Thank you Nyx Vervaine for the kofis, hope you enjoy the bonus chapters!

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“The Senior Da Liu Protection Association?” Yuan Yuepeng froze for a moment.

Wang Yanzhou also froze for a moment. The next instant, seeing the stance of the person in front of him—ready to launch an attack at any moment—he couldn’t help but twitch the corner of his mouth.

He knew about the Senior Da Liu Protection Association; that was the name a group within the Victims’ Alliance had given themselves.

So they were treating them like villains?

Yuan Yuepeng was confused, but he quickly regained his composure and tried to explain, “We’re not the bad guys.”

Bao Mingshi grew even more wary. Yuan Yuepeng was one thing, but the bald guy standing next to him clearly wasn’t a good person.

After a moment’s thought, Yuan Yuepeng pulled out his teacher’s ID.

“Sidi Military Academy?” Bao Mingshi exclaimed in surprise.

For two hundred years since its founding, Sidi Military Academy has supplied countless high-quality combat personnel to the front lines, earning it a reputation for excellence and a position of considerable prestige.

Yuan Yuepeng said, “This area is part of the Sidi Military Academy’s outer perimeter; we’re just conducting a routine patrol nearby.”

Bao Mingshi looked somewhat bewildered. Was the Sidi Military Academy in this area?

He really hadn’t known that.

Bao Mingshi quickly opened his terminal to check. As soon as he looked it up, his face flushed red. “Sorry, I thought…”

After apologizing, Bao Mingshi hurried off.

He sprinted back to the hotel in one breath and only began to calm down as he was about to go upstairs.

On the street, after watching Bao Mingshi run off into the distance, Yuan Yuepeng looked at Wang Yanzhou beside him with a hint of exasperation. “Why did you scare him?”

Wang Yanzhou looked confused. When had he scared that guy?

Yuan Yuepeng said, “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

Tong Zhanyan’s sudden decision to hold a raffle didn’t just drive the live stream audience wild—it drove them wild too, because they’d already been exhausted just investigating those people over the past few days.

Fearing trouble, they’d been stationed downstairs for the past two days.

At the base.

By the time Tong Zhanyan and the others returned to the small building and had tidied up all the pots and buckets, the sunset had faded to mere afterglow.

“So, tomorrow…” Tian Xinqing looked at Tong Zhanyan with anticipation.

“Mm.” Tong Zhanyan made a point of reminding them, “Just come over at ten.”

Tian Xinqing’s eyes lit up. “Okay.”

“Are you guys going out on your own?” Tong Zhanyan asked.

He could control the gate remotely, but for safety’s sake, he usually went out in person.

“Sure.”

Tian Xinqing and the others got into the car.

Tong Zhanyan watched them leave until they were out of sight.

Turning back, Tong Zhanyan looked at the fields of crops bathed in the setting sun, then thought about the words he’d just heard, and his expression softened slightly.

This experiment felt pretty good.

Though it was quite a hassle.

Meanwhile, the viewers in the livestream were already green with envy, their faces contorted with jealousy.

“Damn it, going out to play is one thing, but actually getting gifts too?”

“Why did you have to send them cherry radishes, bok choy, and cherry tomatoes? Senior, I’m really struggling to keep a straight face here.”

“Aaaah, why wasn’t I included?”

“Four plants—a full four! That’d cost tens of thousands of credits to buy…”

“Senior, this is really killing me.”

“Waaah…”

“I missed out on the cherry tomatoes last time, but now I’ve missed out on this too…”

“I want to kill those winners right now. Anyone want to team up?”

“Me.”

“Me, me, me.”

“Count me in…”

…

He went upstairs, carefully put away the cherry radishes and bok choy, and, after letting himself collapse onto the bed, the corners of Bao Mingshi’s mouth curled upward again.

After a long day of running around, he was exhausted, but beneath that exhaustion lay uncontrollable excitement and reluctance to leave.

Too bad it was only for one day. If only he could have stayed in there like that forever…

Bao Mingshi opened his terminal.

Seeing the envious, jealous screams in the group chat, the curve of his mouth grew wider. Thinking about it, he typed, “Envy makes people ugly.”

“Aaaah…”

“Kill him, kill him for me.”

