“Ahhh, senior, don’t be so cruel—give me a chance…” Pang Jingzhou was clutching his keyboard and screaming his head off when a deafening, bestial roar suddenly erupted from behind him, followed by the ground shaking and the building collapsing.

Pang Jingzhou froze for a moment before realizing what was happening. He dropped the keyboard and rushed toward the door.

In the hallway, several of his colleagues opened their doors almost simultaneously; they’d all stayed up waiting for Senior Da Liu’s raffle.

“An enemy attack?”

“But the sound came from behind—”

“Oh no, it’s Yang Shuai!” Pang Jingzhou was the first to realize it, and his already brisk pace suddenly quickened.

Knowing that others were eager to take on the hard, tedious work, Tong Zhanyan slept soundly that night.

When he woke up the next morning, he found himself growing fonder of the vibrant crops in front of his house the more he looked at them. Before even washing up, he began walking in circles around them.

While the fourth batch of cherry tomato seedlings hadn’t changed much in size, the eggplants and cucumbers from the third batch were right in the midst of significant growth.

The best-growing eggplants had already grown past his waist, and with so many planted this time, they truly looked like a small grove of trees.

The cucumber leaves were also far more lush than before. Although they hadn’t yet covered the entire trellis, they had already created a sense of a secret, secluded forest beneath it, making one want to crawl inside.

As he admired the scene, a smile began to form on Tong Zhanyan’s lips when he spotted a rooster with bright red feathers strutting past him with great pride.

Tong Zhanyan glanced toward the chicken coop.

The coop was still securely locked.

Tong Zhanyan immediately looked back at the rooster beside him—it was still there; it hadn’t been a figment of his imagination.

Noticing Tong Zhanyan’s gaze, the rooster shot him a glance.

Tong Zhanyan’s mouth twitched, and he instantly realized what had happened.

The rooster had outgrown the coop; it was too low, so the rooster flew away.

“Cluck… cluck…” Tong Zhanyan imitated the chicken’s call, trying to catch it.

The chicken headed straight ahead.

Tong Zhanyan suddenly sped up.

The chicken dodged to the side without even looking back, easily evading him.

“Come here…”

“Don’t run.”

After a frantic chase, Tong Zhanyan hadn’t caught the chicken, but he’d worn himself out in the process.

Seeing the chicken about to dive into the crops, Tong Zhanyan had no choice but to adopt a more conciliatory approach, pulling up a few pieces of bok choy to try to lure it.

The chicken didn’t even glance at him; it was already full.

Tong Zhanyan had no choice but to head back to the small house first.

While brushing his teeth, he counted them—only one had flown away.

After washing up, Tong Zhanyan immediately went out to buy a new stick and net.

He bit the bullet and bought a 2.5-meter-long stick, adjusting the height of the net accordingly.

After placing the order, Tong Zhanyan was just about to continue catching them when he noticed a message from Qing Jiyue.

The test results for the second batch of cherry radishes and baby bok choy were in.

Learning from last time, Qing Jiyue had four or five different agencies test the samples simultaneously this time, but the results were the same as before—nothing out of the ordinary.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t know how to respond to this; he was good at farming, but he knew nothing about research.

Thinking it over, he could only talk about the status of the cherry tomatoes and eggplants. Once he started pinching off flowers and leaves, they’d be close to maturity.

He’d see how things went then.

“Okay,” Qing Jiyue replied.

The very next moment, he saw Tong Zhanyan on the screen, put away his terminal, and strode purposefully toward that leisurely chicken.

The live stream was in hysterics.

Qing Jiyue couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth curl up.

Tong Zhanyan chased that chicken all morning.

Finally, the chicken got tired of playing and flew back on its own.

Tong Zhanyan was so furious that he almost couldn’t resist ordering an extra meal for lunch.

When Tong Zhanyan placed his order for the iron rod and net, he selected expedited shipping, and the items were delivered the following evening.

After hauling the items back to the small house, Tong Zhanyan hurried to set them up under the cover of night.

