Qing Jiyue stared straight into Tong Zhanyan’s eyes, which held a faint trace of concern, and couldn’t pull himself together for a long moment. “…Alright.”

Tong Zhanyan didn’t talk with Qing Jiyue for very long. Although it had been far too long since he’d last seen him, Qing Jiyue needed rest and time to recuperate.

After ending the call, Tong Zhanyan stared at the screen in front of him for a while longer before getting up and heading downstairs.

He went down to the room where the eggs were stored, checked how many were left, and then made his way over to the chicken coop.

Both eggs and chicken meat are rich in protein, vitamins, minerals, and healthy fats. In his former world, they had long been staple foods, but here, at his base, they were among his most valuable “tonics.”

Eggs were always available, but chickens…

Tong Zhanyan pondered the possibility of secretly slaughtering a few.

He’d merely castrated a pig, and Su Yanran and the others had been so heartbroken over it—if they knew he was planning to kill chickens…

Tong Zhanyan felt an urge to add two more locks to the small building; he feared someone might slip a sack over his head in the middle of the night.

After the initial handover was completed, the Four Great Families immediately issued an announcement declaring the end of the purge operation.

Things felt off this year; whether the purge could be completed smoothly held extraordinary significance for everyone inside the protective shield.

As soon as the announcement was released, a wave of online discussion erupted, growing louder by the minute. In less than three hours, the news had spread far and wide.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

The same went for the group at the base.

That night, before going to bed, Tong Zhanyan contacted the R&D team to order a batch of rabbit cages, then went online to buy a bunch of supplies needed for raising rabbits and sheep.

Rabbits can be raised in pens or cages, just like chickens. Pen-raised rabbits have more space to move around, resulting in better meat and fur quality, while cage-raised rabbits are easier to manage and help control diseases.

Tong Zhanyan decided to go with cage-rearing.

It wasn’t for the sake of easier management, but purely to make collecting droppings more convenient.

Rabbits are a classic example of animals that practice coprophagy; in cages, their droppings fall directly to the floor below, whereas with free-range rearing, one would have to compete with them for the droppings.

Compared to rabbits, sheep are much simpler—just set up a pen for them.

However, they are much larger than chickens and ducks, so flimsy fences are easily breached; sturdy, thick bars are required.

Since both projects require building materials and some technical expertise, Tong Zhanyan decided to contact a construction team directly.

The team has a wide range of expertise, handling everything from buildings, warehouses, streetlights, and water pipes to log cabins and sheep pens.

After scheduling an appointment, Tong Zhanyan paid a deposit.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan headed out to the alfalfa field early in the morning with a pair of shears.

Avoiding the flowering stems, he cut about thirty pounds of alfalfa stems.

Plain clover and alfalfa aren’t just excellent for clearing land; they also make great forage. Many people even grow them specifically to feed their livestock.

Tong Zhanyan hadn’t used them to feed the pigs before because the fields were in even greater need of them.

After buying the sheep, Tong Zhanyan planned to feed them the same diet as the pigs: cherry radishes, bok choy mixed with corn, and pumpkin.

Rabbits, however, are a different story. They have sensitive digestive systems, and crops with too high a water content can cause diarrhea, bloating, or even death.

Hay is the main staple for rabbits.

In his previous world, alfalfa was also one of the main staples for rabbits, though it was always dried.

After cutting the hay, Tong Zhanyan brought it back to the small house, retrieved the cloth previously used for drying corn from the warehouse, and spread them out across the floor.

Ning Langdong and his group saw this and came over to watch the commotion.

Tong Zhanyan took the opportunity to briefly explain the precautions for raising rabbits to them, particularly the importance of not feeding them crops with high water content.

Knowing that his family was about to welcome a new addition, Su Yanran’s face glowed with joy.

After finishing up here, Tong Zhanyan made his first visit to the watermelon patch in quite some time.

This was the third time he’d planted watermelons, so Tong Zhanyan wasn’t worried about them; he mainly wanted to check on the new crops he’d planted this time—ones better suited for hot weather.