“Left hook, right hook…”

“Beat the hell out of him.”

…

Bao Mingshi couldn’t stop grinning. “You know what? When the bok choy was chopped into bits, the air was filled with a fragrance—that distinctive, fresh scent of vegetables.”

“Mod, ban him!”

“I want to see fists smashing into his face within three minutes.”

“Smashing the keyboard…”

…

Bao Mingshi reminisced, “Those chickens were pretty cute too; they’d gather around on their own when I fed them.”

“I can’t take it anymore. If I don’t beat him up, I’m really going to lose my mind today.”

“Draw your sword.”

“If you’ve got the guts, don’t run.”

…

Bao Mingshi clicked his tongue twice and continued, “Those cucumber seedlings felt cool to the touch. I didn’t even dare to press too hard when I touched them…”

“Draw your sword, you bastard.”

“I’m gonna spit blood…”

…

Bao Mingshi said, “I think the nutrient solution at Senior Da Liu’s base tastes better than anything out here.”

That night, Senior Da Liu’s livestream and the twenty-plus group chats of the Victims’ Alliance remained bustling.

The next day.

At the school.

Tian Xinqing was lying in bed, half-asleep, when he heard the door across the hall open.

In their building, only he, Su Yanran, and Ning Langdong were staying on campus.

Tian Xinqing hurriedly got up to open the door.

Ning Langdong was fully dressed and ready to head downstairs.

“Going to the cafeteria? Bring me breakfast,” Tian Xinqing said.

Ning Langdong had been busy with part-time work before, so they weren’t very close, but now they’d become friends.

“I’ve already had breakfast,” Ning Langdong said.

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m going to see Tong Zhanyan.”

Tian Xinqing quickly checked the time.

Seeing the time, he breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s only eight o’clock.”

“Yeah,” Ning Langdong said. “The leaves in the warehouse are piling up again. I’ll go get the truck first, so when we head over later, we can haul the leaves with us.”

Tian Xinqing’s face twisted in disbelief.

Did Ning Langdong really have to push himself this hard?

This was making him and Su Yanran feel really unmotivated.

Tian Xinqing decided he needed to have a serious talk with Ning Langdong; if he kept this up, he’d end up with no friends. “You don’t have to push yourself so hard. Didn’t Tong Zhanyan say it’s good enough as it is?”

Ning Langdong replied, “It’s fine. I’ll handle it. You two just go back to sleep.”

“That’s not what I meant…” Tian Xinqing didn’t know how to put it; he looked to Su Yanran on the bed for help, and he had already woken up.

Ning Langdong realized, “You really don’t need to worry about it.”

Tian Xinqing looked pained. How could they not care?

They were getting paid the same amount but doing only half the work Ning Langdong did. If it were anyone else paying the wages, it wouldn’t matter, but the one paying was Tong Zhanyan…

Ning Langdong thought for a moment, then smiled and said, “My mom… she’s in the shelter.”

Tian Xinqing didn’t understand why Ning Langdong had suddenly brought this up.

“My father left us a long time ago. It’s just my mother and me. She contracted the frenzy virus when I was seven or eight, and then she was admitted to the shelter when I was thirteen…”

“She didn’t want to be a burden to me, so she wanted to give up—she even tried to kill herself in secret… but I didn’t want to just give up like that.”

Ning Langdong smiled. “The crops can only suppress frenzy; they can’t cure it. She’s already in the advanced stages of frenzy—even if she eats the crops, it won’t help… but there are still plenty of people out there whose condition isn’t as severe.”

“Tong Zhanyan is really talented—he can grow crops that others can’t. Now that he has such a large base, if he could grow more crops, the prices might go down, and more people could afford to eat…”

Ning Langdong smiled and said, “I just want to help him out a bit, just lend a hand. You really don’t need to worry about it.”

In fact, he had bought crops before, a long time ago.

Life in the outer city wasn’t easy, and as a widow and orphan, their situation was even more dire.

He had saved up for a long time, only to buy a sweet potato no bigger than his fist at the time—one with a 56% infection rate.

His mother didn’t eat it; instead, she scolded him and dragged him back to return it.

In Ning Langdong’s memory, that was the angriest she had ever been.

