to him.

He’d heard rumors of similar things happening before, but only as hearsay.

“Too much water?” Heihei Yixiao was excited yet puzzled—he’d watered exactly according to Senior Da Liu’s frequency.

“Clay?” Heihei Yixiao looked down, unsure what “clay” meant. Sticky soil?

Confused, Heihei Yixiao quickly replied, “Thanks, I’ll try it right away—”

Midway through typing, Heihei Yixiao paused. Words couldn’t express his gratitude.

He realized Senior Da Liu was far more approachable than he’d imagined—a genuinely good person.

“Don’t worry about what others say. Just do what you love. I’ll always support you.” He added, then quickly took a screenshot to save it.

This was proof of his close interaction with Senior Da Liu.

”Hehe.“

Following Tong Zhanyan into ”Heihei Yixiao’s“ livestream were also the viewers from Tong Zhanyan’s own livestream.

”Can you stop laughing, streamer? Your laughter is making me nervous.”

“Anyone who likes Senior can’t be a bad person. Followed. Looking forward to updates.”

“Followed. Keep it up, streamer.”

A few days later, Tong Zhanyan transplanted the last batch of low-infection-rate seedlings and the ones he’d bought later from Old Jin.

There weren’t many, so Tong Zhanyan watered them himself.

These were the last batch of seedlings.

After tending to them, Tong Zhanyan took the opportunity to fertilize the other seedlings.

He used the compost made from the last batch of cherry radishes and bok choy in the greenhouse. This batch required so much fertilizer that he nearly used up half the large bucket of nutrient solution in one go.

Tong Zhanyan felt the pain of that expense.

That night, he hurriedly gave the chicks an extra meal, hoping they’d eat more and produce more droppings.

Over half a month passed, and the later batch of chicks all entered their molting phase, losing their cuteness.

The first batch of chicks, however, had all made it through their molting phase. While they weren’t fluffy anymore, they weren’t as ugly either.

Especially the young roosters, whose physical traits were gradually becoming apparent. Their feathers were glossy and vibrantly colored, strutting about with an air of swagger.

The number of hens turned out to be more than Tong Zhanyan had anticipated—nearly half the flock.

Hens were more valuable for egg-laying, and they generally didn’t sell them once they reached maturity. This was a win for him, even though the crops he’d fed them over this period could have bought several thousand more chickens.

Calculating how long it would be before he could collect eggs, Tong Zhanyan returned to his own tasks.

Five days later, Tong Zhanyan made it rain again, giving the fields a thorough soaking.

With more crops planted and the land expanded, the fertilized water could no longer cover every spot as it did in the greenhouse.

Armed with the previous experience, the live-stream audience remained calm this time, quietly appreciating the spectacle.

They weren’t strangers to rain—it fell within the protective dome too—but few had witnessed crops thriving beneath a curtain of rain in a dim sky.

This sight filled them with wonder and excitement.

What thrilled them even more was that after over half a month of rapid growth, the crops had completely shed their seedling appearance. Now, a distinct, lush green expanse stretched before them.

This sight not only ignited hopes of a bountiful harvest but also infused the entire base—barren just a short while ago—with vibrant hues of life.

The live stream’s online viewership began to rise steadily once more.

“Haven’t been here in ages—they’re already planted in the field?”

“This isn’t just two acres, it’s closer to three by now…”

“??? Are these crops? Did I time-travel, or did this world evolve behind my back? When did crops start growing this well?”

“Is that corn? Wasn’t corn from the last batch of seeds?”

The day after the rain, Tong Zhanyan hauled back a whole truckload of leaves.

He tried digging after the rain, but gave up after just a few minutes.

The yellow soil had softened considerably after getting wet, but it had also become much stickier. After a few shovelfuls, the shovel was caked in mud, and he couldn’t lift it.

Returning under the eaves, Tong Zhanyan didn’t immediately resume his rote memorization. Instead, he began contemplating the tasks ahead.

The cucumbers and stringbeans would be ready for trellising in about a week. By the time the trellises were up, the cherry tomatoes and eggplants would be branching and forming flower buds. Then came pollination…

He currently cultivates just over two acres of land. While sowing and transplanting were busy tasks for one person, he could manage them.

But what followed was different. Setting up the trellises was one thing, but pinching flowers and leaves, pollinating—all these tasks had to be completed within a short timeframe. Crops wouldn’t wait for him.

Tong Zhanyan suddenly thought of that group in his livestream, howling with excitement about coming to his farm to play.

He’d definitely call Ning Langdong and the others for help then, but it would be their first time doing any of this. Chances are, the three of them wouldn’t be as efficient as he working alone.

