Tong Zhanyan froze for a moment.

The next instant, feeling the touch on his knee, hearing the lingering sound in his ear, and looking at the furry, massive head in front of him, he felt as if all the blood in his body had rushed to his head.

The corners of his mouth curled upward uncontrollably, revealing a dazzling smile.

The little tiger instinctively flattened its ears back.

It turned to run away, finding Tong Zhanyan’s smile oddly unsettling.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Tong Zhanyan scooped it up under the armpits, lifted it high, and cradled it in his arms.

For a cat, it was a bit on the large side, but what did that matter?

Soft fur, a warm body, a familiar feel—Tong Zhanyan pressed his whole body against it, rubbing his face against it nonstop.

In that moment, he felt as though his very soul had been healed.

“So cute…” Tong Zhanyan’s mouth stretched into a grin that nearly reached his ears. “Kitty-kitty, meow…”

Being hugged and petted, the little tiger’s face was a picture of resistance; one of its paw pads pressed firmly against Tong Zhanyan’s forehead—he was getting too close.

Across from him, Qing Jiyue’s lips curved into a smile as well.

His heart, which had been filled with worry, slowly relaxed.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t give up just because he was rejected. Since he couldn’t rub against its body, he rubbed against the big, meaty paw pressed against his forehead.

A cat’s paws are off-limits—something the vast majority of cats absolutely forbid anyone from touching.

“Meow…” Realizing what Tong Zhanyan was doing, the little tiger quickly pulled its paw back.

Tong Zhanyan was terrifying.

It looked to Qing Jiyue for help, begging him to save it.

Qing Jiyue ignored that pleading gaze and smiled at Tong Zhanyan.

As he smiled, he suddenly found it hard to keep smiling.

Could it be that Tong Zhanyan only liked him because his Spirit Beast was a tiger?

No, to be more precise, Tong Zhanyan had never said he liked him.

So far, the closest they’d ever been was holding hands.

Qing Jiyue immediately wanted to recall his Spirit Beast; a pang of bitterness filled his heart.

Just as he was about to move, he noticed the bandage on Tong Zhanyan’s forehead and paused.

He’d let Tong Zhanyan enjoy this moment a little longer.

“So fluffy…” Tong Zhanyan’s mind was filled with thoughts of fluffiness.

After the rush of blood to his head, Tong Zhanyan quickly felt dizzy again, and he was helped back into bed.

Qing Jiyue generously let Tong Zhanyan hold the little tiger until he fell asleep.

Qing Jiyue sat in the room for a while longer before heading downstairs.

Tang Shijin, who was at the back door, sent him a message—there had been new developments.

The last few individuals had also been tracked down by the livestream viewers. After being beaten up, they had already been delivered to the base’s back entrance.

Yang Hong’s team had already taken custody of the relevant personnel from the three companies identified earlier. They were currently bringing them back while interrogating them to determine who else was involved.

After giving Ning Langdong and the others a few instructions, Qing Jiyue headed back to the rear entrance.

Three hours later, just as progress was made at the rear entrance, good news also came from Yang Hong’s side.

The remaining three companies had also been identified.

Without exception, they were all involved in industries related to agriculture.

Of the six companies, aside from the Yan family, two were involved in liquid fertilizer, and three were in crop cultivation.

The two liquid fertilizer companies had originally been doing quite well, but with the emergence of Tong Zhanyan, their business plummeted immediately.

They blamed all of this on Tong Zhanyan.

The irony is that Tong Zhanyan never blocked their path; new products like “humus” and “crop fertilizer” had already hit the market long ago.

Moreover, since these two products are currently difficult to produce, there’s no shortage of buyers, and the profits at this stage are far higher than those from the original liquid fertilizers.

The three farming companies were relatively less impacted; their decision to switch was largely a precautionary measure.

Tong Zhanyan doesn’t want to make money himself—why shouldn’t they be allowed to?

Tong Zhanyan wants to play the good guy, yet he’s willing to let them go under.