Ever since then, he had often wished that crops were cheaper.

And now, he felt that Tong Zhanyan might actually be able to change everything.

If that were the case, he might even see his mother again.

Not that beast who only knew how to violently bang against the iron cage and howl, but the one who would smile at him and talk to him—his mother.

Tian Xinqing didn’t know how to react for a moment.

Inside the room, Su Yanran had also sat up from the bed at some point.

Ning Langdong smiled again. “You really don’t need to worry about me.”

With that, he headed downstairs.

In the livestream, Tong Zhanyan hadn’t gotten up yet, but by the time he reached the base entrance, it would be about time.

The moment Tong Zhanyan woke up, he saw the message from Ning Langdong, which instantly filled him with awe.

Having such a workaholic by his side made him feel guilty just for wanting to sleep in a little longer.

Tong Zhanyan quickly got up, washed up, grabbed his keys, and headed for the door.

Ning Langdong had already been waiting for a while.

Ning Langdong suggested driving back himself, but Tong Zhanyan wouldn’t let him; he hopped into the passenger seat.

He had driven a few times in his previous life, but Ning Langdong was a complete novice behind the wheel.

Ning Langdong was indeed a bit nervous, but since he drove slowly, the trip went smoothly.

By the time they arrived, Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran were already waiting at the school gate, sipping their energy drinks.

Over there was a pile of leaves that had already been delivered.

Seeing them and seeing those leaves, Tong Zhanyan almost couldn’t control the expression on his face.

Had Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran gotten involved in this, too?

No, please don’t.

Amidst the boxes of leaves, a school security guard approached with a smile to lend a hand.

They were watching Tong Zhanyan’s livestream, too.

Tong Zhanyan smiled and responded while secretly thinking he needed to get a pass as soon as possible so he could drive right up to the training room entrance. The detour was already a hassle, and once school started and the place got crowded, it would only get more chaotic.

It was just past nine when they returned to the base.

After a short rest, Tong Zhanyan pulled up some baby bok choy and cherry radishes and had the three of them wash, chop, and feed them to the chickens.

Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran had been looking forward to this moment for a long time. Although they tried to hold the camera steady so no one would notice they were beginners, their faces were still full of excitement.

Even Ning Langdong, unusually, wore an excited smile.

After feeding the chickens, Tong Zhanyan mixed some fertilizer solution and had the three of them water the corn with it, letting them experience applying fertilizer firsthand.

Finally, Tong Zhanyan pulled out a hoe and a shovel, handing one to each of them. “I’m going to show you something fun.”

“Something fun?” Tian Xinqing’s eyes lit up.

“What is it?” Su Yanran asked eagerly.

Ning Langdong, however, had already guessed.

Tong Zhanyan walked to an open area further ahead of the field, then marked off a large patch of ground and had them dig holes.

With free labor at hand and the leaves already delivered, it would be a shame not to make use of them.

There wasn’t much to teach about digging holes, so after a brief explanation, Tong Zhanyan returned to the small house.

He brought out the soaked tangerine and orange seeds he’d prepared earlier and began peeling them, ready to plant.

There were over forty seeds in total. After soaking in water, the skins had softened, but the seeds were tiny and slippery, so it took Tong Zhanyan half an hour just to peel half of them.

When he looked up again, Tian Xinqing and Su Yanran at the far end of the farmland had already started peeking over.

The soil at this base was all loess, which was quite hard, so digging wasn’t exactly easy.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t go over, intending to let them have their fill of the experience.

After sowing the seeds, Tong Zhanyan added some composted soil and planted them, then headed over toward Tian Xinqing and the others with his hoe.

All three of them were already exhausted.

Ning Langdong tried to keep going, but since it was his first time doing this, his hands were already red and raw from digging.

“Is it fun?” Tong Zhanyan asked with a smile.

Tian Xinqing remained silent.

Su Yanran was puzzled. “Why is it so hard?”

When they’d watched Tong Zhanyan dig earlier, it had looked pretty easy.

Tong Zhanyan jumped into the shallow pit they’d dug and began working with his hands as he explained, “That’s why the crops won’t grow.”

Feeling the resistance from the hoe, Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help but consider the possibility of buying an excavator.