Especially pollination.

The base was better than the greenhouse, but relying solely on wind pollination without any insects meant incomplete pollination was inevitable.

With his current small-scale planting, such losses had to be avoided. The best solution was manual pollination.

But the flowers wouldn’t all bloom at once, requiring multiple rounds of pollination…

That was another troublesome task.

Maybe he should actually offer a reward?

Pondering this, Tong Zhanyan opened his shopping app to buy materials for building trellises.

When he had fewer plants in the greenhouse, he’d bought specialized crop support structures when needed, but that approach wouldn’t work going forward.

He considered his options, found several shops specializing in custom synthetic materials, inquired about custom orders, and obtained quotes.

After a quick comparison and confirming the materials wouldn’t contaminate the soil, he selected a moderately priced supplier and requested samples.

Then he decided to check the boxes at home again.

The ten boxes he had earlier were definitely insufficient; he needed to buy more.

This time, he planned to purchase larger, deeper ones.

Beyond the boxes, he also needed to buy another vehicle.

Not the large trucks driven outside the base, but a small transport vehicle suitable for moving crops within the base.

The existing utility vehicles at the base were equipped with seats and weren’t suitable for carrying large quantities of goods.

The more he thought about it, the longer his shopping list grew. Tong Zhanyan decided to set aside his book and study the matter seriously.

When he looked up, dusk had already fallen, and the chickens were clucking loudly from hunger.

After feeding himself, Tong Zhanyan went to feed them.

Seeing the chickens reminded Tong Zhanyan of something else. If he could raise chickens, why couldn’t he keep bees?

After feeding the chickens, he went upstairs and searched the shopping website.

He’d never kept bees before, only learning some related knowledge during his studies, since the two were intrinsically linked.

To his surprise, the shopping site didn’t carry them.

After the Great Catastrophe, many common plants and animals had mutated. Cats had nearly vanished, and he couldn’t recall ever seeing bees.

Pondering this, Tong Zhanyan searched online.

If bees were extinct, too, he’d truly have to rely solely on manual pollination.

A small plot might be manageable, but pollinating hundreds of acres would be a death sentence…

Bees hadn’t gone extinct, but they’d become a protected species.

Tong Zhanyan’s mood instantly turned complicated.

Crops had become precious, chickens rare, and now bees were protected animals—yet he remained nothing.

Tong Zhanyan clicked on the top result—a rather official-looking webpage.

It detailed their organization and bees, essentially stating: the world is already in a mess, endangered species need protection, and bees are a good thing.

At the bottom of the page was a donation portal.

Tong Zhanyan knew without checking that hardly anyone would donate.

Pondering this, Tong Zhanyan searched for ants.

The base had been fumigated clean. For long-term cultivation, the best approach was to create a complete biological chain.

Ants had also become protected animals.

The webpage was the same template as the bee one, with similar content.

Tong Zhanyan investigated and discovered that both pages were linked to the homepage of the same research institute.

He suspected they were running a scam using some novel method.

Tong Zhanyan searched for earthworms next.

The good news was that the same page didn’t pop up this time. The bad news was that the land was largely polluted, and the earthworms were gone.

Returning to the research institute’s homepage, Tong Zhanyan saw the last update was three months ago.

The more he looked, the less credible it seemed.

After pondering, Tong Zhanyan silently opened Green Shade Research to study their lottery system.

He’d stick with human labor.

Genuine or not, anything labeled “protected animals” was bound to be expensive.

Plus, the folks in his livestream seemed genuinely eager to come play at his place…

Tong Zhanyan searched online and found there really were farming streamers who drew fans to their livestreams for harvesting.

Tong Zhanyan immediately clicked to watch.

Contrary to his memory of a bustling crowd sweating buckets during harvest, the video showed a selected participant excitedly holding a brand-new pair of shears. Guided by the live stream host, they snipped off a pre-designated fruit.

A red ribbon was tied around the fruit.

The fruit was then given as a reward to the person who cut it.

This was essentially the same concept as ribbon-cutting ceremonies.

Tong Zhanyan rubbed his temples.

Real farming wasn’t easy work—it was tedious, exhausting, and dirty.

Besides, his crops were still far from maturity; there were no fruits to give away.

How about giving away cherry radishes or baby bok choy?

Tong Zhanyan pictured the scene.

A crowd of excited people lined up, while he solemnly held up cherry radishes. Against equally solemn background music, he’d hand out one radish per person…

He couldn’t help but shudder.

Closing the video, Tong Zhanyan pondered for a moment before opening his shopping app again. The sample of the frame he’d ordered was already packed and could arrive in as little as two days.

