Chapter Bonanza (10/10)

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Having successfully raised bees and ants, the staff at the Ancient Creature Conservation Institute had high hopes for Tong Zhanyan. Upon hearing that he was willing to take on four more species at once, their faces lit up with smiles.

They even took the initiative to pitch him, trying to sell him locusts, snails, mosquitoes, and red spider mites as well.

Tong Zhanyan refused without a second thought.

Pests weren’t welcome near him.

Especially mosquitoes.

Unable to sell them, the group was quite disappointed, but the moment they realized four more species of ancient creatures would soon be living the good life, they immediately cheered up again.

They promised to deliver them as soon as possible.

Tong Zhanyan was in a good mood and immediately told the others about it.

However, when Old Xu, Old Wang, and the others heard the news, they couldn’t bring themselves to smile.

Especially after learning that scarab beetles and cabbage white butterflies fed on crops, the group felt even more heartbroken and conflicted.

They’d worked themselves to the bone to grow these crops, yet Tong Zhanyan was deliberately bringing in insects to eat them—wasn’t that just causing trouble?

They felt things were fine just the way they were.

When it came to pollination, the bees were perfect; they only ate pollen and left the crops alone—they were beneficial insects.

They held back their opinions on this matter with great effort.

Tong Zhanyan was always right.

Even if many of his actions seemed incomprehensible at the time, in the long run, he was always right.

After discussing this with a few people, Tong Zhanyan went back to studying the green manure fields.

For those deeply infected in a state of frenzy, only crops that reduce the infection rate to within 20% are effective. Yet, he currently had only one mu of land capable of producing such crops.

Assuming a steady food supply, that could sustain no more than ten people.

There are now nine “backdoors.”

He must expand the scale.

Moreover, if crops that reduce the infection rate to within 20% can already produce this effect, he’s quite curious about what crops with an infection rate reduced to zero would be like.

Complete cure?

Or would they become useless because the infection rate can’t be lowered any further?

The soil and crop residues from cleaning the septic tank were still there; the corn stalks had dried out, and the rapeseed and soybean seedlings had begun to rot…

Tong Zhanyan had been preparing to expand his land for quite some time, so this time he wasn’t as rushed as before.

He pulled up two-thirds of the cherry radishes, bok choy, and other vegetables from the regular fields, pulverized them into mulch, burned most of the corn stalks, and fetched some manure from the septic tank. He then moved all of it to the two mu of reserved land, spread it out, mixed it in, and covered it with plastic sheeting.

With so many people helping, they finished by four in the afternoon.

Tong Zhanyan took a short break and decided to go check on the fields tended by the students in the back.

Those people were all experienced and had been farming for over six years.

Plus, they’d all watched his livestreams; they had humus, eggshell powder, and seedlings ready to go, and they used a tiller for clearing the land, so Tong Zhanyan hadn’t really paid much attention to them before.

But when it was time to check, he still had to check.

As soon as Tong Zhanyan approached, the group immediately grew nervous.

There were so many people—some forty or fifty vehicles—it was a massive procession.

The viewers in the livestream instantly switched into spectator mode.

Being selected by Senior Da Liu was no less than winning the lottery jackpot, which made quite a few people in the livestream feel a bit envious.

But that envy didn’t last long.

Because as Senior Da Liu officially began his program and the list of trainees was released, they soon realized that many of the selected individuals looked quite familiar to them.

Researchers from the Planting Alliance, top brass from research institutions large and small—even the least impressive among the selected were local heavyweights.

And yet, this group of people was now timidly trailing behind Senior Da Liu, following his every command—go east, go west—without daring to breathe a word.

The scene was truly a sight to behold.

Upon arriving at the site, Tong Zhanyan got out of the car.

There were 150 people, each with a 50-square-meter plot. A nameplate was stuck in front of every plot, bearing the respective owner’s name.

In that instant, Tong Zhanyan was flooded with memories.