The soil at this base was exceptionally hard loess; even if Qing Jiyue or an excavator helped dig it once, he’d still have to do it himself in the end, so he hadn’t been in a hurry.

But as he planted more and more, the need to dig up soil grew, and since Qing Jiyue couldn’t possibly stay here every day, mechanization was inevitable.

However, in this world, people treated their crops as if they were deities—worshiping them daily with incense and offerings—and they only turned over the top layer of soil each time they worked the land. Consequently, there were no such things as tillers, leaving him with few options.

As he pondered this, Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help but miss Qing Jiyue once again.

His abilities were truly invaluable.

Although he couldn’t handle the work with great precision, he had already saved him a great deal of effort.

With Tong Zhanyan’s help, their efficiency improved significantly, but since this was Tian Xinqing and the others’ first time, they had to take breaks every so often.

After two hours of back-and-forth work, they finally managed to bury all the leaves.

When Tong Zhanyan announced it was time to rest, Tian Xinqing and the others had completely lost all sense of decorum, flopping onto the ground and staying there for a long while.

Tong Zhanyan clapped his hands and went off to attend to other matters, leaving the three of them staring after him in disbelief.

It took them quite a while before they finally managed to get back on their feet.

Covered in dirt and completely exhausted from the ordeal, the three suggested they head back; they desperately needed a shower and a good afternoon nap.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t try to keep them.

As they were leaving, Ning Langdong suggested taking the car with them so he could drive it back directly next time.

Tong Zhanyan forced himself to suppress the urge to twitch at the corners of his mouth and agreed.

Watching the three of them leave, Tong Zhanyan turned his attention to the cherry radishes and baby bok choy.

The first batch was already in full bloom, while the second batch was nearing maturity.

Tong Zhanyan decided to compost the first batch within the next couple of days, but before that…

He put on gloves, grabbed the rubber tube used for testing, and began taking samples.

The seeds for both batches of cherry radishes and bok choy came from the batch in the greenhouse. The first batch had mutated—what about this one?

No one in the livestream paid this any mind; after all, testing crops for infection rates was the most routine thing in the world.

Their attention was focused more on Tian Xinqing and his two companions.

Tian Xinqing and his group had been there since yesterday, which allowed them to quickly guess the trio’s identities: employees hired by Senior Da Liu.

This made them twist with envy all over again.

Because being an employee meant having regular access to the base—a privilege far more enviable than the occasional visit granted to people like Bao Mingshi and his group through a lottery.

The live chat erupted in a cacophony of complaints.

The bolder ones even started sending direct messages to Senior Da Liu, trying to get hired.

“No pay, no room, no board—I don’t care.”

The second batch of cherry radishes, radishes, and bok choy also covered 100 square meters. Tong Zhanyan inspected them even more thoroughly than last time, and by the time he finished, it was already past eight in the evening.

Upon receiving the results, Tong Zhanyan immediately informed Qing Jiyue.

“It’s appeared in this batch too, in roughly the same quantity as last time,” Tong Zhanyan said.

Hiding in a corner away from the crowd, Qing Jiyue’s breathing visibly faltered.

If it wasn’t a coincidence, that meant Tong Zhanyan had truly succeeded.

“Should we test this batch?” Tong Zhanyan asked.

“Yes,” Qing Jiyue replied without hesitation.

Tong Zhanyan wasn’t surprised. “I plan to set aside more for seed samples this time, so there might not be many left.”

“Whatever you decide is fine.” Qing Jiyue had no intention of interfering; if he was going to trust him, he would trust him completely.

Tong Zhanyan nodded. “Alright, let me know when they arrive.”

Once the business was settled, the world fell suddenly silent.

Qing Jiyue didn’t want it to end.

Tong Zhanyan was just wondering whether to ask Qing Jiyue if he’d been injured again recently when he heard a somewhat muffled voice coming from behind him, followed by a familiar figure.

“Qing Jiyue?” Gu Yinfeng looked at him in confusion. Who would need to hide so far away just to make a call?

Qing Jiyue turned to look at him. “What’s up?”

“The patrol schedule is set. You’re on my shift—we’ll cover the first half of the night…”

Tong Zhanyan froze. Qing Jiyue hadn’t told him Gu Yinfeng was there; he’d assumed Qing Jiyue was patrolling the Qing Family’s territory with the Qing clan.

