Chapter Bonanza (8/10)

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Li Lu was doing very well—perhaps too well.

She had become talkative, her appetite had increased, and she was even able to get up and walk on her own.

The only problem was that she kept thinking about going back—back to their home in the outer city, which had long since been deserted.

Yang Hong managed to keep her from leaving by claiming he still had some business to attend to and wouldn’t be able to leave for another week.

He had actually intended to delay his departure for longer, but…

Li Lu didn’t last a full week. Three days later, as if she had exhausted all her strength, she suddenly grew weak—weaker than she had ever been before.

The only thing that hadn’t changed was her constant longing to go home, to tend to those crops.

That was her hope.

Yang Hong had no choice but to promise her over and over again: once she recovered, he would go buy them; once she recovered, he would take her home; once she was well and his father woke up, they would live happily every day just like before.

When the light faded from those cloudy eyes, Yang Hong didn’t feel sad; if anything, he felt a sense of relief.

The sword hanging over her heart had already tormented her beyond recognition; the end was, in fact, a form of release.

When the body was wheeled into the crematorium, Yang Hong felt nothing. He had booked his return ticket; he intended to bury Li Lu and his father together.

After collecting the ashes and settling the remaining balance, he returned to his room to pack his things. Looking at the meager pile of clothes, Yang Hong suddenly realized what had happened, and tears streamed down his face.

More than a decade ago, the frenzy had taken his father; now, it had taken his mother as well.

It was already half a month later when Yang Hong returned to the base.

The crops in the fields had entered a stable harvesting period, yielding dozens to hundreds of crates almost every day.

This thrilled the crowd in the livestream and greatly encouraged the people helping out at the base.

Those crops represented the hope for survival for countless people.

Moreover, people suffering from severe frenzy were now able to wake up. Although this wasn’t yet widespread, as long as a solution existed, there was hope.

Ning Langdong and the others were bustling with activity.

Seeing Yang Hong return, the group hurriedly called him out to the fields.

Yang Hong set down his things and followed them.

Some were curious about what he had been doing during his absence—why had he been gone for half a month?

Yang Hong offered no explanation, merely gazing quietly at the figure bustling about at the entrance of the small building.

Yang Hong felt no resentment; he was still grateful.

Grateful that Tong Zhanyan was willing to share everything he knew with them, grateful that Tong Zhanyan never gave up even when everyone doubted him, and grateful to himself for stumbling upon Tong Zhanyan’s livestream that day.

He was glad to be among the first to discover Tong Zhanyan.

“Yang Hong?” Tang Shijin looked at him in confusion.

Yang Hong took a deep breath and picked up the basket beside him. “Let’s go.”

In front of the small house.

After placing the newly hatched chicks in the pool and adding some feed, Tong Zhanyan headed toward the warehouse.

The warehouse was spacious; the boxes of farming tools together barely filled half the space, but he still had to tidy things up because there was a substantial amount of corn and pumpkins—without organizing them, there simply wouldn’t be enough room.

He couldn’t help but consider the possibility of building two more warehouses.

It was enough for now, but next time might be a different story.

After tidying up the warehouse, Tong Zhanyan opened his shopping app and searched for grain mills.

Since the corn was meant to feed the pigs and chickens, it would be best to grind it into flour and mix it with other crops before feeding them.

Previously, the quantity had been too small—just a small half-bowl every three or five days—so it didn’t matter, but that wouldn’t work going forward.

There were grinders available, but they were all industrial models, and consequently, quite bulky.

After studying the options for a while, Tong Zhanyan decided to reach out to the R&D team he’d worked with before. After all, he wasn’t short on funds now, and a specialized machine would certainly be more effective than a makeshift solution.

In addition to the grinder, Tong Zhanyan also inquired about an oil press.

Previously, there wasn’t much rapeseed, and since outsiders didn’t eat it, he’d kept it all for planting.

This batch of rapeseed flowers covered nearly three mu of land—a substantial amount.

He and the folks at the farmstay were still eating plain boiled greens. With oil, the quality of their meals would improve dramatically; just thinking about it made his mouth water.