He made his way toward the plots.

Since these were leftover seedlings, the varieties were quite mixed, and their conditions varied widely.

Tong Zhanyan walked and stopped intermittently.

And every time he stopped, the crowd watching from the perimeter of the plots couldn’t help but hold their breath.

They were like a group of students waiting for their teacher’s feedback—and indeed, they were students now.

Upon reaching the fifth plot, Tong Zhanyan looked at the crowd. “Whose plot is this?”

A man with graying temples rushed out of the crowd; his neck was bright red from nervousness.

As he approached, the man looked at Tong Zhanyan with nervous anxiety, unsure of what he had done wrong.

Tong Zhanyan crouched down and used his hands to gently loosen the soil around the base of a few nearby eggplant seedlings. “You planted them too deep.”

The stems of crops don’t grow roots; planting them too deep will only cause the buried parts to rot.

“Oh, oh…” The man’s face flushed even redder, and the next moment, he hurried over to help.

Others rushed forward to witness the demonstration of what not to do.

Seeing that the man had mostly corrected his mistake, Tong Zhanyan continued walking forward.

After taking just a few steps, he spotted a familiar name: Gu Yunyang.

Tong Zhanyan looked toward the crowd.

Gu Yunyang stood with his fists clenched, his eyes brimming with anticipation.

Tong Zhanyan made a full circle—nothing to write home about.

He moved on.

Gu Yunyang let out a huge sigh of relief, though he couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment.

Shen Ye, Tang Xin, Tao Zhengping…

The group from the Planting Alliance, having been mentored by Old Xu and Old Wang for some time, seemed more competent than the others.

Not long after they finished, Tong Zhanyan spotted a familiar name.

Jin Daoyun.

Tong Zhanyan looked toward the crowd.

Old Jin had completely shed his previous cocky demeanor and now looked nervous.

Tong Zhanyan deliberately lingered a bit longer near his plot.

After more than half an hour, he had finished inspecting the students’ plots.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t rush off, but instead gave a brief explanation of the issues he had just pointed out.

Farming is simple in theory—just add soil, fertilizer, and seeds, and the plants will grow on their own—but when it comes to the intricacies, there’s a lot to it.

At least for now, he didn’t dare to make any promises about yield.

After finishing, Tong Zhanyan returned to the small building.

Gu Yunyang and the others immediately began discussing the matter.

Ning Langdong and the others were all at the back door, so it was quiet over by the small building.

Tong Zhanyan sat down under the eaves and began examining the rice and wheat seeds.

There was plenty of discussion online about these two crops; after all, wheat had once fetched a price of tens of millions at auction.

But that was over a decade ago.

Tong Zhanyan focused his search on recent years, but found no news of any transactions.

Tong Zhanyan sent messages to Qing Jiyue and Old Xu, hoping they could help inquire.

If conditions allowed, he still hoped to grow staple crops, especially rice and wheat.

Both replied quickly, saying they would help ask around.

The next day, the paleontology group came over.

For safety reasons, Tong Zhanyan first tossed the four types of insects into the greenhouse where the strawberries were growing.

Whether they survived was secondary; the main concern was preventing them from contaminating his crops.

The group had no objections.

Since they were there, the paleontology team took the opportunity to check on the bees and ants.

The bees had already passed their breeding season, and the new bees were all working.

After one breeding cycle, their numbers had swelled to over three thousand. The original hive was no longer big enough, and since Tong Zhanyan hadn’t intervened, they had built a ring of nests around it.

The paleontologists watched with a heavy heart.

Usually, they pampered them with the finest food and drink.

The group discussed the possibility of sending over a few more hives.

Tong Zhanyan remained noncommittal.

Compared to that, he was more concerned about something else: how many times a year could those bees reproduce?

Depending on the species, bees reproduce once a year or two to three times a year.