Once he received the sample, placing the order, production, and shipping would take at least another week.

Tong Zhanyan returned to the Green Shade lottery page, quickly inputting details, setting parameters, and publishing.

He planned to use this opportunity to select ten people to help assemble the frames. If they couldn’t handle it, he’d simply stop considering this approach altogether and hire labor directly.

With just over two acres of land, hiring extra hands was pointless—most days were idle except for the busy planting period.

Leaves were only useful in the early stages; by mid-to-late growth, crop stalks were needed for decomposition to enrich the soil’s nutrients.

As for planting more varieties, he simply didn’t have enough fertilizer for that now.

With his decision made and the giveaway announced, Tong Zhanyan shut down his terminal and headed to wash up.

It was already late.

“Hey, hurry to the livestream for the giveaway! Quick, quick, quick!”

“Livestream, giveaway, hurry up.”

“Livestream!”

___

Victims’ Alliance, Group One.

Yang Hong was discussing with others how many pounds of those small tomatoes they could harvest this time when several messages suddenly popped up in the group.

He froze for a moment before realizing what was happening.

Senior Da Liu held a giveaway?

This was quite the rarity.

Since starting his stream over nine months ago, Senior Da Liu had only held one giveaway—though the prizes back then were incredibly generous.

Yang Hong hurriedly opened the livestream.

Sure enough, a giveaway appeared at the bottom of the screen—but it had already ended.

In the group chat.

“How come it ended already?”

“Wait, I was just about to check the details, and the giveaway filled up?”

“Giveaway? What giveaway? Did Senior draw crops again?”

“Why didn’t he announce the giveaway beforehand?”

“Did anyone in the group actually click successfully?”

“What? What?”

The already bustling group instantly hit 99+ new messages.

The live stream’s comment section and bullet chat were no different.

“Feels like I just missed out on a fortune.”

“A giveaway?”

“……I just glanced, and it was gone……”

“What’s he giving away this time, little cabbage?”

“Check the details! The streamer’s actually picking people to help out at his base.”

“!!!”

“What?”

“Go to his base?”

“Aaaah—!”

Faced with the deluge of bullet comments, Yang Hong froze for a moment. It had been ages since the livestream had been this lively.

The next moment, his features twisted in agony.

Because he finally grasped what he’d missed.

Senior Da Liu wasn’t giving away crops this time—he was selecting ten people to assist at his base.

To his base. To help.

“Ah—” Yang Hong screamed in frustration.

“Yang Shuai?”

“Yang Shuai!”

Hearing the frantic cries, a group working nearby rushed over. The quickest among them immediately summoned a spirit beast and prepared to fuse with it, ready to subdue Yang Hong at a moment’s notice.

Though Yang Hong hadn’t been on the battlefield for years, the skills he’d learned weren’t so easily forgotten.

Upon entering, they found Yang Hong banging his head against the table while muttering, “Why was I so stupid? Why didn’t I click faster…”

Everyone was bewildered.

They’d never heard of rage causing self-harm.

“General… Yang?” Pang Jingzhou gestured for others to step back as he tentatively spoke.

Yang Hong’s condition must be critical now.

He’d only been transferred here this year, and upon arrival, his superiors had solemnly warned him to constantly monitor Yang Hong’s state.

This time, Yang Hong finally heard the voices.

Turning to see Pang Jingzhou’s group with their ashen faces and the person behind them in a fusion state, poised to strike, he instantly understood what was happening.

“I’m fine…” Yang Hong had no time to feel saddened by the wariness in everyone’s eyes. He just wanted to strangle his past self from two minutes ago.

Everyone in the group had told him to hurry up, yet he’d dawdled.

“Sir…”

Pang Jingzhou and his group were bewildered—Yang Hong seemed perfectly normal.

“I’m fine.” Yang Hong paused. “Just watched a livestream for a bit.”

“Livestream?” Pang Jingzhou froze, then tentatively asked, “…Senior Da Liu?”

The only livestream he knew that could drive someone this mad was that one.

Yang Hong remained silent, only gazing at him with a distant look.

Pang Jingzhou exhaled in relief. So it was that livestream.

He patted the still-nervous group beside him. “It’s fine.”

The group looked around in confusion, but seeing Yang Hong showed no signs of losing his temper, they finally headed for the door.

“Captain Yang, you follow Senior Da Liu’s livestream too?” Pang Jingzhou didn’t leave immediately.

“Mhm…”

“What did he do this time?” Pang Jingzhou asked with a smile.

He and several friends were all long-time followers of Senior Da Liu, members of his fan group, and even managed to become moderators. Yet this was the first time he’d learned that Yang Hong watched too.