After hearing everything Yang Hong had asked, Qing Jiyue’s gaze turned icy.

Although only six families had taken action this time, there were certainly more than just these who harbored such intentions, so this punishment must serve as a warning to others.

Qing Jiyue contacted the other three families and the Planting Alliance.

Two hours later, the Four Great Families and the Planting Alliance simultaneously issued statements of condemnation and announced the penalties.

All involved personnel were expelled from the protective barrier.

Expulsion from the protective barrier was not a death sentence, yet it was far more cruel than outright execution.

Setting aside the beasts and the sun, the mere fact that there was no food outside the barrier was cruel enough.

Even if those people managed to survive, the hell that awaited them would be unbearable.

It wasn’t as if incidents of people killing and eating one another just to survive had never happened before.

This was a decision Qing Jiyue had made long ago; the reason for going through this process again was solely for this official announcement.

For the deterrent effect this announcement would bring.

The influence of the Four Great Families and the Planting Alliance undoubtedly extends throughout the entire shield.

Sure enough, as soon as the announcement was released, the official websites of the Four Great Families and the Planting Alliance immediately saw unprecedented traffic, with over 200,000 comments in less than half an hour.

“Serves them right.”

“They should’ve been thrown out.”

“Is money that important? Would you resort to any means just to make a buck?”

“They deserve to die.”

“Too bad I’m too far away; otherwise, I’d definitely go over there and kick them a couple of times.”

“When will they be expelled? I want to see it with my own eyes.”

……

Amidst the uproar, the four characters “Heihei Yixiao” shot to the top of the trending list.

The infection rate of the crops he had planted had begun to decline.

Heihei Yixiao’s livestream.

Heihei Yixiao held up the three inspection reports in his hands, his eyes red-rimmed, his voice choked with emotion, “…Although Senior’s crops showed a decrease in infection rates in the third batch, mine didn’t show it until the fourth batch—but the infection rate has definitely gone down.”

“It’s the real deal—it’s gone down.”

“I just want to tell those people—and those who want to do this but haven’t gotten around to it yet—that Senior Da Liu really didn’t lie to us.”

“Because of him, our world is truly getting better, bit by bit.”

“So think carefully about what you’re doing.”

As one of the first streamers to start learning Senior Da Liu’s farming methods, Heihei Yixiao now has over five million followers.

Senior Da Liu’s livestream has nearly 40 million followers; 5 million is nothing compared to that.

But given that the total population within the protective shield is only in the tens of millions, this is already the absolute limit.

He spoke up now not to ride the wave of popularity, but because he felt this needed to be said.

“I will always support Senior.”

“So I’ve decided: starting today, I’ll sell my crops just like Senior Da Liu does—charging the same price for crops with a low infection rate and those that are not infected, offering them at a discount.”

“I know my greenhouse is only 600 square meters, which comes out to less than one mu—it’s practically nothing. But this is my way of showing support and doing my part.”

“I also hope Senior knows that we’re really different from them. We’re all grateful, and we really like you, Senior.”

“Though I guess he probably won’t watch my livestream—after all, he doesn’t even watch his own…”

Hearing this, the chat erupted in laughter.

Because everyone knew that Senior Da Liu definitely wouldn’t watch.

“Anyway, go Senior!”

The chat instantly erupted with cheers of encouragement.

At that moment, whether they were regular followers of Heihei Yixiao or just curious onlookers drawn in by the trending topic, everyone felt a bit moved.

They had long wanted to say “thank you” to Senior Da Liu in person, to tell him that they were truly different from those people, but their voices were too small and faint—they’d never had a chance to reach his ears.

If everyone’s voices were combined, if they were just a little louder, would he be able to hear them?

Tong Zhanyan did indeed hear them.

When he woke up again, feeling much better, he had planned to take a walk in the fields, but as soon as he went downstairs, he was stopped in his tracks.

He was, after all, an injured patient.