He’d grown those cherry radishes and bok choy specifically to feed the chickens, so it didn’t matter if they were eaten. But if the chickens pecked at the other crops—like the tomatoes and corn—the loss would be significant.

Assembling the chicken coop wasn’t difficult; he’d built one before, so he was even more adept at it this time.

To avoid chaos when switching pens, he built the new one right next to the old one and around the perimeter of the pool. That way, once the new pen was ready, he could simply dismantle the old one.

The batch of chickens he’d bought later were already half-grown, so he no longer had to worry about them being bullied or having their food stolen. Therefore, Tong Zhanyan planned to merge the pens during this setup.

Keeping them together was definitely less trouble than keeping them separate.

Noticing Tong Zhanyan’s plan to merge the pens, some viewers in the livestream lost their composure.

“……Does the streamer have some kind of grudge against those chickens?”

“The reason nothing went wrong when they were kept together before was that the chickens were still small. Now that they’re this big and you’re mixing them again, does the streamer really think those chickens have lived too long? ”

“They might not necessarily fight. After all, they didn’t before.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see.”

……

Two hours later, at 8:00 p.m., Tong Zhanyan finally finished securing the last net.

He walked around the chicken coop one more time to make sure everything was in order, then headed inside.

The new pen was three times larger than the previous one, covering over thirty square meters.

Tong Zhanyan started by dismantling the pen for the adult chickens.

He removed the netting directly, and with a couple of shakes, the stakes came out easily.

As soon as the pen opened up, the chickens ran out.

By the time Tong Zhanyan removed the last stake, they had already explored the entire pen.

Tong Zhanyan let the chickens out of the pool.

The chickens in the pool were noticeably smaller.

Once on the ground, they looked around in confusion.

The adult chickens heard the commotion and turned to look.

Their eyes met, but neither side made a move; instead, they both looked somewhat bewildered.

Tong Zhanyan dragged the materials from the pool and the previous chicken coop outside, preparing to store them in the warehouse.

Just before leaving, he recalled what the viewers in the livestream had said about the chickens fighting, so he summoned his Spirit Beast and tossed it into the coop. “You’ll stay in there for tonight. If they start fighting, stop them.”

Though he hadn’t the slightest inkling that these chickens would fight each other to the death.

As it landed and took in the chickens around it, the one that stood out from the rest—semi-transparent—instantly lunged at Tong Zhanyan like a lit bomb, intent on dealing with him first.

Tong Zhanyan had just moved into the chicken coop.

With the net separating them, Tong Zhanyan wasn’t afraid.

The chicken looked up, spread its wings, and prepared to fly.

It was determined to take Tong Zhanyan down today.

The net was over two meters high; Tong Zhanyan didn’t believe it could fly out.

But then Tong Zhanyan couldn’t laugh anymore, because the chicken actually did fly out—and the moment it cleared the net, it plunged toward his head like a missile.

“Ouch…” Tong Zhanyan clutched his head and darted around in panic.

Both groups of chickens in the coop were drawn to the commotion and gathered to watch the spectacle.

“Ssss…”

By the time Tong Zhanyan managed to catch his chicken, he already had two lumps on his head.

“Cluck, cluck…”

Seeing the commotion had died down, a flock of adult chickens headed toward the two wooden huts that served as their roosts, ready to sleep.

It was already past nine at night; normally, they’d be fast asleep by this hour.

The younger chicks looked left and right, then plucked up the courage to follow.

Although there were two wooden huts, they weren’t particularly large. Even a flock of adult chickens found it a bit cramped, and when the chicks squeezed in, the adults were pushed aside.

“Cluck, cluck…”

The flock of adult chickens voiced their displeasure, but it was only a couple of clucks.

In the livestream.

“What happened to fighting to the death?”

“My heart was in my throat, and this is it?”

“……”

“……”

“No, chickens at other farms really do fight. I’ve even seen videos of them fighting…”

“Other people’s chickens are other people’s business. What does that have to do with Senior Da Liu’s?”

“Exactly. Don’t talk nonsense when you don’t know what you’re talking about. You made me worry for nothing.”