If it’s just once, then he shouldn’t count on it this year, but if they can reproduce twice, perhaps they could breed tens of thousands this year and completely eliminate the need for manual pollination.

Manual pollination of a hundred acres of land is simply beyond human capacity.

These bees no longer matched the species from Tong Zhanyan’s previous world.

The answer gave Tong Zhanyan a jolt of excitement.

These bees can reproduce two to three times a year.

However, the paleontologists couldn’t guarantee whether the population could grow to the tens of thousands, as Tong Zhanyan hoped for.

After all, when they first started raising them, a single brood yielded only two or three hundred bees, amounting to just over a thousand per year.

On top of that, these creatures have a short lifespan; if they aren’t careful, the number of deaths might even exceed the number of new births.

They simply had no experience with this.

The fact that Tong Zhanyan’s batch produced over three thousand in a single batch was already a miracle in their eyes.

If they could breed tens of thousands within a year, that would truly be a miracle of miracles.

After checking out the bees, the group headed over to see the ants.

The ant nest in front of the small building, under the careful care of Ning Langdong and his team, had expanded from its initial makeshift fence made of a few sticks into a luxurious villa complete with a roof and waterproofed perimeter.

The paleontologists were deeply moved.

Tong Zhanyan struggled to keep a smile on his face.

The group had brought a scanner, so after their moment of admiration, they quickly scanned the entire nest.

The nest wasn’t large, but the number of ants had clearly increased; excluding those out foraging, there were two or three hundred inside the nest alone.

The group couldn’t help but marvel at their incredible vitality.

They had once thought they were dead, but unexpectedly, they had come back to life.

Tong Zhanyan struggled to keep a smile on his face.

In his former world, these creatures were impossible to eradicate.

After the inspection, the group went to check the greenhouse before leaving, satisfied.

Tong Zhanyan rubbed his cheeks, which had grown stiff from smiling.

A little later, Qing Jiyue stopped by.

Over the past few days, he’d contacted every well-known agricultural organization outside, but hadn’t found a single one dealing with rice or wheat—too much time had passed.

During the first lifting of the lockdown, they lacked experience and had planted the crops directly in the fields.

The infection rate in the treated soil inside the greenhouses increased by 3% to 8% each time; dumping it directly into the fields would have been nothing short of a disaster.

Even though they urgently recalled some of the crops later on, the majority had already exceeded a 60% infection rate.

Once the infection rate surpasses 60%, a mutation occurs.

Mutated rice and wheat are, in fact, abundant outside the protective shield.

“Outside the protective shield?” Tong Zhanyan pulled out his terminal.

When he first woke up, he’d researched the state of this world and had already seen mutated crops; what left the deepest impression on him was corn nearly as tall as a tree.

As for wheat and rice, he didn’t have much of an impression.

Qing Jiyue said, “No one had been growing crops since before the Great Cataclysm, but there were still some in the wild. After the Great Cataclysm, they mutated.”

“Because of the frenzy, we’ve already investigated some of those crops, so we have some data. If you’d like, I can show it to you.”

Tong Zhanyan quickly found the images.

Both plants were already taller than a person, and the rice and wheat ears were over twenty centimeters long.

The rice wasn’t growing in water; its roots had lignified like tree roots, each as thick as a finger, and they had spread to cover the entire surrounding area.

The changes in the wheat were mainly in the leaves; they looked like a bunch of hard swords—the kind that could stab a person to death.

Tong Zhanyan sighed in resignation.

But he still wasn’t quite ready to give up.

“Let me see that data,” he said.

“Sure.”

Qing Jiyue was always quick to act; two hours later, the data was sent to Tong Zhanyan’s terminal.

There was quite a lot of data: some analyzed the crops individually, some compared them to the original seeds and the crops they produced, and others documented various regression experiments.

Tong Zhanyan focused his attention on the regression experiments.