But what excited Tong Zhanyan the most was that the residue left after pressing rapeseed oil was rich in nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium, and calcium—making it a highly effective fertilizer on par with chicken and pig manure.

That was also the main reason he dared to clear sixty mu of land all at once this time.

Of course, the purple vetch, soybeans, and peanuts were also a source of confidence for him.

They already had a flour mill on hand; it just needed some modifications, so the team agreed readily.

As for the oil press, the team hadn’t seen one before, so it might take some time to develop and test.

Tong Zhanyan made sure to pay a larger deposit.

With the increased land area, the planting schedules for crops were completely staggered, and the harvest period was extended; as a result, the crops in the fields would still yield harvests for at least another two months.

Feeding the chickens and pigs was no longer a simple task, and the next planting season was fast approaching.

If they still had to rely on traditional methods for oil extraction without machinery, he would truly have to worry that Ning Langdong and the others might die from overwork one day.

With this in mind, Tong Zhanyan glanced at Ning Langdong and the others, then got into his utility vehicle and headed toward the watermelon fields.

More than half a month had passed, and most of the watermelons had already set fruit.

Tong Zhanyan had raised the temperature there a bit yesterday, so now there were two or three hours of 30-degree heat every day at noon.

By the time Tong Zhanyan arrived, the peak heat had passed, but the area still radiated a palpable heat.

With the right temperature, the watermelons were growing quite well; the largest were already nearly the size of eggs and looked especially cute.

Tong Zhanyan just looked at them; he didn’t touch them.

Both watermelons and winter melons have a layer of spiny fuzz on their surfaces, which serves to protect against pests and pathogens.

Casually touching and damaging that layer of spines would lower the watermelon’s resistance and cause the plant to stop growing.

There’s an interesting theory that when a watermelon plant detects damage to a fruit’s spines, it will abandon it and stop supplying nutrients to that fruit in order to conserve energy for the next one.

It’s similar to how crops with many flowers, like cherry tomatoes, drop their flowers to protect themselves when they suffer from malnutrition.

However, most watermelons aren’t that sensitive; even if touched, they’ll at most stop growing for a few days.

After the inspection, Tong Zhanyan returned to the small house.

Passing by the back door, Tong Zhanyan glanced at it from a distance but didn’t go over.

Qing Jiyue had been very busy lately, constantly trying to help the three who had awakened regain their human forms.

There is still a long way to go between waking up and fully recovering.

In the fields, Ning Langdong and the others were still hard at work.

Mr. Bai was waiting at the gate.

Tong Zhanyan thought something had gone wrong and hurried over.

Upon asking, he learned that Boss Bai had come to ask if the method for weighing the crops could be adjusted.

Their current process was as follows: crops from the base were transported out, where Gu Yunyang and his team would perform a rough weighing at the entrance. The crops were then distributed to major distribution centers in various cities, where they underwent detailed inspection before being sent to smaller retailers, who would ultimately sell them to stores for retail.

It had been nearly a month since harvesting began, with dozens to hundreds of boxes arriving daily. Even with over a dozen major distribution centers, each one still received more than ten boxes a day.

Since the crops have a shelf life, the staff at the major distribution centers hadn’t slept in ages and were all complaining bitterly.

Grading the crops has become such a burden that these people never would have dared to imagine such a scenario in their wildest dreams; now, however, they are forced to go up the chain of command with grim faces.

Once he understood what was going on and pictured the scene, Tong Zhanyan found it amusing; he had warned long ago that this approach wouldn’t work.

Mr. Bai and Gu Yunyang had already worked out a countermeasure.

Since the major distribution centers have smaller dealers under them, the solution they devised was to pass the goods down the chain, allowing the local small dealers to handle the inspection.

This would ease the pressure on the major distribution centers, but it would also make the smaller local dealers harder to control, making it easier for anyone to tamper with the process.

Given how far Tong Zhanyan has gone, logically speaking, he shouldn’t have to bear this risk. So another option is for them to hire more inspectors.

But this time, Tong Zhanyan has cleared sixty mu of land all at once…

One hundred mu of land, hundreds of thousands of jin of crops—each and every one sorted by size, then individually inspected and labeled. All this must be completed within two or three months; it simply couldn’t be done without several thousand people.