“All I saw was the streamer getting beaten up, hahaha…”

……

After tidying up those things, Tong Zhanyan took another worried look. Seeing that the chickens had all settled down, he felt relieved and returned to the small house.

After washing up, Tong Zhanyan announced the winners.

Once the list was out, he edited the guidelines he’d previously sent individually to the winners and sent them to this round’s ten recipients.

He still had no intention of covering their travel or accommodation expenses.

Victims’ Alliance, Group One.

Changge was discussing the chickens with someone when she noticed she’d received a system message from Green Shade.

She didn’t rush to open it, but continued chatting, “Speaking of which, why haven’t I seen the group admin today?”

“Right, he’s usually here at this time. Why isn’t he around today?”

“Is he at work?”

Just as Changge was about to tag him, several messages suddenly flooded the group chat: “The senior has announced the winners.”

“Hurry, hurry, hurry! Who won?”

“I didn’t win again. Damn it, such a rare chance…”

Changge’s heart gave an uncontrollable jolt as she was typing her message. By the time she realized it, the message she’d only half-written had already been sent.

But she didn’t have time to worry about that. She took a deep breath and hurriedly tapped on the system message from Green Shade.

When she opened the message, the words “Senior Da Liu” caught her eye almost instantly, followed immediately by “Congratulations on winning.”

“Ah!” Changge jumped up from her chair; blood rushed to her head. “I won, I won…”

She won—she actually won!

After jumping up and down for a moment, she quickly shared the news in the group chat. She’d won; she could go to Senior Da Liu’s base.

“I’ll buy the spot from you—100,000.”

“Ahhh…”

“I’ll pay 200,000.”

“Congratulations.”

“Ahhh, I won too,” said another person.

“???”

“Two?”

“Me too. Here’s a screenshot,” a third person chimed in.

“Ahhh, I’m going crazy! Why wasn’t I picked?”

“Out of ten people, three were from our group alone. Why couldn’t there be one more—me? Waaah…”

“Damn…”

…

Tong Zhanyan waited a while before getting a reply.

No one objected.

Tong Zhanyan sent over the address and contact information and reiterated the time to a few people.

This time, the other side replied quickly.

After confirming everything, Tong Zhanyan shut down the terminal and went to sleep.

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

At the Gu Family.

Yang Hong felt as though he’d slept for ages—so long that his whole body ached—before he finally managed to open his eyes. “Ugh…”

Blinding light flooded in, stinging his newly opened eyes so that he shut them again immediately, accompanied by an even more intense wave of pain.

It took a while before Yang Hong opened his eyes again.

The ceiling was gone, replaced by a massive iron cage over a hundred square meters in size, as tall as three or four stories.

Yang Hong realized almost immediately what was happening.

He had entered a frenzy.

Yang Hong sat up.

Not far away, Pang Jingzhou was crouched in a corner watching the livestream.

As his memory returned, Yang Hong suddenly remembered the raffle.

He immediately reached for the terminal on his wrist, but it wasn’t there; he had placed it on the table before losing consciousness.

Yang Hong spoke up, “Pang Jingzhou.”

Pang Jingzhou looked up, and the moment he recognized Yang Hong, a look of joy flashed in his eyes. “You’re awake.”

Yang Hong didn’t rush to get up; his condition was still unstable, and going out would only cause trouble. “What day is it today? Have the results of the giveaway in the seniors’ livestream come out yet?”

He remembered that Pang Jingzhou also watched the senior’s livestream.

“It’s the third day. The results are out.” The joy on Pang Jingzhou’s face gradually faded.

The frenzy primarily consists of three stages.

In the first stage, they can freely switch between human form and fused state, though they become highly emotional and act like madmen once they lose control.

In the second stage, their aggression intensifies once they lose control, and in their fused state, there’s a chance they’ll completely lose consciousness and attack relentlessly, driven solely by instinct.

The third stage is the final and worst stage.

They can suddenly enter the fused state at any moment, and once they do, they lose all rationality—they’ll either be knocked down or keep attacking until they’re exhausted.

Moreover, once they reach the third stage—whether this time or the next—there’s a chance they may never recover.