“You go ahead. ” Tong Zhanyan ended the call.

Gu Yinfeng and Qing Jiyue were betrothed, and their relationship was clearly close; it wasn’t strange for them to be together during their break.

By the time Qing Jiyue turned back after speaking with Gu Yinfeng, the connection had already been cut off.

He stared at the pitch-black screen for quite a while before finally bringing himself to turn it off.

Back at the temporary rest stop, Qing Jiyue sat down by the fire and opened Tong Zhanyan’s livestream.

The livestream was shrouded in night, with only the small building lit up.

Tong Zhanyan had already drawn the curtains; from the outside, it was impossible to see what he was doing.

Qing Jiyue stared blankly at the window.

The people who came to collect the items arrived the following noon.

Tong Zhanyan pulled up three of the six tested crops and handed them over.

Back at the base, he immediately pulled up all the remaining cherry radishes and bok choy from the first batch—except for the dozen or so he’d set aside for seeds—chopped them into chunks, and dumped them into a bucket.

Live Stream.

“It’s not the first time, but it still breaks my heart to watch.”

“+1 for that.”

“Don’t look at him. Look at those cherry tomatoes and cucumbers in the field—they only grew so well because of that fertilizer…”

“Aren’t those cherry tomatoes about to bloom again?”

“It’ll happen within a month.”

“They’re growing pretty well, actually. They look even better than last time.”

“By the way, have you guys checked out Gu Xiaoming’s livestream? Something’s happened to the cherry tomatoes in his stream.”

“What? What?”

“Who?”

“That streamer who leeches off the senior’s traffic and is always being snarky toward him in the chat.”

“I’ll go check it out.”

…

Gu Xiaoming stared, pale-faced, at the cherry tomato plants before him, their leaves showing obvious signs of black rot.

The seedlings had been perfectly fine just a day ago, but yesterday they suddenly turned like this.

He was completely baffled at the time.

He had originally planned to plant only a hundred, but after seeing the positive response in the live stream, he bit the bullet and added another two hundred.

With the tomato seedlings secured, he knew he’d need fertilizer to keep up, but as a small-time streamer with little money, he’d already gone around asking friends for loans without success. In the end, he had no choice but to convince his parents to put their house up as collateral.

If these tomatoes died…

He was frantic with worry and immediately went through all the tutorials he’d collected from Senior Da Liu, but Senior Da Liu’s instructions never mentioned anything like this…

He wasn’t the only one following Senior Da Liu’s methods; many others had started even earlier with cherry tomatoes, yet he was the only one facing this problem.

He must have messed something up.

The problem was, what exactly had he done wrong?

He hadn’t slept a wink all night, and as soon as dawn broke, he rushed straight into the greenhouse—only to find the situation had gotten even worse.

The cores of quite a few cherry tomatoes had already turned black.

It’s over.

It’s all over.

“Weren’t they fine just a moment ago? How did this happen?”

“If you ask me, it’s karma. I actually used to like you, but you got a little success and let it go to your head. You’ve been acting all snarky toward the senior lately—don’t you ever stop to think where you picked up those habits?”

“Exactly. Serves you right.”

“It’s just a shame about these tomatoes. They were growing so well before…”

“What’s the point of saying that now? Hurry up and figure out a way to save the tomatoes! There must be at least three hundred of them—it’d be such a waste if they all died.”

“What can we do? They’re already in this state…”

“Ask Senior?”

Gu Xiaoming, who was just about to close the live stream screen, paused.

Senior Da Liu did indeed answer questions from viewers in his stream, and he’d heard about that “Heihei” incident too.

At the time, he seemed pretty upset because “Heihei” had gained over 100,000 followers in just a few days—simply because of that—

“……??? You spend all day leeching off others, and now that trouble’s hit, you’re running back to ask for help? Have some dignity, will you?”

“The commenter above hit the nail on the head.”

“If it were me, I definitely wouldn’t give him the time of day.”

Gu Xiaoming shut down his livestream—not just so he couldn’t see it, but by completely disconnecting.

Then, he opened Senior Da Liu’s livestream.