With no other choice, he lay in bed playing with his device, and that’s when he saw the clip.

“After that, many farming livestreamers and farming bases spoke up. They all support you and will follow suit in lowering their prices,” Ning Langdong said earnestly from the bedside.

He had been assigned to keep an eye on Tong Zhanyan to prevent him from getting out of bed again.

Tong Zhanyan felt conflicted.

Amidst his mixed emotions, he looked at Ning Langdong. “Could you please stop staring at me like that? It makes me uncomfortable.”

Ning Langdong thought for a moment, then silently carried a stool to the living room. “I’ll wait in the living room. Call me if you need anything.”

Tong Zhanyan really wanted to ask him to close the door, but after a moment’s thought, he decided against it.

He watched the video again, then searched for related terms.

It was indeed just as Ning Langdong had said—many people had come forward to speak out.

They might not all have done so willingly; some likely had other motives as well. But regardless, everything was moving in a positive direction.

That was good.

Two days later, just as Tong Zhanyan was getting so bored being cooped up in his room that he felt like he was growing mushrooms, the internet was abuzz again.

Qing Jiyue had indeed expelled those people from the protective barrier.

To set an example, Qing Jiyue even had someone record a video.

In the video, countless people shouted in relief, while even more couldn’t understand why those people could be so evil.

Tong Zhanyan turned it off halfway through.

It wasn’t that he’d softened his heart; it was just that looking at them inevitably reminded him of the man in the car earlier.

Three days after those people were expelled, Qing Jiyue returned.

On the same day, Qing Jiyue took Tong Zhanyan to meet the man’s family, who had come to collect his ashes.

The man was not yet forty; his father had already passed away, leaving only his mother, his wife, and a thirteen-year-old child.

They did not blame him; in fact, they expressed their gratitude, saying that if it weren’t for him, they would have lost their father, their child, and their loved one long ago.

Tong Zhanyan, however, felt even more distressed.

As they were leaving, upon seeing the name on the urn, Tong Zhanyan learned the man’s name for the first time: Gu Huifeng.

After seeing the family off, Tong Zhanyan found a corner to be alone for a while, then sought out Qing Jiyue, hoping to offer him another sum of money as compensation.

Furthermore, he was willing to fully cover the losses caused by the earlier attack.

Qing Jiyue had intended to refuse, especially regarding the losses in the city—he had already instructed his people to inventory the assets of those six families and use them entirely for compensation.

After some thought, he agreed that it would make Tong Zhanyan feel better.

With Qing Jiyue handling the matter, Tong Zhanyan sat by the back gate for a while before returning to the small building.

He refused to let himself wallow in despair. After resting for another night, he ignored Ning Langdong and the others’ objections and went for a walk through the fields the next day.

The streetlights and irrigation system had been completed. The construction crew, aware of the attack and knowing he was busy, did not press for an inspection and left once their work was done.

Tong Zhanyan went to take a look; the work was quite meticulous.

He tested it out, confirmed there were no issues, and paid the final installment.

In addition, the crop harvest was proceeding smoothly. The watermelons he managed himself and the cherry tomatoes in the green manure fields were both doing well, and there were currently no apparent problems with the shrimp and fish.

The problem was still the wheat.

Ning Langdong and the others suggested using shovels to knock down the first row first, then slowly working their way through.

Tong Zhanyan thought for a moment, then called for help directly, “Xiao Qingqing…”

A few minutes later, Qing Jiyue stormed in, his face betraying an urge to crack open Tong Zhanyan’s skull to see what was inside.

Qing Jiyue’s ability was indeed incredibly useful.

Those wheat plants, which had been such a headache for them, were nothing in his presence; in no time, they were all pulled up by the roots.

Ning Langdong and his group hurriedly put on gloves and went in to cut the wheat ears.

While they were busy, Tong Zhanyan took samples of the soil and the wheat to have them tested.

The infection rates came back quickly.

The infection rate of the wheat was between 80% and 85%, exactly the same as when he first brought it back.