Yang Hong had previously only reached the second stage, but this time he had clearly entered the third.

“It’s out?” Yang Hong’s heart began racing. “Who won? Where’s my terminal?”

Pang Jingzhou hurriedly pulled Yang Hong’s terminal out of his pocket, then walked into the cage and handed it to him.

The cage was large; each pillar was as thick as a person, and the gaps were wide enough for someone to squeeze through.

Yang Hong took it but didn’t open it right away. “You go out first.”

Pang Jingzhou froze for a moment, then felt a lump in his throat.

He said nothing and silently walked out.

Only after seeing Pang Jingzhou leave the cage did Yang Hong quickly open his terminal.

Seeing no unread system messages, Yang Hong’s taut nerves instantly snapped. He collapsed to the ground, overcome by a sudden, intense rage.

He wasn’t chosen again.

With such high odds of winning this time, he still wasn’t chosen.

Yang Hong took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

Actually, it was better that he wasn’t chosen. Given his current condition, if he had won and gone to the base, injuring those recruits would be one thing, but what if he’d hurt Senior Da Liu—

Yang Hong breathed heavily.

It was good that he hadn’t won.

“Did I hurt anyone?” Yang Hong asked.

Pang Jingzhou tried hard not to let his eyes flicker. “No.”

But Yang Hong already understood. “How many? Are they seriously injured?”

“Captain Yang…” Pang Jingzhou was at a loss.

Yang Hong was a whole generation older than him.

In their part of the Gu Family, almost everyone his age had grown up hearing Yang Hong’s name.

To them, Yang Hong was different.

Yang Hong said, “I’m not going out for now.”

Pang Jingzhou’s lips parted, but he couldn’t find his voice for a long moment.

Yang Hong smiled and raised the terminal in his hand. “I won’t feel at ease unless I stay here. Given that guy’s power, I’m afraid I won’t be able to resist rushing over to beat him up.”

Pang Jingzhou couldn’t help but chuckle.

Senior Da Liu really is infuriating.

Yang Hong smiled again, then, forcing himself to ignore the aches in his body, lay back down on the ground to rest a bit longer.

Just as he was settling in, it suddenly occurred to him, “You didn’t tell my mom, did you?”

“…No.”

“Good.” Yang Hong relaxed.

He opened Senior Da Liu’s livestream.

In the stream, that familiar figure was sitting in front of an industrial basin, chopping chicken feed with a “chop-chop-chop” sound.

Beside him, a brand-new chicken coop had replaced the previous one.

Had the two batches of chickens been put together already?

Had they fought?

Had he missed this much in just two days?

Yang Hong immediately wanted to search for answers, but the aching pain in his hand prevented him from lifting it.

A moment later, his hand rose, but instead of checking whether the two batches of chickens had fought, Yang Hong contacted the nursing home.

He will visit his mother next month.

As for the Gu Family, he had already made arrangements.

That should be about it.

After making the call, Yang Hong opened his terminal again.

It was only then that he noticed Changge had sent him quite a few messages over the past few days.

Changge had won a prize.

He hadn’t been online at all these past few days, and Changge was very worried.

Yang Hong replied, “Congratulations.”

After a moment’s thought, he added, “I’ve had some work issues these past couple of days, so I haven’t been online much.”

“Are you really okay?” Changge asked, sounding a bit anxious.

She had long noticed that Yang Hong never participated in the group’s frenzy of discussions.

“I’m fine,” Yang Hong chuckled. “By the way, would you be interested in becoming the group admin?”

Changge, Fish-Loving Kitty, Midsummer Crazy Cool, and Craving Hot Pot—these few were all great. They’d helped a lot with setting up the group, and their affection for the senior was genuine; they’d probably make good group admins.

Changge remained silent.

Two days later.

The base.

Tong Zhanyan made a point of arriving ten minutes early.

Outside the door, Changge and the others had been waiting for a while, but only nine out of the ten had shown up.

Tong Zhanyan was a bit surprised and quickly tried to contact the missing person.

There was no reply.