The familiar little house, the familiar chicken coop, the familiar land, and the familiar figure sitting under the eaves, staring at the terminal.

Gu Xiaoming opened the comments section and started typing.

The moment he hit send, he almost burst into tears.

The people in his chat were right—if it were him, he definitely wouldn’t have bothered.

But he had no other choice.

Tong Zhanyan had originally planned to look up excavators online first, but after browsing for a while without figuring anything out, he was just wondering whether to go check out the place where he’d bought his car before when he noticed everyone in the live stream was cursing again.

His first instinct was to turn off the chat.

He was just sitting there taking a break—he hadn’t done anything to provoke them—

Then he spotted a name popping up repeatedly: Gu Xiaoming.

Who?

Tong Zhanyan quickly figured it out.

It was a streamer who’d been copying his farming methods while constantly bashing him—and now his crops were failing.

Tong Zhanyan scrolled down to the comments section.

In just a few minutes, the other person’s comment had already been bombarded with insults and turned into a trending post.

The fighting spirit of the fans in his livestream wasn’t something to mess with.

Tong Zhanyan clicked on the two attached photos to take a look.

The half-grown tomato seedlings were showing widespread black rot, and even the stems were affected.

Tong Zhanyan replied, “Can you send me a closer look? This isn’t clear enough.”

The photos were taken from a distance; even after zooming in and the app automatically enhanced them, they remained somewhat blurry.

Gu Xiaoming was lost in thought when he heard the notification for a reply from someone he followed.

He paused for a moment, then quickly tapped to open the reply.

Amid nearly a thousand sarcastic comments, one reply highlighted in red stood out.

Gu Xiaoming couldn’t quite put his finger on how he felt, but by the time he realized it, he had already opened the live stream and replied, “I’ve started the live stream.”

Tong Zhanyan clicked into the other person’s profile.

The other person, looking pale, was holding the camera up to a small tomato plant.

As Tong Zhanyan entered the live stream, so did the viewers from his own channel.

Seeing the other person on the verge of tears, the chat exploded with activity.

Tong Zhanyan turned off the chat and took a closer look.

The black spots on the leaves did indeed form a circular outline.

Tong Zhanyan exited the other person’s stream and went back to reply under his earlier comment: “The seedlings are scorched. Have you been spraying fertilizer on the leaves lately? This happens when the water-to-fertilizer ratio is too low, making the solution too concentrated, or when the composted fertilizer isn’t fully decomposed.”

“Trim off the black, rotten leaves, then use a hose connected to the faucet to rinse them thoroughly—wash both the leaves and the stems.”

Thinking of the other person’s nearly tearful expression, Tong Zhanyan added, “Don’t worry, the leaves will grow back; the plant won’t die.”

After replying, Tong Zhanyan shut down his device and decided to head straight to the store where he’d bought the truck to ask around.

As for the other person cursing at him…

Was there anyone in his livestream who hadn’t cursed at him?

Besides, he’d just seen plenty of people cursing back on his behalf—the other guy was probably questioning the meaning of life right now.

Thinking this, Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

But his laughter quickly faded—after all, that resilience had been forged through years of insults.

The store didn’t have any excavators in stock.

However, they could order one from headquarters for him.

Such is the power of money.

Tong Zhanyan paid without hesitation.

Excavators were more expensive than trucks, and since Tong Zhanyan bought both a large and a small one at once, he spent over a million credits in one go.

Although he wasn’t short on money right now, Tong Zhanyan still felt a twinge of pain.

The batch of crops in the greenhouse sold for a total of over 60 million; he used 50 million directly to pay off debts, leaving him with just over 10 million.

The testing equipment and seeds alone cost nearly 10 million; buying furniture and various plant stands didn’t cost much but still added up; and the vehicles were another expense, leaving him with less than 5 million in his pocket now.

In the past, he would have woken up smiling from such a dream.

But here, everything he needed to buy was expensive; 5 million really wasn’t enough.

When he left, the store nearly lined the streets to see him off.

The excavator was delivered a week later, and they even sent a technician specifically to teach him how to operate it.

An excavator isn’t like a truck, and since he didn’t plan to drive it outside, knowing which switch controlled what was enough to consider himself trained.

The whole process took ten minutes.