The infection rate of the soil had already reached around 65%.

The infection rate of the base’s soil had originally been around 30%.

The infection rate of the leaves brought in from outside was around 40%. After mixing them into the composted soil, the soil’s infection rate increased to some extent, but since the base soil still outnumbered the composted soil, the overall increase was only about 2% to 5%.

As for the soil in the greenhouse, after just one application, the infection rate skyrocketed by 35%.

This soil is definitely unusable.

He could send it for decontamination, but the back-and-forth effort wouldn’t be worth it.

Ning Langdong and the others finished quickly, harvesting a total of five crates of wheat ears.

The soil and straw must be thoroughly incinerated before they can be taken out and disposed of, so Tong Zhanyan immediately asked Qing Jiyue to lend a hand.

If they had to do it themselves, they had no idea how long it would take to handle the soil from the 600-square-meter area.

Qing Jiyue agreed readily, but the problem lay with Tong Zhanyan instead.

Upon hearing that Tong Zhanyan wanted it to help burn the soil and straw, the chicken was uncooperative.

In the end, Qing Jiyue took it into the greenhouse alone. After a private conversation between the two—human and beast—it reluctantly agreed to help.

Qing Jiyue broke up all the soil, and the chicken set it ablaze.

After Qing Jiyue loosened the soil, Tong Zhanyan saw the wheat’s root system for the first time.

They were even more extensive than he’d anticipated, practically coiling the entire underground into a tangled mass.

No wonder the roots had managed to revive even after Old Xu and the others had disinfected the soil.

After repeating the process four or five times to ensure all the roots were reduced to ash, they finally stopped.

Tong Zhanyan had the treated soil and ashes dumped on an open field outside the city.

Apart from the greenhouses and bases that had undergone disinfection and purification, the infection rate of soil in any random spot outside exceeded 50%; this hardly qualified as contamination.

Once the soil was cleared, the group carefully washed the entire greenhouse four or five times with water until it was spotless.

By the time they finished, night had already fallen.

For the first time since its restoration, Tong Zhanyan turned on the streetlights.

The lights weren’t particularly bright, and they were relatively far apart, but they were enough to outline all the paths.

The base was vast, and since it was on the outskirts of the city, it had always felt as though one had instantly entered the quiet depths of a mountain forest as soon as night fell.

With those streetlights, that feeling faded significantly, replaced by the warmth of a village.

Ning Langdong and his group found it quite fascinating; they even went to take a look at the road far from the small building.

The crowd in the livestream was quite moved.

“It’s been over a year since we moved to the base, and I can finally see it clearly at night.”

“Don’t even mention it—just talking about it makes me want to cry. Every day when I got home from work, the screen was pitch black, but I couldn’t bear to turn it off, so I’d just press my face right up against the screen to look.”

“Me too—”

“I’ve almost blinded myself by staring at it this past year…”

“Looking at it this way, I think we’re pretty amazing—still hanging in there even under these conditions.”

“That reminds me of an old saying: trash streamer.”

“Trash streamer.”

“Other streamers treat their fans like treasures; trash streamers treat us like weeds.”

…

The next day, Tong Zhanyan led Ning Langdong and the others in catching dung beetles and scarab beetles all morning.

There was still no progress with the parasitic flies and lacewings, and the cabbage white butterfly larvae continued to devour the strawberries.

But the dung beetles and scarab beetles had been quarantined long enough to be released for now.

Scarab beetles also eat crops, but compared to the cabbage white butterflies, their reproductive capacity isn’t as strong, so it shouldn’t be a major issue.

At noon, just as Tong Zhanyan had finished his work, the team from the Paleontological Conservation Institute contacted him; they wanted to come take a look at the bees.

The new hive up on the mountain was already as big as a basketball. They had noticed it long ago and had wanted to come check it out, but before they could contact Tong Zhanyan, the attack had already occurred.

Tong Zhanyan had no objections; he was also curious to see how the new hive was doing.