Not only did these crops themselves have infection rates as high as eighty to ninety percent, but they could even contaminate the soil as sources of infection. Combined with their superior vitality and reproductive capacity compared to ordinary crops, they were practically a disaster waiting to happen.

The experiments, naturally, failed.

Tong Zhanyan still felt a tinge of temptation, as he couldn’t imagine a life without rice or wheat for the rest of his days.

Corn, sweet potatoes, and potatoes could serve as staples, but they just weren’t the same.

Tong Zhanyan asked Qing Jiyue about the wheat and rice seeds.

Qing Jiyue replied quickly: Those seeds could only be found outside the protective shield.

Things outside the shield were not the same as those inside; if they were allowed to grow within the shield, it wouldn’t be long before they turned into a disaster.

That was why they had always been so cautious.

Tong Zhanyan was speechless.

After thinking it over, Tong Zhanyan sighed and decided to pin his hopes on the shielded area after all.

He opened his livestream and posted an announcement seeking to purchase those rice and wheat seeds.

With over 300,000 viewers online, the moment he posted the announcement, the comment section and chat were instantly flooded with discussion.

“Wheat? Isn’t that the one where a single seed costs over ten million?”

“That’s the one.”

“Why did the host suddenly think of this?”

“Who was the person who bought it last time?”

“I’ll look it up.”

“It won’t do any good even if you find out. It’s been over a decade. Unless they bought the seeds and saved them instead of planting them, they’re probably long gone by now.”

“Even if they did, they probably wouldn’t sell it, right? Don’t forget, as long as we follow Senior’s methods, most crops can be grown successfully now, and the infection rate has gone down. If someone really has these extinct seeds, wouldn’t it be better to keep them for themselves? It’s not like everyone is Senior.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“Why not? Rarity makes things valuable. As long as they’re in control, there will always be someone willing to pay.”

……

Tong Zhanyan hadn’t thought of that, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

He just wanted to have a simple meal.

But for now, he could only pin his hopes on the livestream.

After staring at the screen for a while longer, Tong Zhanyan went back to answering the odd and varied questions about farming in the comments section.

When he checked again after finishing his work, the discussion was still going on, but he still hadn’t seen anyone with seeds.

Tong Zhanyan shut down the terminal and went to tend to other tasks.

Working on the green manure plot, with the catalysis from the sludge and crop residues in the septic tanks, the decomposition was progressing faster than on the previous plot.

In just a few days, the soil was already showing signs of turning black.

At the same time, he noticed weeds sprouting beneath the plastic sheeting.

Taking advantage of Ning Langdong and the others’ absence, Tong Zhanyan secretly pulled them out through the plastic sheeting.

Before going to bed, Tong Zhanyan checked the livestream again.

Both the engagement on the announcement and the livestream’s traffic had surged as people got off work, yet still no one had seeds.

The next day was the same.

On the third day, someone finally left a comment in the chat saying they had sorghum.

That comment was instantly bumped to the top of the trending list.

As soon as Tong Zhanyan saw it, he sent the person a private message.

Sorghum could be used to make porridge, ground into flour, or turned into noodles; in his previous world, it was a staple food in some regions.

More importantly, it could be used to brew alcohol.

Tong Zhanyan wasn’t a heavy drinker, but he often used it in cooking.

The person had three seeds in total and was willing to sell them to Tong Zhanyan.

The price made Tong Zhanyan’s eyes widen in shock.

After giving it some thought, he didn’t rush to make a decision but instead sought out Qing Jiyue and Old Xu first.

Faced with that nearly nine-figure asking price, the expressions on all their faces darkened.

Seeds are rare and expensive, but they aren’t that expensive—the seller was clearly taking advantage of the situation to jack up the price.

However, anger aside, these seeds were indeed unavailable through official channels, so if Tong Zhanyan wanted them, he really had no choice but to buy them.

They could help make the connection, but Tong Zhanyan shouldn’t get his hopes up too high.