After seeing the delivery person off, Tong Zhanyan tried it out immediately.

The machine was indeed more efficient than manual labor.

The only issue was that while it was fine for burying leaves, the soil still needed to be worked by hand before planting crops.

However, this time Tong Zhanyan didn’t feel a headache coming on, because he’d figured it out.

For a group of people who couldn’t even keep grass alive, these tasks weren’t arduous or exhausting—they were sacred and noble.

In other words, there was no shortage of free labor.

As for the cherry radishes and bok choy he’d given away, his chickens ate more of them in a single day than he’d distributed.

Pondering this, Tong Zhanyan spent another half hour poking and shoveling around with the excavator before heading out to the fields.

With the exception of a few stragglers, the cucumbers and string beans climbing the trellises had already reached nearly waist-high, and the naturally tall corn and eggplants were no different.

The seeds he’d bought from Old Jin and the Alliance’s low-infection-rate varieties were generally a cut below his own, but the low-infection-rate cherry radishes and bok choy, thanks to their short growth cycles, were already nearing maturity.

As for the cherry tomatoes, they had begun to form flower buds, so it was time to prune the branches and leaves.

Tong Zhanyan had never been one to spare anything; he pinched whatever he saw, and in no time, he had a large handful of leaves.

He pinched some in the afternoon and spent most of the next day doing the same; that completed the first round.

Two days later, Tong Zhanyan pinched them again. At the same time, flower buds began to appear on the eggplants and cucumbers.

At this point, the situation was no longer something Tong Zhanyan could handle on his own.

Earlier, Tong Zhanyan had been racking his brain over how to manage everything by himself, but now, he simply swished his tail and opened his livestream.

The livestream was bustling; the screen was filled with messages congratulating him on surpassing two million followers.

Tong Zhanyan glanced down and saw that the follower count had indeed surpassed two million.

Tong Zhanyan was a bit dazed. Since he didn’t pay much attention to these numbers, the last time he checked it was still at one million—and that was only about two months ago. Had it really reached two million already?

Tong Zhanyan looked at the number of live viewers.

Twelve thousand.

Tong Zhanyan was a bit surprised—hadn’t the number been down to just four or five thousand not long ago?

Upon reflection, Tong Zhanyan quickly understood.

It was because the crops on his farm had started to thrive.

Although he didn’t pay much attention to what was happening in the livestream, he knew that many people were following his lead in farming.

Between his decision to raise chickens despite opposition and the distractions caused by those people, it wasn’t surprising that his live stream viewership had dropped.

But those who were learning from him were just the first wave of followers; while it might have been novel at first, they’d likely grown tired of it over time.

As for him, the crops he’d planted this time were far more extensive than before—in terms of area alone, they were six or seven times larger.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t feel like holding it against them or dwelling on it—after all, it’s only human nature.

However, this did serve as a reminder that he should be more cautious when inviting people to the base, such as by raising the eligibility requirements for the giveaway.

Tong Zhanyan took a look at the specific fan data.

He didn’t usually pay much attention to these numbers, so it took him a while to find them.

He had no idea until he looked, but when he did, he was shocked: there were already 110,000 people who had spent over 1,000 hours watching his livestream.

His channel had been up for less than eleven months total. Even if he streamed eight hours a day, that would barely add up to 1,000 hours.

Had these people made his livestream their home?

What sent even more chills down Tong Zhanyan’s spine was that the melancholic research dog was actually on the list—and ranked sixth, no less.

Besides, many of the names at the top of the list looked familiar to him…

Tong Zhanyan didn’t let himself dwell on why they looked familiar.

After some calculation, Tong Zhanyan had a rough idea.

Finally, after a long hiatus, he posted an announcement, previewing the giveaway and explaining what he planned to do this time.

The round trip would take time, and he’d also need to take time off work in advance to book a room.

After making the announcement, Tong Zhanyan shut down his terminal to tend to his own affairs—the chickens hadn’t been fed yet, and the chicken manure hadn’t been collected.

After nearly two months, he already had eight barrels of fermented chicken manure, which made Tong Zhanyan quite happy.

The compost from the tomato and cucumber seedlings in the greenhouse could be used once, but with the current manure mixture—diluted a bit—it could last for three applications. Watering once every seven days meant this supply would last a month.