The initial land reclamation was complete, and the next batch covered a full 200 mu.

Relying solely on manual pollination would be a huge challenge, even if he hired another 500 people.

While waiting for them to arrive, Tong Zhanyan contacted the R&D team again, asking them to start developing a dust separator in advance.

Last time, the quantities of rapeseed and soybeans were small, so manual sifting was sufficient.

This time, with over five mu of rapeseed and nearly five mu of soybeans, manual labor simply couldn’t keep up—they had to bring in machinery.

Separators do exist in this world, but they’re all industrial-grade; whether modifying or developing one from scratch would take some time.

The next day, the paleontology team arrived.

As soon as they entered, they headed straight for the mountain.

Tong Zhanyan had been a bit worried at first—after all, they weren’t exactly spring chickens—but perhaps spurred on by the challenge, the group climbed the trees with more agility than any young person.

With the help of their Spirit Beasts, they had the scan data in no time.

The situation was unexpectedly good; the queen bee was already showing signs of egg-laying.

After inspecting the one on the mountain, they went down to check the original hive at the foot of the hill.

The new queen had also reached maturity; if things went well, she should start laying eggs within the next month or two.

With over three thousand bees across the two hives now, if both queens started laying, the population would instantly exceed ten thousand.

The group was so delighted that their faces turned crimson.

They had kept bees for so many years, yet their total population had never reached 10,000—but Tong Zhanyan had achieved that in just one year.

After the excitement subsided, the group went to check on the other insects.

The dung beetles and scarab beetles had just been released and were nowhere to be found, while the parasitic flies, lacewings, and cabbage white butterflies remained as they were.

The ants, however, gave the group another pleasant surprise.

Since their last visit, the ant colony had clearly reproduced, and their numbers had skyrocketed. There were now at least five or six thousand of them, and numerous ant eggs could still be seen inside the nest.

In all their years of keeping ants, they had never managed to raise this many.

The group gathered around them and studied them for quite a while.

Before leaving, they had to hold back hard to resist pitching mosquitoes and red spider mites to Tong Zhanyan again.

Tong Zhanyan had already turned them down twice, even though they thought the mosquitoes and red spider mites were pretty cute.

When work wrapped up in the evening, Tong Zhanyan informed Ning Langdong, Gu Yunyang, and the others in advance about the plan for the next two days: harvesting corn and pumpkins.

Together, the two crops covered twenty mu—a few people alone couldn’t finish the job, so everyone had to pitch in.

The next day, everyone arrived early.

Qing Jiyue was there too.

Ning Langdong led a few people to clean out the three warehouses first, while the rest started harvesting the corn.

They placed the picked ears into baskets and sent them over to the watermelon field to be laid out to dry on plastic sheets.

Tong Zhanyan’s head injury hadn’t healed yet, so he didn’t go to help.

But he wasn’t idle either; he washed the extra-large pot used for cooking pig feed, then boiled water to prepare for cooking the corn.

Qing Jiyue had originally been helping in the cornfield, but as he worked, he ended up over by Tong Zhanyan’s side.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t call him out on it; one moment, he’d direct him to help carry corn over, the next, he’d tell him to wash it.

He, meanwhile, hauled over a small stool and sat in front of a box, husking the corn.

Boiled corn needs to be tender, and most of the corn in the field was already past its prime, though he could still pick out a few tender ears.

Calculating the number of people, he boiled a huge potful.

Boiled corn usually calls for a bit of white sugar to bring out the sweetness, but he didn’t have any, so he left it at that.

Once the water came to a boil, the aroma quickly filled the air, drawing frequent glances from the bustling crowd.

After boiling for another ten minutes or so, until the corn was completely tender, Tong Zhanyan turned off the heat.

He still didn’t call anyone over; instead, he lifted the lid to let the steam escape.

As the lid came off, the aroma grew even more intense, and the crowd’s glances in his direction grew even more frequent.