After a moment’s hesitation, Tong Zhanyan left a message asking them to contact him once they arrived. After verifying everyone’s identities, he led the others inside first.

Once they got out of the car, the experienced Tong Zhanyan immediately announced that the group could go look around on their own first.

Having already witnessed the scene on screen once before, the group wasn’t as surprised as the previous batch; they immediately set off in all directions, their faces beaming with excitement.

Tong Zhanyan quickly took this opportunity to contact the person who hadn’t shown up again, hoping nothing had happened to them on the way.

Green Shade Headquarters.

Liang Fengru, Green Shade’s largest shareholder and current CEO, watched Chu Yi from across the table with a twitching expression. “Is this satisfactory to you now?”

Chu Yi propped his head up with one hand, looking troubled. “We’ve said this before: pulling underhanded tricks means you’re our enemy… Since we’re enemies now…”

Liang Fengru slammed his fist down on the desk. “So what if there are the Four Great Families and the Planting Alliance? What gives you the right to expect everyone to listen to you?”

Qing Jiyue, who had been standing by the window gazing into the distance, turned his head. He raised his hand and clenched his fist.

In the luxurious office on the top floor, the four walls and the ceiling were instantly torn apart. The building debris was gathered, then crushed, eventually forming a massive sphere.

A howling gale swept through, scattering piles of documents.

Liang Fengru’s face turned deathly pale, his hands clenched tightly around the sofa in sheer terror.

Chu Yi looked on with a helpless expression. “Weren’t we supposed to talk first? Only resort to force if we couldn’t reach an agreement.”

Qing Jiyue turned to Liang Fengru. “If you pull any more stunts like this—”

This time, the other party replied to Tong Zhanyan quite quickly.

He couldn’t make it after all; the company had suddenly called him back in the morning. He had intended to tell Tong Zhanyan, but he’d forgotten in the rush.

Having agreed to come and then suddenly backing out, the other party felt quite apologetic and sent numerous messages of apology.

Tong Zhanyan found it a bit odd, but seeing that the other person had even sent photos of his office, he didn’t think much of it.

The lighting in the other person’s office was actually quite good.

Changge and the group took a look at the chickens and wandered around the fields for a while before finally getting their fill of the novelty.

By then, Tong Zhanyan had already prepared the bok choy, a plastic bin, a kitchen knife, and a cutting board.

Tong Zhanyan handed the knife directly to them. The group took it like seasoned pros, then lined up to chop the vegetables and feed the chickens.

While they waited, Tong Zhanyan had one thought: thankfully, he’d already put the chickens in their coop; otherwise, if this happened a few more times, the chickens would starve to skin and bone.

Once the feeding was done, Tong Zhanyan handed out a pair of scissors—which he had prepared and cleaned in advance—to each person and led them out to the fields.

He had already pruned some of the leaves and stems on the cherry tomatoes, but hadn’t started on the eggplants and cucumbers yet.

Tong Zhanyan first led them to the cherry tomato plants. “This time, we’re mainly pinching off the first flower and the leaves below it, just like this…”

After explaining, Tong Zhanyan deliberately demonstrated the process.

Pinching flowers and leaves was a bit more difficult than setting up trellises; it required some observational skill. However, since there weren’t many flowers or branches in the early stages, the task mainly involved removing leaves, so it wasn’t too hard.

After hearing the explanation, Changge and the others couldn’t hide the excitement in their eyes, but not a single one dared to step forward.

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

“What if we do it wrong?” Changge was so nervous that his hands were trembling slightly.

They had accepted the fact that crops needed to be pruned, but that didn’t mean they were okay with harming them carelessly.

If they really messed up, what if those plants died…

Especially since those plants were grown by their senior…

Just thinking about it gave them stomachaches from the nerves.

“It’s okay, I’ll be right here watching,” Tong Zhanyan said.

Changge and the others exchanged glances.

The next moment, Changge steeled herself and took a step forward. “Then I’ll give it a try…”

She crouched down in front of the cherry tomatoes.

Up close, the cherry tomatoes looked much sturdier than they had through the camera lens, and just as Baozi had said, they carried that distinctive, fresh tomato scent.