This time, he’d planted mustard greens, okra, loofah, water spinach, winter melon, and cantaloupe—though he’d had these before, he hadn’t planted them yet.

They were planted at the same time as the watermelons. It had only been a little over a month since planting; the temperature had already risen, but it wasn’t yet the height of summer.

Since it was their first time growing these, the plants were all thin and weak, but at least they were still alive.

Tong Zhanyan walked around the plot, confirmed everything was in order, and headed back.

Passing by the stream, he stopped to check on the fish.

One fish had flipped over.

He initially thought it had been scared to death by the earlier commotion, but after spending some time hauling it to the shore, he noticed holes in its body.

It was another dead carp.

Tong Zhanyan felt a bit helpless. Hadn’t they been treated?

Pondering this, Tong Zhanyan buried it in the soil nearby; the decomposing fish would make excellent fertilizer.

The next day, the construction crew arrived.

Tong Zhanyan also planned to keep the rabbits and sheep near the chicken coop and pigsty.

The septic tank was on the right side of the pigsty and chicken coop, while Tong Zhanyan placed the rabbits and sheep on the left side, closer to the small house.

There were ten sheep in total; fifty square meters was more than enough.

Rabbits are small, so about twenty square meters would suffice.

The sheep pen was simply a fence made of wooden slats nailed together and buried in the ground, which was quite easy to build.

Even a simple rabbit hutch requires a roof and walls, so that took some time.

By midday, the group had finally finished their work.

In the afternoon, the farm delivered the new pigs Tong Zhanyan had ordered.

Tong Zhanyan, accompanied by Su Yanran and a dozen or so others, spent some time herding the piglets into the pig pen.

The pigs bought from outside were quite aggressive, especially after enduring the bumpy ride; you could hear them banging against their crates and grunting from a distance.

In comparison, the nine piglets they’d bred themselves were much cuter.

The day after the pigs arrived, the rabbits and sheep that Tong Zhanyan had ordered were also delivered.

Tong Zhanyan had purchased both the rabbits and the lambs right after they were weaned; they looked fluffy and exceptionally cute, especially the rabbits, which curled up into snow-white balls of fur.

A group of people lined up to pet them, but Tong Zhanyan wouldn’t let them.

Young animals at this stage have very weak immune systems and are prone to illness if exposed to too many bacteria.

They were also quite skittish, though compared to the pigs, they were merely a bit more restless.

After settling them in and emphasizing the necessary precautions to Su Yanran, Tong Zhanyan left.

Tong Zhanyan hadn’t gone far before Old Xu and Old Wang caught up with him.

“The raffle?” Tong Zhanyan asked, somewhat surprised.

“Right…”

“We really don’t have enough manpower.”

Old Xu and Old Wang both gave a wry smile.

The number of crops requiring management in this batch was roughly the same as the last one. They managed to handle the previous batch on their own, and they could have done the same with this one, but now there was an extra task: weeding.

“We plan to go over the entire field first.”

“If we drag it out too long, the weeds will end up stealing all the fertilizer.”

Pinching flowers, pruning leaves, pollinating—these are all time-sensitive tasks that can’t be delayed.

The same goes for this extra weeding.

“Alright, I’ll talk to Tian Xinqing about it later.” Tong Zhanyan had no objections.

Although he’d long been looking forward to the day they’d be weeding until they cried, that was just a joke—and he had no grudge against the crops in the fields.

Hearing this, both of them breathed a sigh of relief.

The next moment, both of them looked at Tong Zhanyan with mixed emotions.

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

“Those weeds…” Old Xu didn’t know how to express the complexity he felt in his heart.

Back then, this base was being cultivated by their planting alliance. Many of those weeds and trees were planted after the two of them had discussed and decided together.

They had put a lot of effort into it back then, yet the plants still alive in the base were less the result of their cultivation and more the survivors of a mass die-off.