Tong Zhanyan had no objections to this.

He’d already taken the initiative to offer discounts on the crops—why would he worry about losing money?

Tong Zhanyan agreed so readily that Mr. Bai, who had been feeling somewhat anxious, couldn’t find the words to say for a long while.

Seeing him like this, Tong Zhanyan offered a few words of reassurance.

Reassured, Mr. Bai couldn’t help but give a wry smile.

As he was leaving, Mr. Bai repeatedly assured him that he would expedite the review.

In addition to this, Mr. Bai told Tong Zhanyan something else.

Fang Yiguang had contacted Mr. Bai earlier, telling him that someone was plotting against him and to be careful.

Tong Zhanyan hadn’t expected to hear Fang Yiguang’s name after so long; for a moment, he was dazed.

Mr. Bai shared this information with Qing Jiyue.

He hadn’t originally planned to tell Tong Zhanyan, but after some thought, he decided to go ahead and do so.

He had hesitated because he feared Tong Zhanyan would be upset upon hearing the news; after all, Tong Zhanyan had already done so much for them.

Ultimately, he decided to tell Tong Zhanyan out of concern that he might let his guard down and get into trouble.

Tong Zhanyan’s feelings were somewhat complicated, but he wasn’t exactly upset—he had long suspected this would happen.

Seeing Tong Zhanyan like this, Mr. Bai once again looked as if he wanted to say something but held back, so Tong Zhanyan could only offer a few more words of comfort.

If worse came to worst, he’d just go beg Qing Jiyue for help and ask him to give them a discount.

Mr. Bai didn’t find it funny; on the contrary, the look in his eyes grew even more complex. If it were anyone else, they might have given up long ago.

After seeing Mr. Bai off, Tong Zhanyan immediately turned his attention to other tasks.

Three days later, Tong Zhanyan had Ning Langdong and the others pause the harvest of other crops to help gather the first batch of overripe pumpkins and corn.

The pumpkins could be stored directly in the warehouse, but the corn needed to be husked and sun-dried.

Tong Zhanyan had them transported to the watermelon field and spread out on the ground under plastic sheeting.

There were large concrete areas at both the front and back entrances of the base, but since people were constantly coming and going, the ground wasn’t clean.

The corn being sun-dried had to be turned and collected once in the morning and once in the evening.

The temperature there was high, so the drying process was quick; in less than five days, the kernels were hard enough to snap.

At the same time, many of the kernels were beginning to show signs of shriveling.

With insufficient fertilizer, starch production was naturally limited—this was inevitable.

What pleased Tong Zhanyan was that the flour mill had also been delivered.

Tong Zhanyan had the machine customized with five different grind settings; the coarsest was about the same as rapeseed, while the finest was exceptionally smooth.

He planned to use the coarse flour exclusively for feeding chickens and pigs, while the fine flour was for human consumption.

Corn cakes, steamed corn buns, corn porridge, cold corn jelly…

Just thinking about it made Tong Zhanyan swallow hard.

Tong Zhanyan immediately picked out some corn kernels and ground them into several different grits, paying special attention to the finest one.

Finally, Tong Zhanyan waved his hand and instructed Tian Xinqing to go buy nearly 30,000 yuan worth of fatty pork.

That night, Tong Zhanyan finished work an hour early, then took the ingredients to the cafeteria, determined to show a group of people who could eat plain boiled greens with relish just what “fine dining” really meant.

Corn cakes fried until golden brown on both sides, steamed corn buns, corn porridge with just the right consistency, and chili-spiced corn jelly…

In the cafeteria, as the trays were brought out one by one and the enticing aroma filled the air, the crowd craned their necks and stood on tiptoes, their eyes brimming with anticipation.

Qing Jiyue and the group of guards were also summoned.

Cameras were brought along as well.

“Weren’t we supposed to just feed pigs and chickens? What’s this?”

“Senior, this is really making it hard for me to keep a straight face.”

“So you can actually eat like this?”

“That oil-fried stuff looks so good, aaaah!”

“Why are you doing this to us? Why?”

“It’s one thing for you to eat it yourselves, but why bring us here to watch? Does it taste better this way? Damn it.”