Tong Zhanyan had initially been a bit reluctant to part with the money—after all, he’d become wealthy, not foolish—but seeing Qing Jiyue’s stern expression, he suddenly felt a twinge of worry.

This was a business transaction—a matter of give and take. Even if he suspected the other party of intentionally inflating the price, if they came across as too aggressive, they’d end up looking like the ones in the wrong.

“Don’t do anything rash,” Tong Zhanyan cautioned.

“I won’t.”

Tong Zhanyan still wasn’t reassured.

“We’re negotiating on your behalf; I won’t act recklessly,” Qing Jiyue said, meeting Tong Zhanyan’s gaze.

He might not care about his own reputation, but he certainly cared about Tong Zhanyan’s.

Tong Zhanyan found himself momentarily mesmerized by those eyes.

Three days later, the deal was sealed.

One seed for thirty million.

Back then, each of those wheat seeds had cost just over ten million.

Tong Zhanyan paid the price anyway and bought all three.

Afterward, Tong Zhanyan issued an announcement: they had secured some sorghum and would continue seeking more.

He made no mention of the price.

The livestream was filled with celebration.

“I looked it up—sorghum can be made into alcohol. Does that mean we’ll be able to drink real alcohol soon?”

“I want some.”

“I want some too.”

“I just want to know what real alcohol tastes like. Before I tried real strawberries, I thought they tasted like that nutrient solution—but they’re completely different.”

“Congrats, senior. Your base has a new member.”

“Thanks to the person selling the seeds.”

“Looking forward to the liquor…”

…

The crowd in the livestream had no idea what was going on, but Ning Langdong and his group knew all too well.

It made them all a bit hesitant to look Tong Zhanyan in the eye.

Tong Zhanyan had already done so much for them—so very much—yet in the end, someone had done something like this.

Tong Zhanyan, however, didn’t seem to mind.

Up until now, everyone he’d met had been kind to him—at least those close to him had been.

But he wasn’t some naive fool; he knew that this harmony had been painstakingly maintained by Qing Jiyue and the others.

With this success under their belt, over the next two days, two people in the chat stepped forward claiming to have seeds.

Tong Zhanyan contacted them both.

One had cassava, and the other had peas.

The cassava seller’s asking price was roughly the same as what he had paid at the auction, which was fair enough.

After some hesitation, the pea seller decided to give them to Tong Zhanyan for free, though he hoped to visit the base if possible.

He really liked Senior Da Liu and was very grateful.

Tong Zhanyan paid both of them the same price as the wheat had sold for at the auction.

As for the pea seller, Tong Zhanyan agreed to his request to visit the base, but only after the next raffle.

The crops in the fields—the fast-growing ones—would start sprouting new shoots in about ten days.

By then, he could come and “play” all day.

The other party was very happy.

After these two crops, the livestream went quiet again.

However, quite a few people asked Tong Zhanyan if he wanted seeds from the first, second, or even third batches, and Tong Zhanyan didn’t turn anyone down.

Although the authority to unlock the seed vault rested with him, he had no plans to touch the seeds that had already been unlocked and then resealed anytime soon.

As for the soybeans—which had been unlocked a second time but were now out of stock in the seed vault—he intended to wait until the infection rate dropped below 20% before resealing a batch of them.

He had to leave some hope for future generations.

As for the alfalfa, field beans, sweet potatoes, and fertilizer radishes delivered to him later, a portion was set aside during the unsealing process and resealed immediately.

That had been the standard procedure for the past few decades.

Ten days later, the crops in the fields began to sprout branches and flower buds. Just as Ning Langdong and the others were preparing for the next round of farming work, Tong Zhanyan had already received ten more varieties of seeds.

The very first batch included winter melon, water spinach, lettuce, and taro; the second batch included sweet melon, bitter melon, scallions, and pears.

Tong Zhanyan had previously bought seeds for the sweet melons from Old Jin, but not a single one had sprouted.