Half an hour later, after the crowd had been drooling for what felt like forever, Tong Zhanyan finally waved them over.

The crowd practically dropped whatever they were holding and rushed over.

“One per person. Careful, it’s hot,” Tong Zhanyan said, stepping back.

In the livestream chat.

“Isn’t that pot usually used for cooking pig feed?”

“It’s been cleaned.”

“So what if it’s used for pig feed? We’re eating worse than pigs anyway…”

“Thanks for the knife cut.”

“I feel like I can smell the aroma right through the screen…”

“Is it really that good? I seem to remember corn being just so-so?”

“Was the corn you used to eat this big? I remember back then, the biggest corn people grew was only about three fingers wide, and many ears had kernels scattered here and there—barely any at all.”

“The water used to boil the corn is so sweet…”

“Wait, we’re supposed to be working. Why did we start eating in the middle of it? I don’t think this is right. Our attitude isn’t serious enough; we need to fix that.”

……

Tong Zhanyan retreated to a secluded corner under the eaves.

He didn’t go up to get any; the corn’s infection rate was still below 20%, so he could only catch a whiff of the scent.

“This one isn’t that bitter.” Qing Jiyue had come over at some point, holding a cob of corn from which a few kernels had already been plucked.

Tong Zhanyan looked at it but didn’t take it; instead, he held onto his wrist and took a bite.

The aroma of corn hit him, accompanied by a faint bitterness.

Tong Zhanyan shook his head.

It’s bitter. I won’t eat it.

Qing Jiyue looked at the spot on the corn where Tong Zhanyan had bitten into it. He paused for a moment, then began nibbling on the exact spot Tong Zhanyan had touched.

It’s actually very sweet.

Just as he was nibbling, he sensed a gaze.

He looked up to see Tong Zhanyan watching him quietly.

Tong Zhanyan still wore the same smiling expression as before, yet his eyes held an inexplicable intensity that made Qing Jiyue’s heart flutter.

Qing Jiyue’s heart skipped a beat. Since Tong Zhanyan had already taken a bite but didn’t eat it, he couldn’t very well put it back in the pot.

“Is it good?” Tong Zhanyan asked.

“Um…” Qing Jiyue’s cheeks burned, and he felt a bit flustered. Had he done something strange?

Qing Jiyue’s breathing was still ragged when he felt a cool touch on his cheek.

Qing Jiyue looked up abruptly.

“It is quite sweet,” Tong Zhanyan nodded, correcting his earlier remark.

Qing Jiyue felt a tingling sensation run through his entire body, especially where he’d been kissed.

Everyone was gathered around the pot; no one noticed them, and Qing Jiyue breathed a slight sigh of relief.

“Let me try some more,” Tong Zhanyan leaned in.

Qing Jiyue startled and instinctively moved back.

Tong Zhanyan grabbed his wrist and took a bite of the corn he was holding.

Realizing that Tong Zhanyan’s “taste it” referred to the corn, Qing Jiyue’s tense nerves slowly relaxed, followed by a sense of frustration at having been tricked.

Tong Zhanyan could be quite mischievous at times.

Qing Jiyue silently took a step to the side, keeping a safe distance from Tong Zhanyan, and continued munching on the corn with both hands cupped around it.

After finishing the corn, they shared the corn water, and the group went back to work.

Tong Zhanyan and Qing Jiyue packed up the pot.

Once they were done, Tong Zhanyan went over to check on the watermelon patch.

The corn, still in the drying phase, hadn’t had its husks removed yet and looked lush and green, though each cob was already quite large.

There was so much corn that the five pieces of cloth were starting to run short.

Considering that soybeans and rapeseed would follow, he placed an order for ten more pieces.

With about three hundred people at the base now, harvesting ten acres of corn was a one-day job.

After the corn came the pumpkins.

These were large in size but few in number, making them even easier to harvest than the corn.

At first, everyone worked diligently, but as they harvested, they began comparing the sizes.