“Watching this is making me so hungry.”

“What kind of garbage is that nutritional liquid I’ve been drinking every day…”

…

Half an hour later, the last dish came out of the pot, and Tong Zhanyan announced that dinner was served.

The group, which had been waiting for a while, immediately lined up.

The two cooks hurried forward to serve the food.

Tong Zhanyan hadn’t cooked much in his previous world, but it was more than enough to fool a group of people who’d never tasted anything like this before.

As the first person received their portion and gave an affirmative response, the laughter and cheer in the cafeteria grew even louder.

They were all eager to dig in.

Tong Zhanyan watched from the side for a moment, then went back into the kitchen. After boiling some low-infection-rate bok choy for himself, he went out the back door and found a spot to sit in a secluded corner behind the cafeteria.

The bok choy had a natural sweetness and tasted good, but Tong Zhanyan had long since grown tired of it.

Tong Zhanyan imagined it as a corn cake fried until crispy and golden; the aroma was so intoxicating it made him feel a bit dazed.

It was just too hot.

Just as Tong Zhanyan was struggling with it, someone appeared beside him.

Qing Jiyue had somehow found him.

Tong Zhanyan chose to keep eating rather than speak.

Qing Jiyue didn’t say a word either; he quietly began eating his own portion.

For a moment, the night air was filled with the scent of food.

Until Tong Zhanyan drank the very last drop of water.

“It’s delicious,” Qing Jiyue said, sipping his porridge.

“Of course it is,” Tong Zhanyan said proudly. The corn he’d grown himself, the meal he’d cooked with his own hands—how could it not be delicious?

Qing Jiyue set down his bowl.

After a moment’s thought, he summoned his Spirit Beast. “I—”

Before Qing Jiyue could finish his sentence, his Spirit Beast bolted out the door, and Tong Zhanyan followed right behind it.

Qing Jiyue had said he could pet it, so today he was determined to do just that—not only that, but he was going to stroke it until its fur was completely bald.

Tong Zhanyan gave chase relentlessly, but the little tiger was too fast; Tong Zhanyan couldn’t catch up no matter how hard he tried.

Seeing this, Qing Jiyue was about to recall his Spirit Beast and summon it again, but just as he was about to move, he noticed the radiant smile on Tong Zhanyan’s face—the kind that comes from a dream about to come true, and he paused.

Tong Zhanyan seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the chase.

Qing Jiyue propped his chin on one hand and watched quietly.

After a few minutes, he finally cornered the little tiger. Tong Zhanyan flashed a mischievous grin. “You can’t get away now, can you?”

“Roar…” The little tiger flattened its ears back and raised its front paws like a human.

It bared its sharp claws at Tong Zhanyan.

Tong Zhanyan wasn’t afraid; he seized the moment and pounced.

The little tiger reacted faster than he did, leaping over his shoulder in a single bound.

For just a split second, Tong Zhanyan’s hand brushed against its fluffy, soft belly.

A brighter smile instantly lit up Tong Zhanyan’s face. It really was a sweetheart.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t feel disappointed.

Not every kitten is willing to let people pet it, so he was already very happy that this one had played with him for a while.

After playing his fill, Tong Zhanyan sat back down next to Qing Jiyue. “So cute.”

“Mm-hmm.” Qing Jiyue looked at Tong Zhanyan’s face, flushed with excitement, and responded instinctively.

Tong Zhanyan suddenly thought of his own chicken.

How wonderful it would be if it were a cat.

Even if not a cat, just something fluffy would do.

But it just had to be a chicken—and a rather scruffy, ill-tempered one at that.

Tong Zhanyan summoned it.

When it appeared, it looked around, then strutted away from Tong Zhanyan with its head held high, its disdain plain for all to see.

Tong Zhanyan’s mouth twitched; he felt an urge to kill the chicken.

“Has its tail gotten longer?” Qing Jiyue asked.

Tong Zhanyan immediately looked over. The moment he saw it clearly, he couldn’t help but let out a “Huh?” because the chicken’s tail had indeed grown a bit longer.

It wasn’t just the tail; its entire body had become more muscular, though it still looked scruffy.