They had grown into such a pitiful state—things they’d specifically tried to plant but couldn’t keep alive…

Now, under Tong Zhanyan’s care, they were actually running rampant, had become a “disaster,” and had reached a point where they were giving them both a headache.

Everything really has turned around.

Thanks to Tong Zhanyan, everything has truly begun to improve little by little.

Tong Zhanyan simply assumed the two were regretting their initial leniency toward the grass, smiled, and left.

On the way back, Tong Zhanyan took a closer look at the grass on the ground.

It wasn’t just the grass in the fields where fertilizer had been applied that was reviving; the grass at the foot of the mountain and in the woods—which had previously been on the verge of death—was also visibly improving.

The fertilizer they’d poured into the soil had seeped into the river along with rainwater and groundwater, and then, as rain, it had returned to irrigate all living things.

The trees hadn’t shown much change yet; most perennial plants tend to react more slowly.

A little later, Tong Zhanyan mentioned the giveaway to Tian Xinqing.

Since the students had arrived, Tong Zhanyan hadn’t held many giveaways, so the sudden announcement sent the livestream into a frenzy.

As the crops at the base grew in abundance, and as more people outside gradually managed to grow their own crops, they were no longer as surprised or excited as they had been at the beginning that Tong Zhanyan could actually grow crops.

Yet their desire to come and see for themselves hadn’t waned; if anything, it had grown even stronger.

Now, they even harbored a sense of pilgrimage.

It all began on that balcony.

They could no longer go to the balcony, but the base remained.

And Tong Zhanyan was there.

Even if they couldn’t speak to him, even if they couldn’t get close, even just seeing him from afar would suffice.

This time, the lottery selected a hundred people outright.

Ning Langdong was there to greet them, and Old Xu and Old Wang were on hand to guide the farming work. Tong Zhanyan merely exchanged greetings with the group as they entered, then went back to his own tasks.

Between the lake, the watermelon patch, and the newly purchased sheep and rabbits, Tong Zhanyan had plenty on his plate.

Beyond that, as the cornstalks reached Tong Zhanyan’s chest and their roots took firm hold in the soil, he was also preparing to officially plant the wheat in the greenhouse.

He had carefully selected all eight seeds, choosing only those with an 80% infection rate.

Each plant was spaced far apart from the others to ensure they wouldn’t “support” one another and to ensure the corn had enough room to grow.

After sowing the seeds, Tong Zhanyan randomly selected two hundred corn plants, identified and marked them, intending to monitor the situation closely.

The infection rates of those corn plants currently range from 35% to 20%.

When Tong Zhanyan looked up after finishing his work, he saw a dense crowd of people outside the greenhouse.

For a split second, Tong Zhanyan thought he was under attack again and instinctively reached to summon his Spirit Beast.

The next moment, seeing the complex smiles on their faces and the setting sun behind them, he realized it was time for them to leave.

Tong Zhanyan stepped outside.

“Did we disturb you?” one of the people standing close by asked with an apologetic smile.

“No.” Tong Zhanyan looked around. “Ypu’re leaving already?”

“Yeah, we came to say goodbye.”

“Senior, thank you for everything.”

“Good luck, Senior.”

“I already got the book…”

A hundred people chatted back and forth, creating a lively atmosphere.

Being able to speak with Tong Zhanyan, the group’s smiles were so radiant that even the dazzling sunset behind them paled in comparison.

“Did you get your gifts?” Tong Zhanyan asked.

“Got it.”

“Hehe…”

The group laughed as they pulled out their gifts to show Tong Zhanyan.

There were bok choy, cherry radishes, and even grass.

Quite a few people had brought grass—it made up about a third of the gifts.

“Why bring this?” Tong Zhanyan asked, puzzled.

“It looks pretty.”

“I heard it’s easy to grow, and besides, this one grew right here at the base.”

“Mine’s about to bloom—it’d be such a waste if it just died like this.”

“Let’s save the crops for those who need them. Besides, this one’s pretty too—so lush and green, full of life.”