“Like this…” Having identified a leaf that needed to be pruned, Changge didn’t dare to cut it herself but looked to Tong Zhanyan for help.

“Mm, that’s it,” Tong Zhanyan nodded encouragingly.

Changge took a deep breath and applied pressure with her hand.

The leaf fell, and the distinctive scent of tomatoes in the air seemed to grow even more intense because of the cut.

Changge immediately looked at Tong Zhanyan again.

Tong Zhanyan mustered the patience of a kindergarten teacher. “That’s exactly it. It’s okay if you make a mistake once in a while—as long as you don’t damage the main stem, it won’t die.”

With that reassuring answer, the others exchanged glances and finally found the courage to step forward.

A few minutes later, after what felt like countless questions from the group, their first cherry tomato plant was finally pruned.

“That’s it.”

Tong Zhanyan didn’t rush off; he stayed by their side for a while longer, watching until they’d finished pruning the third plant in front of them. Only then did he pick up his shears and go back to his own work.

Changge and the others were far less efficient than him, but with Tian Xinqing and the other two joining in, they could barely match the output of two Tong Zhanyans.

By around eleven o’clock, the cherry tomatoes were all processed.

Tong Zhanyan arranged for lunch and let everyone rest for an hour.

With the morning’s experience under their belts, the group wasn’t as hesitant in the afternoon. Although they’d switched to processing eggplants and cucumbers, their efficiency had improved.

However, there were simply too many seedlings; even so, by the time they finished, it was already past six o’clock.

Only a faint glow remained of the setting sun.

Tong Zhanyan quickly arranged dinner and gifts.

After eating their fill, the group looked back every few steps as they left.

After seeing them off at the door and exchanging a few brief words, Tong Zhanyan closed the door.

A little later, Tian Xinqing and the others left.

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Back at the hotel, Changge immediately contacted the group admin, “Ten Years of Clouds,” “Send me your address.”

“What?” Yang Hong was baffled.

“I’m sending you the crops my senior gave me,” Changge said.

“???”

“He gave them to you—why are you sending them to me?”

Yang Hong replied with two messages in a row.

“I really like the Victims’ Alliance, and I really like you and Fish-Loving Kitty and the others,” Changge said.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan inspected the seedlings one by one. For the most part, they hadn’t been pinched too much, though a few were clearly not pinched enough.

But overall, it saved him quite a bit of trouble.

After pruning this batch, he’d just need to keep a close eye on them himself; there shouldn’t be any issues before pollination.

Calculating the flowering time, Tong Zhanyan quickly harvested the first batch of cherry radishes and bok choy, replanted them, and then arranged for a six-hour spell of steady, light rain to give the crops a thorough soaking before they fully bloomed.

Once plants have bloomed, they can’t be exposed to rain anymore; the rain will wash away most of the pollen.

While it rained, Tong Zhanyan simply curled up in his little house and slept soundly.

That night, when Tong Zhanyan woke up, the livestream was in full swing.

The little tomatoes from that “Gu Xiaoming Loves Vegetables” streamer had recovered, and that afternoon, the other party sent him an apology letter nearly two thousand words long, announcing the permanent closure of their livestream.

Some viewers found this satisfying, while others felt it was far from enough.

Tong Zhanyan skimmed through the apology letter and, for some reason, felt as if he’d been stabbed in the back—because the other person had included every insult they’d hurled at him in the letter.

Tong Zhanyan hadn’t known about it before, but now he did.

After thinking it over, Tong Zhanyan decided not to respond.

For one thing, he didn’t know how to respond; for another, the other person’s mindset clearly wasn’t suited for live streaming—they’d be better off settling down and focusing on reality.

After reading the apology letter, Tong Zhanyan did notice a few more questions about crops.

Those questions had been pushed to the top of the comments section.

Tong Zhanyan had slept enough that afternoon and wasn’t the least bit sleepy now, so he decided to reply to them one by one.

Yellowing leaves, curled leaves, how often to water, how much to water at a time, specific fertilizer ratios…

Some questions were reasonable, while others were downright bizarre.