The viability of those pumpkin seeds had improved, and since they were planted in the soil from the initial twenty mu of reclaimed land—which was looser and more fertile—their size was even more impressive than last time.

There are two types of pumpkins: elongated and round.

Last time, some of the elongated ones were around 40 centimeters long, but those were few and far between; this time, however, they were easy to find.

The round ones were even more impressive—many had diameters nearing 40 centimeters and felt heavy when held in one’s arms.

The crowd in the livestream was getting just as excited.

Tong Zhanyan simply watched them in silence.

In his previous world, he’d seen pumpkins as big as houses, though those were special varieties.

By evening, they’d finally picked out the ones they were satisfied with.

The longest of the elongated pumpkins was about seventy centimeters long; though it was a bit slender, it was still impressive enough.

As for the round ones, the two largest were estimated to be about fifty centimeters each—so big that one person could barely lift them.

Looking at them, the group, after a hard day’s work, wore bright smiles on their faces.

Tong Zhanyan was quite pleased as well, and immediately had someone bring a knife to carve them.

That way, he wouldn’t have to go pick seeds again.

Just a moment ago, everyone had been in high spirits, but now their gazes toward Tong Zhanyan were filled with reproach and accusation—Tong Zhanyan was heartless.

Tong Zhanyan was at a loss for words. Was he supposed to give them an award first before peeling them?

After the corn and pumpkins, the group spent another day harvesting other crops.

With more crops, the harvesting process naturally took longer.

Harvesting sweet potatoes was a bit trickier than corn and pumpkins, mainly because they were hard to see, and one wrong move could snap them off.

If only a few were broken, it wasn’t a big deal, but too many would make long-term storage difficult.

The infection rate among the sweet potatoes was also quite high; otherwise, there would be so many more dishes they could make, such as sweet potato noodles.

Tong Zhanyan already has eggs, chili peppers, and salt; if only he could get some noodles too…

With the sweet potatoes dug up, it was time to move on to rapeseed and soybeans.

Tong Zhanyan waited until the pods were fully ripe and had begun to change color before harvesting them, as they would crack at the slightest touch.

Not wanting to lose too much, the group harvested with extra care, and before long, they were all working up a sweat.

Just these two tasks alone took three days.

No sooner had he finished here than the cherry tomatoes in Tong Zhanyan’s green manure plot began to turn red.

Tong Zhanyan manages the crops in the green manure plot himself, and this time was no exception.

Tong Zhanyan had them tested immediately.

Just like the cherry radishes and bok choy before, the infection rate had indeed dropped, ranging between 17% and 20%.

Tong Zhanyan breathed a sigh of relief; even though he’d suspected as much, there was always a chance of unforeseen complications until the results were confirmed.

As soon as the fruit was ready to be picked, Tong Zhanyan had it sent to the back gate.

Qing Jiyue had already made arrangements for the new batch of individuals in a state of frenzy.

Ning Langdong had also received and accommodated the forty people selected in the previous lottery. Since they were still in the danger zone, they hadn’t come to help, and Tong Zhanyan hadn’t pressed the issue.

After finishing with the cherry tomatoes, Tong Zhanyan took the opportunity to inspect the cherry radishes and bok choy in the green manure beds—this was already the third batch.

After three rounds, the infection rate had only reached around 12%.

For crops with an infection rate below 20%, the rate of decline isn’t as rapid as for those above 20%; the further down it goes, the slower it drops.

This gave Tong Zhanyan that same uneasy premonition he’d had before—achieving a zero infection rate might not be so easy after all.

Given the 20% threshold from last time, Tong Zhanyan wasn’t particularly surprised. After all, compared to the crops in his previous world, the ones in the field were indeed still lacking.

That gap wasn’t simply a matter of soil and fertilizer; it involved temperature, light, water, and all sorts of other factors.

Even in his previous world, the same crop variety would yield different results depending on the region.

But all that was for later.