Tong Zhanyan stood up again to inspect it up close.

Before Tong Zhanyan could get close, the chicken suddenly flapped its wings and flew up to perch on the eaves above their heads.

It looked down at them from above.

Tong Zhanyan couldn’t get near it.

The corner of Tong Zhanyan’s mouth twitched, and his urge to kill the chicken grew even stronger.

Just as he was about to speak up and ask the chicken to come down, the back door opened.

The others had finished eating and were getting ready to clean up.

They had another day of harvesting ahead of them, and after a long, tiring day today, everyone was feeling a bit sleepy now that they’d eaten and drunk their fill.

Tong Zhanyan had no choice but to give up on catching the chicken and went inside.

Seeing Tong Zhanyan leave, the chicken flew down from the eaves.

Rarely being called upon, it was ready to stretch its wings.

Qing Jiyue walked over, crouched down beside it, then grabbed one of its wings and gently pulled it open to take a closer look.

“You can fly?” Qing Jiyue mused.

Most people summon their Spirit Beasts between the ages of four and seven. In the first year or so after summoning, because the master is still so young and unstable in many ways, the Spirit Beast is also unstable in every aspect.

Tong Zhanyan had fallen seriously ill at the start of the school year, and his Spirit Beast had changed as a result.

Counting from then, it had been just over a year.

The chicken simply stared quietly at Qing Jiyue.

More than ten minutes later, Tong Zhanyan returned to the small house alone.

The light was still on in the small house.

He went upstairs, washed up, and went to bed.

The next day, Ning Langdong and the others continued harvesting, while Tong Zhanyan officially collected the seeds and began preparing for the next round of planting.

The infection rate for this batch of cherry tomatoes had already reached 20%. Since planting them again wouldn’t make a difference until the soil quality was improved, Tong Zhanyan decided not to include them in the next batch.

As a result, his entire crop rotation for the next batch would consist of: corn, pumpkin, sweet potato, eggplant, cucumber, yardlong beans, chili peppers, carrots, Chinese cabbage, rapeseed, watermelon, strawberries, soybeans, peanuts, red clover, as well as the staple crops of cherry radishes and bok choy.

He plans to expand the scale of corn and pumpkin cultivation this time, planting about ten mu of each.

He also plans to expand the scale of cherry radishes and bok choy—partly to feed the chickens and pigs, partly for composting, and partly as green manure.

He intends to increase the area of land used for green manure as soon as possible.

He is also increasing the number of chickens and pigs for this purpose.

He plans to plant corn, pumpkins, and sweet potatoes on the forty mu of land in front of the small house, as the soil there is relatively fertile.

Soybeans, red clover, and peanuts—these three crops are naturally suited for reclaiming and enriching the soil—will be planted on the newly reclaimed land behind the small house.

As for eggplants and the like, he’ll plant them wherever there’s spare space on either side.

The newly cleared land will certainly affect yields, but with only this limited amount of fertilizer available, he has no choice but to make trade-offs.

With the plan in place, Tong Zhanyan’s first task was to open the shopping app and place separate orders for 50,000 seedling trays and transplanting pots.

After placing the orders, Tong Zhanyan selected the plumpest kernels from the pile of corn and carefully picked them off one by one.

Ten mu of land—the seeds alone would fill several large buckets.

Tong Zhanyan was busy all day.

That night, Tong Zhanyan organized a raffle.

One hundred people, for one day.

Ning Langdong and the others were too busy with the harvest to help him.

Two days later, the people arrived at the gate.

After soaking the seeds, Tong Zhanyan went to pick them up.

Once they were brought back, after an hour of free time, Tong Zhanyan organized the sowing.

The seeds had soaked for five hours, and the seedling trays were just filled to capacity.

Sowing wasn’t that easy, but since the corn seeds were large and there were plenty of people, the seeds quickly dwindled amid laughter and conversation.

By evening, only half a bucket of seeds remained.

Tong Zhanyan had intended to call it a day—he and Ning Langdong’s group could finish the rest on their own—but the group wouldn’t agree.

Since they’d come all this way, they were determined to get the job done right.

Tong Zhanyan turned on the lights atop the small building, illuminating the surrounding area as bright as day.