Most of these ten types of seeds came in single quantities, with only a few having two.

The seeds were all saved by outsiders themselves; most were quite shriveled, and since they had been stored for a long time, Tong Zhanyan seriously doubted whether they could even sprout.

These seeds had cost him quite a bit of money.

He didn’t want to waste money, but what had to be paid, he paid.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t rush to plant the newly acquired seeds. His fields were already full of crops; he didn’t need these few varieties, and besides, these seeds would have to be nurtured from scratch.

Furthermore, as his seed collection grew, the required climate range expanded, and he was beginning to consider dividing his fields into distinct zones.

Temperatures in this world remained spring-like year-round, allowing most crops to be planted at any time. However, many were spring-sown and summer-harvested, requiring specific high temperatures to ensure a good yield.

Corn was one such example.

After finishing up with the seeds, Tong Zhanyan was just about to go check on the two mu of land behind his house, where he was growing green manure, when Tian Xinqing came over.

One of the security cameras had broken.

The moment he heard the news, Tong Zhanyan had a hunch.

When Tian Xinqing led him to the charging station for the cameras in the warehouse, he wasn’t the least bit surprised to see him using that old camera.

Tian Xinqing explained, “After planting the new batch of crops, since we have more land now, I reset the patrol ranges for all the cameras.”

“Since you mentioned it was acting up, and it couldn’t connect to the other cameras, I just left it alone.”

“For the past few days, it’s been flying around all over the place as if it were searching for something, covering every inch of the fields. Then, these last few days, it’s been sitting there charging all day, not moving a muscle, as if it were exhausted.”

“Resetting it didn’t help.”

Tong Zhanyan took it and examined it, hesitating over whether to throw it away.

Tian Xinqing hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but stopped himself.

Tong Zhanyan looked at him.

“Can we buy some more cameras?” Tian Xinqing quickly asked. “We have more land now, plus the chicken coop, the pigsty, the area by the back door, and the students’ plots—the current cameras just aren’t enough.”

Tong Zhanyan nodded. “How many?”

“Twenty.”

Tong Zhanyan was taken aback. That many?

The next moment, he agreed.

With over two hundred people at the base now, having more cameras would eliminate the need for security patrols.

Tian Xinqing ran off, overjoyed, to figure out where to place the new cameras.

Tong Zhanyan looked at the camera in his hand.

This wasn’t the first time it had malfunctioned; constant trouble like this wasn’t sustainable.

Tong Zhanyan unplugged the charger, intending to take it back to the small building and throw it away.

Upon entering, he tossed the charger into the trash can and sat down on the sofa with the camera in hand.

Before throwing it away, he had to disconnect it from the livestream and delete the videos stored inside.

Disconnecting it was easy enough, but the number of videos stored inside was far more than Tong Zhanyan had expected—after all, they documented his entire journey from the balcony, through the training room and greenhouse, all the way to the base.

For some reason, the camera had malfunctioned, and almost all the footage was of cherry tomatoes.

Watching those videos, Tong Zhanyan was suddenly overcome with emotion; cherry tomatoes had indeed been a constant throughout his entire farming career.

As he reflected on this, Tong Zhanyan suddenly realized something.

Cherry tomatoes were the first crop he ever grew, and the one he’d continued to grow ever since—except for this time.

The infection rate for those cherry tomatoes was currently stuck at 20%.

Tian Xinqing had said the camera had been darting around earlier as if searching for something. Could it have been looking for the cherry tomatoes?

Since it didn’t find the cherry tomatoes, was it going on strike? Was it angry?

Tong Zhanyan thought his own idea was absurd.

If that were true, wouldn’t the camera practically be a sentient being?

After giving it some thought, Tong Zhanyan set the camera aside on the table and retrieved the charger from the trash can, placing it next to it.

He was reluctant to delete the videos stored inside.

The two mu of land he’d set aside for green manure were almost ready for use. He’d been pondering what to plant, and now he had an idea.