“He’s running a giveaway.”

Pang Jingzhou froze. A giveaway?

“He’s selecting ten people to help out at his base.”

The smile froze completely on Pang Jingzhou’s face. The next moment, he immediately opened his terminal.

“The giveaway’s already over,” Yang Hong said flatly, watching with satisfaction as the person before him began to contort his face, just as Pang Jingzhou had moments ago.

Watching Pang Jingzhou leave in a daze, Yang Hong turned back to his screen. Both the group chat and the livestream were already exploding.

“Why couldn’t you give advance notice?”

“You trash streamer, I’ll fight you!”

“Aaaah, trash streamer…”

“I was just going out for a meal!”

“What sin did I commit in my past life to deserve a streamer like this in this one?”

“Let’s settle this once and for all.”

…

Reading those words, Yang Hong felt the anger he’d just suppressed surge back up. He wanted to storm into the livestream and fight that trash streamer.

As the news spread, many viewers who hadn’t paid much attention in a while returned, causing the online count to skyrocket.

Senior Dai Liu was notoriously generous with his giveaways.

“Helping set up the stream? One day… no travel expenses, no lodging, just meals… and a note saying one meal equals one bag of nutrition solution? How stingy is that?”

Those who never liked Senior Dai Liu in the first place returned, too, but no one cared.

They didn’t want to go, but plenty did.

After brushing his teeth, Tong Zhanyan lay on his bed ready to check the lottery results. The online count had already hit 160,000.

This surprised him greatly, as his stream’s average viewership lately had only been around 40,000 to 50,000. He’d thought he’d finally driven those people away.

Had they come back?

Tong Zhanyan clicked to reveal the winners.

The list immediately popped up.

Almost simultaneously, screams erupted across the comment section, bullet chats, and group chats.

“I won! Screenshot!”

“Aaaah…”

…

Tong Zhanyan looked at the ten people, copied the content from the previous lottery announcement, edited it slightly, and sent it to each one to confirm if they could accept the prize.

With him, Tian Xinqing, and these ten people, setting up the trellises would take just a day.

He didn’t plan to reimburse travel expenses or cover lodging. First, it was too much hassle to arrange, and second, he simply didn’t have the energy for it right now.

However, he intended to give each person crops worth at least the equivalent of their travel and accommodation costs once they finished.

He didn’t intend to have these people actually pay out of pocket to work for him, but he also wouldn’t mention the crops in advance. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a lottery—it would be paying people to work.

Paying people to work wasn’t inherently wrong, but in that case, he wouldn’t need to go through all this trouble. He could just hire people directly in the real world.

One of the ten quickly replied, “I’m in. No problem.”

Tong Zhanyan edited his address and contact details to send over, making it easier for the person to book a hotel in advance.

He had barely finished communicating when the other nine people replied one after another.

They were all in.

Their ability to participate in the lottery itself stemmed from their consistent, attentive viewing of the livestream.

They liked this livestream room and trusted Senior Da Liu.

Tong Zhanyan sent his address and contact details to each one.

By the time he finished, it was already late, so Tong Zhanyan hurried to bed.

Tong Zhanyan fell asleep quickly, but many others found sleep elusive that night.

“A giveaway?” Yan Zhenwen heard about it right after going offline. By then, his stream’s online viewers had dropped to less than a third of the usual number.

“Yeah, a giveaway to help set up things in his stream.”

…

“…This is the second watering since transplanting. I feel like they’re close to blooming.” Gu Xiaoming’s facial muscles twitched involuntarily.

His online viewership had plummeted to triple digits within just half an hour—a stark contrast to the consistent 30,000+ he’d maintained during this period.

…

The next day, Tong Zhanyan skipped his book review. After a quick inspection, he sought out Mr. Bai, hoping to borrow his car for practice.

Once the trellis was set up, he wouldn’t have much free time. He needed to get his driver’s license before then.

Mr. Bai agreed readily, even proactively helping find a place to practice.

Three days later, Tong Zhanyan visited the driving school.

He’d already taken the test once before. Although the vehicle’s control system had changed—but in a simpler direction—the exam proved even easier than he’d anticipated.

His license arrived the day after the exam.

After getting his license, Tong Zhanyan swung by school. Having earned it in just a month, he couldn’t resist showing off.

“I got my license too, just the other day,” Ning Langdong replied with a subtle smile. Now he could lend a hand when Tong Zhanyan got too busy.

The smile slowly faded from Tong Zhanyan’s face.

Meanwhile, Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran beside him beamed brighter. Tong Zhanyan was about to get a taste of what it felt like to have a top student by his side.