Sowing, covering with soil, watering, and laying down plastic sheeting—by the time they were completely finished, it was already past eight o’clock at night.

Everyone’s faces were lit up with satisfied smiles.

This wasn’t the first time Tong Zhanyan had witnessed this scene, but seeing it again still left him both amused and exasperated.

When it came time to hand out the gifts, in addition to the usual cherry radishes and bok choy, Tong Zhanyan gave each person an egg.

The third batch of chickens had recently started laying eggs, allowing him to collect about fifty eggs every day.

He couldn’t possibly use them all just for hatching and his own consumption, so he occasionally had to send some to the cafeteria in the back.

He had considered giving them to Boss Bai to sell, but that would be too much trouble, and besides, he wasn’t short on money right now.

After receiving the eggs, the group left in high spirits.

Viewers in the livestream had long been curious about those eggs—after all, the chickens were raised on cherries, cherry radishes, and bok choy.

After planting the corn, Tong Zhanyan planted pumpkins the next day.

Since Ning Langdong and the others had just finished harvesting yesterday and were free today, Tong Zhanyan didn’t hold a giveaway.

Tong Zhanyan had set aside the best-looking pumpkin seeds after the harvest to feed Su Yanran’s pigs and chickens, so he’d accumulated quite a few by now.

There were fewer people than yesterday, but since they were all experienced workers, they managed to finish by eight o’clock at night.

The sweet potatoes had been planted late and weren’t ready to be dug up yet, but the eggplants and cucumbers were already ready for sowing.

Tong Zhanyan focused on sowing, while Ning Langdong and the others harvested every other day; when they weren’t harvesting, they came to help.

After a solid two weeks of hard work, when Ning Langdong and the others were visibly exhausted, Tong Zhanyan had no choice but to give them a day off.

Meanwhile, he took the opportunity to dig up the sweet potatoes himself.

This was only their third planting, and quite a few had an 50% infection rate.

Tong Zhanyan inspected them first, marking those with infection rates exceeding the threshold, before letting the others begin digging.

Sweet potato yields are typically quite high; normally, three mu of land can yield between 9,000 and over 20,000 jin.

But that was in his previous world.

Since these sweet potatoes were only in their third planting cycle, the seedlings were barely visible, and there wasn’t enough fertilizer. All told, they only managed to dig up about 4,000 jin.

After removing those with an infection rate exceeding 50%, the remaining yield was only about 3,000 jin.

Tong Zhanyan was thoroughly unenthusiastic.

The group selected by lottery, however, was so excited their faces flushed all the way to their necks—that was a full 3,000-plus jin.

Since sweet potatoes can be stored, Tong Zhanyan had them help carry the harvest into the warehouse.

Seeing the mountains of pumpkins and corn piled up in the warehouse, the group became even more excited.

The corn and pumpkins hadn’t been fully harvested yet, but with five mu of each crop, there were already two to three thousand jin of each in the warehouse.

That brought the total amount of crops in the warehouse to nearly ten thousand jin.

Outside, crops are sold by the gram; here at Senior Da Liu’s place, they’re counted in ten-thousand-jin units.

That difference isn’t obvious through a screen, but seeing it with your own eyes is a massive shock.

Tong Zhanyan just watched them make a fuss in silence.

Corn and pumpkins are also high-yield crops. In his previous world, five mu of corn typically yielded eight to nine thousand jin, and five mu of pumpkins could yield as much as fifteen thousand jin.

His current yield was only about forty percent of that.

Moreover, while nearly ten thousand jin of crops might sound like a lot, his chickens and pigs consumed about a hundred jin of crops every day.

All things considered, this amount of food would only last eighty to ninety days.

And it would take at least a hundred days for the next crop to mature.

After the sweet potatoes were harvested, Tong Zhanyan arranged for the pumpkins and corn to be harvested the very next day.

Both of these crops are harvested only when fully ripe, so after this round, there was hardly anything left in the fields.

Tong Zhanyan took the opportunity to clear away the seedlings as well.

He composted the pumpkin vines, while for the corn stalks, he had them tied at the top and stood upright in an open area, preparing to burn them into ash once they were dry.