Compared to that, his top priority now was to expand the green manure fields; there were already twenty people waiting at the back door for food.

If cherry tomatoes could be grown, other crops would certainly pose no problem.

More land meant more crops.

Two days later, Tong Zhanyan compiled a list of new seeds to be unlocked and handed it to Old Xu.

This was the umpteenth time Tong Zhanyan had unlocked seeds this year, yet Old Xu still hadn’t gotten used to it; his feelings remained mixed.

After all, the last unlock—which occurred once every five years—had taken place just a year ago.

While Old Xu went through the formalities, Tong Zhanyan wasn’t idle either.

As more and more crops were harvested from the fields, a new batch of seeds was ready to be sown.

This time, Tong Zhanyan planned to skip the temporary planting of some crops—that would make things much simpler—but the amount of land this time was far greater than last time.

As before, corn, pumpkins, and sweet potatoes were planted first.

Corn and pumpkin seedlings were raised, while sweet potatoes were planted directly into the ground.

Once these three tasks were completed, Tong Zhanyan led a group of people to harvest purple vetch, alfalfa, field bindweed, arrowroot, and field radish.

He collected as many seeds as possible, while the stems and vines were all chopped into small pieces and buried in the soil. He then watered the area and covered it with plastic sheeting.

In his previous world, he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of chopping the stems and vines into small pieces; he would have simply buried them whole.

He would have buried them before flowering, as that’s when the nutrients are concentrated in the stems and vines.

However, he was currently short on seeds, and grinding them into powder accelerated decomposition—he had no other choice.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan scattered all the collected seeds, along with soybeans and peanuts, across the newly cleared hundred mu of land, then covered them with plastic sheeting as well.

With this, one hundred mu of the two hundred mu had been planted; the remainder was reserved for sale.

Drawing on his experience with cherry tomatoes, Tong Zhanyan had deliberately set aside extra seeds from the previous batch of other crops, especially for eggplants and cucumbers, whose infection rates were already approaching 20%.

After this planting, the infection rates for eggplants and cucumbers did indeed reach 20%.

Fortunately, he still had seeds from the previous batch.

Just as Tong Zhanyan was figuring out how much to plant this time, he faced his first employee resignation.

School was already on break, and Dai Shuda, along with several fourth-year students, was about to head to the front lines.

They had already found new replacements; everything would continue as usual, so Tong Zhanyan had nothing to worry about.

They had come this time simply to say goodbye.

They all liked Tong Zhanyan very much, and it was precisely because they liked him that they had come to help.

However, Tong Zhanyan was too busy; although they had been helping deliver leaves for half a year, they hadn’t really spoken much with him.

Now that they finally had a chance to talk, the whole group was quite nervous.

They didn’t take up too much of Tong Zhanyan’s time; each of them said just a few words before leaving.

Tong Zhanyan saw them off to the door until they were out of sight.

The reason they came to say goodbye wasn’t just because they were leaving, but also because they might not make it back.

New graduates aren’t sent to the front lines; they usually spend the first six months in the rear. But outposts can be overrun at any moment, and the risk of something going wrong is just as high.

And the beast tide is coming soon.

The day after Dai Shuda and his group left, Yang Hong and a group of about ten others who had come down from the front lines also arrived; they were preparing to leave as well.

The beast tide was imminent.

Their situation had stabilized, but they couldn’t stop consuming crops indefinitely. Tong Zhanyan couldn’t say anything; he could only smile as he saw them off.

That night, after finishing his work in the fields, Tong Zhanyan returned to the small house and wasn’t surprised to find Qing Jiyue waiting at the door.

Qing Jiyue wouldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

Sure enough, Qing Jiyue had come to say goodbye.

The two walked a lap around the open area near the small house, and then Tong Zhanyan watched as he headed back toward the back gate.

The next day, Qing Jiyue left before dawn.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t go over to see him off; after breakfast, he organized a group of people to get to work.

He couldn’t help with matters on the front lines; all he could do was handle the tasks within his power.