After finishing up, Tong Zhanyan felt a bit dazed when he refreshed the comments section—this was the first time in nearly a year of streaming that he’d replied to such a massive volume of comments.

As the comment section refreshed, the replies he’d posted were already met with a flurry of excitement.

Some viewers even suggested creating a separate section for these types of comments, noting that with so many other diverse posts, this category would easily get buried if it weren’t pinned to the top.

Plus, if they were categorized, others with similar questions could go directly there to find answers instead of asking the same thing over and over.

Tong Zhanyan thought there was some merit to the idea, so he returned to the backend and began figuring out how to categorize the comments.

A few minutes later, a new sub-section labeled “Planting-Related” appeared below the main comments.

Tong Zhanyan took a look, was quite satisfied, and then moved all the comments he had previously replied to into that section.

This was the fastest Tong Zhanyan had ever responded to the comments section.

Live stream.

“What happened?”

“Senior, if you’re being threatened, just blink.”

“Senior, are you okay? Do you feel unwell somewhere?”

“Senior, you’re scaring me…”

“Should we call the police?”

“Or contact Green Shade?”

…

Having finished his task, Tong Zhanyan looked up just as he was feeling relieved and saw these comments, leaving him utterly exasperated.

What kind of image did he project in their eyes?

At the Planting Alliance.

“Old Xu…” Gu Yunyang looked at the person beside him with some concern, as the latter had been staring blankly at the livestream for quite a while.

Old Xu took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “With that kind of drive, he’ll succeed at anything he does.”

With that, he turned to inspect their own crop.

They had only begun learning after Senior Da Liu moved to the base. In total, they had planted ten greenhouses, with each variety of seed occupying its own greenhouse.

Nearly two months had passed. Although the crops were far from matching those at Senior Da Liu’s base, without exception, they were all better than what they had grown before.

Senior Da Liu hadn’t deceived them; everything he said was true.

Watching Old Xu walk away, Gu Yunyang glanced at the newly added “Q&A” section, then fixed his gaze on the second-floor bedroom lit up against the night sky on the screen.

Old Xu’s words had struck him even deeper than they had Old Xu.

Because he was one of the first to discover Senior Da Liu’s livestream, he had witnessed more skepticism, dissent, criticism, and even curses than anyone else.

The rainwater in the greenhouses came from the river; though it couldn’t compare to the real rain from Tong Zhanyan’s former world, the thorough irrigation still left the crops bursting with vitality.

Just one day later, when Tong Zhanyan went to inspect the area again, large patches of new flower buds and branches had already sprouted.

Tong Zhanyan had no choice but to quickly pinch off another batch, which left him feeling exhausted for the first time in a long while.

After three consecutive days of hard work, by the time he had finally finished the first round, the first batch of cherry tomatoes to develop flower buds had already begun to bloom.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t dare to delay; he quickly called over Tian Xinqing and the other two, then led them in pollinating the plants.

With so many plants, the process of bud and branch development and pollination was no longer a matter of a few days, but rather a lengthy period that could last up to half a month.

Tong Zhanyan couldn’t possibly call in a new group of people every day, so for the stages at the beginning and end that they could manage on their own, they had to handle them themselves.

It was the first time for Tian Xinqing and the others to pollinate. They were quite excited at first, but within three hours, none of them could muster a smile.

It wasn’t just a mentally taxing, meticulous task; crouching for extended periods was also a real test of physical endurance.

The benches were fixed in height, so they could only pollinate within a limited range; most of the time, they had to stand up.

By the end of the first day, when the three returned the next morning, their faces were etched with pain—their muscles were aching.

While Tong Zhanyan and the others at the base were working themselves to the bone, the viewers in the livestream were getting pretty anxious. Why hadn’t Senior Da Liu drawn the winners yet?

Although he’d already held two prize draws, he’d only picked ten people each time—and he had over two million followers in his livestream.

“How about I pay you to let me go?”

“Enough with that, guy above. Talking about money is tacky. I can pay more.”

“I’ve grown my own before and have pollination experience. I think I can do it.”