Unlike other crops, corn stalks are almost entirely fiber and yield little fertilizer; instead, they are better suited for making plant ash or humus.

The cornstalks were nearly as tall as a person, and when they stood upright in the field, they looked like little tents, tempting anyone to crawl inside.

Yang Hong and the others were indeed having a great time crawling through them.

That night, Tong Zhanyan ordered ten large tarps, each about a hundred square meters, in preparation for the rapeseed harvest.

Meanwhile, he continued sowing seeds, while Ning Langdong and the others kept harvesting.

A week later, the tarps arrived.

Tong Zhanyan immediately arranged for the initial harvest of the rapeseed.

Rapeseed pods are small and numerous, making it practically impossible to pick them one by one. The best method is to wait until the pods are completely dry, then use shaking and beating to make them fall off naturally.

Before that, they had to cut the plants down and place them in cloths to dry before the seeds were completely dry and split open on their own.

In his former world, some people would simply let them dry in the field until they could be beaten open before harvesting, but that would inevitably result in some loss.

He couldn’t afford that level of loss now, so he had to be more cautious.

Tong Zhanyan felt he was being careful enough, but Wang Lao, Xu Lao, and the rest didn’t see it that way.

They moved as gently as possible; if even a single seed fell—no matter how small the loss—they’d fret over it for ages until they found and picked it up.

As a result, Tong Zhanyan was barred from handling the rapeseed; every time he touched it, he’d knock a whole patch of seeds loose.

Tong Zhanyan was actually quite happy to have it easy; after all, someone else was doing the work.

Tong Zhanyan still dragged the rapeseed over to the watermelon patch to dry.

They covered more than three mu of land, filling ten cloth sheets.

A week later, the rapeseed was completely dry.

A group of people set to work with sticks and benches.

Since it was their first time harvesting this way, Yang Hong and the others were quite excited. Combined with the high temperatures, it wasn’t long before the whole group was covered in sweat and dust from head to toe.

Tong Zhanyan soon found it hard to endure, but Yang Hong and the others showed no signs of fatigue.

With so many hands, the work went quickly. After turning the plants over eight or nine times, the rapeseed was soon shaken loose, and the stalks were cleared away.

The same was true during the sorting. Tong Zhanyan would simply give the bundles a quick shake—one shake, one big bundle—while Old Wang, Old Xu, and the others would have preferred to inspect each stalk individually.

As a result, Tong Zhanyan was once again barred from handling the rapeseed.

The rapeseed, which had originally filled ten cloth sheets, was suddenly reduced to only about four or five hundred pounds—and even that was mixed with plenty of pods and leaves.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t rush to process it; instead, he continued to let it dry in the sun.

As for the rapeseed stalks, Tong Zhanyan buried them directly in the soil to make compost.

Another half-month later, just as Tong Zhanyan had finished sowing most of his crops, some of the earlier crops on Ning Langdong’s side were finally nearing completion.

Tong Zhanyan had all the crops suitable for composting turned into fertilizer, while those unsuitable were buried in the soil to decompose, to be used later as green manure.

At the same time, the oil press Tong Zhanyan had custom-ordered finally arrived.

Like the tiller, this machine didn’t exist on the market; it was an entirely new invention.

The difference was that while the tiller could at least be tested, this machine had to be built based solely on his mental image, which is why it took even longer.

Upon receiving the machine, Tong Zhanyan gave it a quick look before turning his attention back to processing the rapeseed.

He had ordered a set of sieves of varying sizes, a powerful industrial fan, and a batch of food-grade airtight jars.

The sieves with larger holes were used to remove impurities like leaves and pods, while those with smaller holes filtered out the soil.

The fan was used to remove impurities.

Windmills could handle this, too, but even after using a windmill, the seeds still need to be sifted before pressing. Since there aren’t many rapeseeds right now but plenty of people to help, this method is actually faster.

Later on, Tong Zhanyan plans to fully mechanize the process.

After spending some time removing all possible impurities, the next step is washing.

After washing, the seeds need to be dried.

Once dried, it’s simple—just pour them into the machine.

The machine extracts oil in a single process.