Those cherry tomatoes had helped him get through a tough spot, and since the infection rate was stuck at 20%, he’d plant them.

Of course, in addition to those, Tong Zhanyan also planned to plant other crops with inherently low infection rates to see if he could bring the infection rate down to zero.

With his plan set, Tong Zhanyan ordered twenty more cameras of the same model as before, then turned to rummage through his seeds.

He had a lot of seeds now, so his stock was plentiful.

He put each type into a plastic bag.

After finding the cherry tomatoes and selecting a few other varieties with naturally low infection rates, Tong Zhanyan grabbed some disposable plastic cups and soaked the seeds.

Once the seeds were soaked, Tong Zhanyan went to the warehouse to fetch seedling trays and a small trowel, then headed out to the field.

For the soil, he planned to use ordinary humus from another plot.

As he approached, just as Tong Zhanyan was about to crouch down, Old Xu hurried over.

“Come take a look.”

Tong Zhanyan quickly set down the small trowel in his hand and followed him.

A moment later, he was led to the field where they had previously planted rapeseed.

The field was covered with newly sprouted rapeseed seedlings.

No matter how careful you are with rapeseed, it’s inevitable that some seeds will fall to the ground.

“What should we do?” Old Xu looked anxious.

They had already planted new crops in that field. If left unchecked, once the rapeseed grew tall, it would completely cover the new crops.

Without sunlight, they would die.

But transplanting the rapeseed seedlings was out of the question—they were too small and fragile, and transplanting them would surely cause casualties.

Should they transplant the crops that had just been planted?

But many of those crops were already nearing the stage of branching and flower bud differentiation; disturbing them at this stage would certainly affect flowering and fruiting.

“Just pull them up and bury them in the soil,” Tong Zhanyan said, thinking it was no big deal.

Old Xu looked heartbroken.

The seedlings were growing quite densely—at least a thousand of them.

“They’ll turn into fertilizer,” Tong Zhanyan added.

Old Xu still looked heartbroken.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t give it another thought and went back to continuing his seedling work.

Half an hour later, after filling the seedling trays with soil and looking up, he saw that the field where the rapeseed had sprouted was already surrounded by the group of students.

They were dividing up the seedlings.

They had already planted plenty, but no one could resist the new seedlings.

Tong Zhanyan found it both amusing and exasperating.

Not wanting to get involved, he lowered his head and went back to his own work.

Two mu of land isn’t a huge amount, but it’s not small either; it took him a while to finally get all the seeds into the seedling trays.

After covering them with soil, he went to the warehouse to dig out those shallow industrial trays that hadn’t been used in ages, turned on the water pump, and filled them with water.

Since there weren’t many seedling trays, and given that these seedlings were to be planted in an area with an infection rate of less than 20%, he opted for the more thorough method of soaking the trays.

Finally, he covered them with plastic sheeting.

After finishing with those, Tong Zhanyan casually went ahead and started the seedlings for the seeds he’d bought later as well.

The other seedlings were straightforward, but cassava was a hassle.

The cassava seeds Tong Zhanyan had purchased were cassava tubers, just like sweet potatoes.

Cassava tubers have a very low germination rate; even in his previous world, few people used them for propagation, preferring instead to use stem cuttings.

Moreover, it had been over fifty years since cassava was first introduced.

Even with preservation methods, a decline in viability was inevitable.

He only had one tuber.

One that cost over ten million.

Tong Zhanyan chose the same method he’d used for the sweet potatoes: he found a pot, lined it with towels at the top and bottom, and placed the tuber in the middle.

As for whether it would sprout, he could only leave it up to fate.

By the time Tong Zhanyan finished his work, the rapeseed seedlings in the field had already been completely divided up, and a group of people was out in the field weeding.

With a new batch of seeds planted and several more rounds of fertilizer applied, the weeds in the field had grown increasingly dense.