“I can do it too—I’ve grown cucumbers.”

“I’ve grown them too—I’ve got pictures to prove it.”

“You guys up there, don’t go making fools of yourselves with that little bit of experience. You might end up ruining Senior Da Liu’s crops.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Why’s this turning into a competition now?”

……

Amid the commotion, quite a few people turned off the comments and watched quietly.

Cucumbers and string beans already climbing the trellises and blooming with small flowers, corn reaching shoulder height, eggplants half a person’s height, the cherry tomatoes—which had stood out in earlier batches but were now overshadowed by their smaller size—and the pumpkins climbing their vines…

That patch of crops, covering over two mu, stood like an oasis amidst the barren yellow earth of the base, providing them with a striking visual spectacle.

But what excited them even more was the upcoming harvest.

One hundred and seventy tomato seedlings had yielded over 200 pounds of cherry tomatoes; this batch of seniors had planted over a thousand. And those eggplants, cucumbers…

This would likely pile up into a small mountain.

A mountain of produce…

Could they really sell it all?

Produce has a shelf life—what if they couldn’t sell it all and it went bad?

Realizing what they were worrying about, the group watching the screen felt a mix of emotions.

What if the produce went bad because they couldn’t sell it all…

Not long ago, they wouldn’t have dared to even dream of this, yet now the reality was right before their eyes.

“Phew…”

As dusk fell, upon hearing Tong Zhanyan say “Take a break,” Tian Xinqing plopped right down onto the ground.

He was truly too exhausted to move.

Su Yanran and Ning Langdong were in slightly better shape than he, but the difference was merely that they walked from the field to the edge before sitting down.

Tong Zhanyan chuckled. “I’ll hold a raffle tomorrow or the day after. Let’s see if I can get them to stick around for two days this time.”

“That’d be great,” Tian Xinqing blurted out.

As the words left his mouth, feeling the exhaustion in his body, he couldn’t help but smile contentedly.

Those watching Tong Zhanyan’s livestream were likely the ones who could best feel the joy of the impending harvest, because every flower they pollinated would bear fruit.

After dinner, he saw the three off, but Tong Zhanyan’s work wasn’t done yet. He contacted Boss Bai and Qing Jiyue, asking them to buy more sweet potatoes.

To raise pigs, relying solely on baby bok choy, cherry radishes, and radishes would certainly not be enough.

Pumpkins did give him some ideas, but the infection rate of pumpkin seeds was already close to 50%. Unless that rate could be lowered, he could only plant them one more time at most.

Early the next morning, Mr. Bai replied that Old Jin was willing to give Tong Zhanyan the two remaining sweet potatoes.

Old Jin already knew about his livestream.

He kept the seeds not only because he liked collecting them, but largely because he didn’t want them to simply disappear.

He’d been involved in farming for over a decade and had once dreamed of changing the status quo, but reality was cruel.

He couldn’t do it, but if Tong Zhanyan could, then he was willing to give him the seeds.

Tong Zhanyan was speechless for a long moment.

Before Tong Zhanyan could figure out how to reply to Mr. Bai, Qing Jiyue had already responded: the Planting Alliance had already helped secure the purchase.

Twelve seeds, 11,000 per seed, bought outright.

Also, if Tong Zhanyan needed any other seeds, he should just ask.

Old Jin had previously sold him seeds for 170,000 per seed. Even with the Planting Alliance’s connections, the price couldn’t possibly be this different—it could only mean the Planting Alliance had subsidized the cost themselves.

That left Tong Zhanyan speechless once again for a long while.

Standing under the eaves, Tong Zhanyan stared at the crops before him, poised to yield, for quite some time before pulling his gaze away.

He’ll take all the sweet potatoes.

He’ll raise the pigs.

As for the rest, if he can help, he’ll lend a hand.

After replying, Tong Zhanyan opened Green Shade and set up a raffle. This time, he’d select twenty people over two days for pollination.

Once this crop is harvested, he’ll plant new ones right away—especially given the infection rate issue. He’ll assess the situation once the fruits appear.