Using it for the first time, Tong Zhanyan added only a small amount of rapeseed, mainly for testing.

Advanced technology has its advantages; the machine was clearly different from those in Tong Zhanyan’s previous world, but the results were quite good.

The oil came out quickly.

Along with it came the distinctive aroma of rapeseed oil.

Tong Zhanyan hurriedly asked for a bottle.

Since it was their first time seeing oil being pressed, everyone from the back door rushed over—even Qing Jiyue came.

As soon as Tong Zhanyan spoke, more than ten people moved in unison, nearly snatching the bottles out of his hands.

Tong Zhanyan had bought jars of various sizes; the large ones held about ten jin, and he had everyone use the large ones.

From over four hundred jin of rapeseed, they extracted roughly one hundred and fifty jin of oil.

After the last drop of oil had been squeezed out, Tong Zhanyan tossed the rapeseed cake back into the press.

The second pressing yielded only a little over two bottles of oil.

Tong Zhanyan was very satisfied.

What pleased him even more was that the rapeseed cake, which could be used as fertilizer, weighed over 300 jin.

While the others were examining the oil, Tong Zhanyan dug out the compost barrels that hadn’t been used in a long time, broke them up, and mixed the contents with water in a 1:7 ratio to ferment.

The resulting fermented liquid could be diluted at a ratio of one part fertilizer to three hundred parts water. Although it didn’t match the effectiveness of orange peel water, its fertility was still quite high.

The three hundred-plus pounds of rapeseed cake filled more than fifty barrels.

By his calculations, these alone were equivalent to five or six of those septic tanks used for crop composting.

When Tong Zhanyan finished his work and returned to the entrance of the small building, a group of people was still marveling at the oil.

Tong Zhanyan wasn’t stingy; he immediately announced another dinner gathering that night.

Mainly because he was craving it himself.

Unlike last time, this wasn’t going to be an all-corn feast; Tong Zhanyan told them to go pick whatever they wanted from the fields.

As for planting and harvesting, he’d handle that himself. Ning Langdong and the others had been working nonstop alongside him all this time, and he hadn’t heard a single complaint from any of them.

Hearing his words, however, no one in the small courtyard moved.

Tong Zhanyan looked over. Their eyes were filled with anticipation and excitement—they hadn’t failed to hear him, they simply couldn’t believe it.

Up until now, they’d simply eaten whatever Tong Zhanyan provided, and they’d been perfectly content with that—after all, so many people outside couldn’t even get their hands on food.

Now, Tong Zhanyan was telling them to go pick whatever they wanted from the fields.

Tong Zhanyan had no choice but to repeat himself.

If they really didn’t want to eat, then so be it.

This time, the moment his words fell, the group rushed out.

The debate over which crop tasted best in the entire base had been raging at the back gate for quite some time, and to this day, no clear winner had emerged.

Tong Zhanyan watched their retreating figures and shook his head, then turned to put away the oil.

He had no plans to sell the oil; the infection rate in the rapeseed was still quite high, so he couldn’t eat it himself, but the cafeteria could use it.

How could they get by on boiled greens all day without a drop of oil?

In the livestream chat, the tone was bitter.

“Over ten bottles of oil from just over three mu of land? It’s one thing for you to eat it yourself, Senior, but you’re actually planning to share it with others?”

“Jealousy is tearing me apart.”

“Forget the crops—now it’s eggs and oil… Are those people really infected with the frenzy to treat their illnesses? Why do I feel like they’re living such a blissful life?”

“This isn’t just bliss—it’s pure ecstasy, okay?”

“Senior, why don’t you just charge them a little? I can’t stand seeing those people have it so good.”

“Damn…”

…

After putting the oil away, Tong Zhanyan went back to the room where the eggs were kept.

A moment later, as he stepped out carrying a small bucket of eggs, he looked up and saw Qing Jiyue holding two eggplants.

He wanted to eat this.

Tong Zhanyan found it amusing. With so many crops to choose from, Qing Jiyue had spent ages picking out just two eggplants. What kind of taste was that?

Tong Zhanyan beckoned with his finger, leading Qing Jiyue toward the field in the back to show him something good.

Those watermelons were ripe, too.