Especially in those initial eight mu of land, it had reached the point where you could see a weed every few steps.

As for the edges of the field where no one had pulled them, they were already a lush green.

The cherry tomato seeds were highly viable; they sprouted within two days of planting, and by the fifth day, green shoots were visible through the plastic sheeting.

Aside from the cherry tomatoes, many of the seeds from the very first and second batches planted at the same time were only just beginning to sprout now.

As for the cassava, he’s still in the process of placing stones around the rows.

The peas and sorghum haven’t shown any signs of life yet.

The other seeds are fine, but Tong Zhanyan is a bit anxious about the sorghum, peas, and cassava.

Money is one thing—they cost him over 100 million yuan in total—but his main concern is that they might not survive.

If he misses this window, it will be even harder to buy seeds later.

While Tong Zhanyan was anxious, the other crops in the fields began to sprout branches and flower buds on a large scale.

Tong Zhanyan called the group of students over and emphasized the purpose of pinching off flowers and leaves, as well as the precautions to take at this stage.

Tong Zhanyan had already said these things countless times in his livestream, but hearing them again, the group listened intently.

Afterward, many of them asked questions.

Many of them had already tried growing crops using Tong Zhanyan’s methods before coming here.

However, even when they followed his instructions to the letter, the results were still vastly different from what he had achieved on his first attempt.

Tong Zhanyan answered each question in turn.

The questions weren’t difficult, and most of them pointed to the same issue: they weren’t being aggressive enough.

The soil wasn’t loose or breathable enough, and the fertilizer wasn’t keeping up. Any reluctance to go all out would only make things worse.

After answering the questions, Tong Zhanyan led the group into the field.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t get his hands dirty himself; he simply walked among the crowd, inspecting their work.

The first batch didn’t require much weeding, so there was no need for everyone to crowd in.

An hour later, once he was sure everyone was working, Tong Zhanyan went about his own business.

The plastic mulch on those two mu of green manure fields was ready to be removed.

After removing the mulch, the soil still needed to be turned over once.

With the plow now mechanized, it took Tong Zhanyan only about ten to fifteen minutes to plow the field twice.

After finishing, Tong Zhanyan went to check on the cassava, sorghum, and peas.

The sorghum and peas were buried in the soil, so their condition was invisible, but the cassava was plain to see.

It still showed no signs of growth.

With plenty of helpers, and since crops like the purple vetch didn’t require flower or leaf pinching, the first round was completed in just a day.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan arranged for the sweet potato cuttings.

This was already the fourth time these sweet potatoes had been planted; the seed viability had improved, and the vines and leaves were so lush they completely obscured the ground.

The students had heard about pruning flowers and leaves countless times, but cuttings were still a novelty, and they were all quite eager.

As usual, Tong Zhanyan went over the procedure, then emphasized some precautions.

When cutting sweet potato cuttings, choose the sturdier ones, and make sure to leave three to four nodes on each.

After cutting, it’s best to disinfect them and let the cut surfaces air dry; this helps prevent black rot.

When taking cuttings, try to use the vertical method whenever possible. Horizontal or diagonal methods are also acceptable, but vertical cuttings are better suited for poor soil.

After finishing his instructions, Tong Zhanyan demonstrated the process a few times as usual, then let the group try it themselves.

Tong Zhanyan pointed to these sweet potatoes, which were meant to feed the chickens and pigs; the reserved land covered nearly five mu.

The area for sowing seeds covered nearly one mu; the first batch of leaves harvested would be enough for cuttings on about two mu, while the rest would need to wait a few more days.

Tong Zhanyan was busy when he noticed Tian Xinqing gesturing urgently at him.

Tong Zhanyan followed his gaze and noticed that Qing Jiyue had come over at some point.

Qing Jiyue had come to say goodbye to him.

The Qing Family’s defensive line had been breached during an attack, and the situation was quite dire; he had to return.