That meant he still had a full month to collect more chicken manure.

Plus, just two days ago, he’d composted another batch using cherry radishes and bok choy…

It wasn’t quite enough to fully cover all the crops, but all things considered, he was only about half a month short.

The crops might suffer a bit, but manure enriches the soil, and in the long run, this is definitely a pretty good start.

In fact, the next batch of crops planted in these fields—which have already been watered with manure—might even grow better than the ones in his greenhouse without any additional fertilizer in the early stages.

Maybe for the next crop, he could try raising some pigs?

Those animals eat and produce waste in abundance—and, more importantly, they produce a massive amount of urine.

Urine contains urea, and urea contains nitrogen.

Nitrogen is arguably one of the most essential nutrients for plants, because not only does it nourish the soil like manure, but it also promotes plant growth, enhances photosynthesis in leaves, and increases crop yields.

His current crops are barely at the stage of flowering and fruiting. If he could use urea fertilizer, then he’d truly be farming—and only then would it be worth discussing “yield.”

Tong Zhanyan looked around, seriously considering the feasibility of raising pigs.

Even if he bought pigs now, he wouldn’t have crops for them to eat. But he already had two mu of barely usable land, and he planned to expand further with the next batch…

He still couldn’t replicate the lower infection rate. His previous seeds had all had very high infection rates, and he’d always worried that even if he raised them successfully, they’d be scrapped after just one harvest because the infection rate exceeded 50%. The low-infection-rate seeds provided by the Planting Alliance had certainly solved his immediate problem.

He just didn’t know if the Planting Alliance would want to kill him if they saw him feeding the pigs with low-infection-rate crops…

Tong Zhanyan thought about it for a moment, then decided not to dwell on it.

He walked around the small house once, forming a rough idea of where to place the pig pen. He went back, sat down under the eaves, and began searching.

Livestock was quite rare, and pigs were no exception. In fact, because of their long growth cycle and difficulty in raising them, their price per gram was even higher than that of chickens; a piglet weighing around twenty-five pounds cost nearly two million.

Although he’d mentally prepared himself for the cost, seeing that price still made Tong Zhanyan involuntarily pinch the bridge of his nose. He’d previously thought he was wealthy, but now he realized that raising just a few more pigs could bankrupt him.

He couldn’t afford piglets just yet, but he could build the pigsty first—though that would take time.

While pondering this, Tong Zhanyan set up a giveaway.

At Midnight.

The live stream had 180,000 viewers online.

The comment section was flooded with a frenzy of bullet comments; everyone was waiting for the upcoming giveaway.

Faced with this massive turnout, the crowd was excited yet anxious. With a giveaway of this scale, the odds of winning must be incredibly low—could they really win?

“It’s coming, it’s coming…”

“Ahhh, I’m so nervous, what should I do?”

“It’s coming, get ready.”

“Three…”

“Two…”

……

No one counted the final “one,” because at that very moment, everyone was frantically clicking the “Enter Giveaway” button.

They’d missed out last time; this time, they wouldn’t let the same thing happen again.

And indeed, the same thing didn’t happen again—because this time, they weren’t even eligible to enter the giveaway.

“???”

“What’s going on?”

“Was there a glitch in the settings?”

“The requirements this time are incredibly high—the minimum watch time is 1,200 hours…”

“Why is it so high?”

“Senior, this stream hasn’t even been up for a year, right? Is there anyone with that much total watch time?”

“Actually, there are—about four hundred people in total.”

“Waaah, nooo! I’ve just been watching less lately…”

……

In front of the screen.

Yang Hong, who had been feeling unwell for the past half hour, mustered every ounce of strength to suppress the madness surging through him, just to confirm it one more time.

It seemed he had successfully entered this time.

And this time, it was a draw of ten winners from over four hundred participants—a probability of nearly one in forty.

Yang Hong took a deep breath.

The odds of winning were very high.

Unprecedentedly high.

He couldn’t lose his mind.

If he lost his mind, he wouldn’t make it.

And then, in the next instant, he lost consciousness completely.

“Aaaah—aaah—aaah—aaah—” A beast’s roar shattered the darkness.