Tong Zhanyan was speechless for a moment, then chuckled.

He thought back to the attack earlier. This world was full of selfish people, but there were also many kind-hearted ones.

That made him feel that everything he was doing had meaning.

The sun had set, leaving only a sky filled with afterglow.

Tong Zhanyan followed them as they strolled toward the entrance, chatting casually along the way.

Now that people knew even those with severe, violent infections could wake up, no one was abandoning their relatives, lovers, or friends anymore, which had made business at the shelter boom lately.

Many were trying their hand at growing their own crops.

They weren’t necessarily in need; rather, after seeing Tong Zhanyan lower prices and offer discounts so often, they wanted to lend a hand.

Lowering the price of crops to two yuan per jin was too difficult; even for Tong Zhanyan, it was nearly impossible.

But if more people grew crops, cutting the price in half might be feasible.

Moreover, with more people joining in, killing just Tong Zhanyan wouldn’t be enough—if they had the guts, they’d have to kill them all.

Listening to everyone chime in with their thoughts, Tong Zhanyan was speechless for a long time.

Watching them leave the base, walk into the streets, and disappear into the city, Tong Zhanyan stood at the entrance for quite a while before finally heading back.

The next day, Tong Zhanyan received some good news first thing in the morning: Qing Jiyue was already on his way back and would arrive by evening.

Tong Zhanyan had been waiting for this, and upon hearing the news, his already good mood improved even further.

After breakfast, Tong Zhanyan went to the greenhouse.

After just one night, the wheat hadn’t sprouted yet.

Tong Zhanyan inspected the corn; it showed no signs of infection.

Taking advantage of the fact that the wheat hadn’t sprouted yet, Tong Zhanyan applied another round of fertilizer to the corn.

Since this was an experiment, he had been fertilizing the corn according to the ratios he used in his previous world.

As a result, although their size hadn’t changed much compared to the corn in the fields outside, their condition was noticeably better.

After finishing his work, Tong Zhanyan checked the time and headed over to the purple vetch fields.

More than ten days had passed since the first pollination, and many of the plants had begun to set seed, which meant they were ready for harvest, and the next round of cultivation could begin.

This batch of purple vetch has already covered 100 mu of land; given its seed-setting capacity, clearing 300 mu for the next batch would be no problem at all.

After inspecting them, Tong Zhanyan returned to the warehouse to fetch sticks for markers and red plastic bags.

Seeing him pull out those two items, the viewers in the livestream almost immediately guessed what he was up to.

“Is it time to clear new land again? It feels like it hasn’t been that long since the last time.”

“It really hasn’t been long—just over three months.”

“Based on past practice, we’ll have to clear at least two hundred mu this time, which means a full four hundred mu…”

“This base only has a little over a thousand mu in total, right?”

While the group was discussing, Tong Zhanyan had already set up some markers based on the previously cleared land.

Finally, he got into the car and headed toward the next section.

One hundred mu, two hundred mu…

As they drove on and stopped, watching Tong Zhanyan mark out an area of two hundred mu and still keep going, the hearts of the viewers in the livestream began to race.

When they saw Tong Zhanyan demarcate a full three hundred mu, the blood rushed to everyone’s heads.

After all, Tong Zhanyan’s base covered only a little over a thousand mu in total.

If he cleared three hundred mu at once, combined with what had already been done, that would amount to a full five hundred mu.

Five hundred mu—that’s half the base.

Back when Tong Zhanyan first moved into the base, they’d thought it was impossible for him to fill the entire place with crops; it had seemed like nothing more than a pipe dream.

And now, after such a short time, Tong Zhanyan has already cleared five hundred mu…

“I knew we’d clear a lot this time, but three hundred mu all at once…”

“Will we really have enough fertilizer for the next batch?”

“I’m starting to worry if this base is even big enough for him to farm. Based on past trends, the next time he’ll at least double the area… With five hundred mu now, won’t he clear the whole thing next time?”

“A thousand mu of land…”

“I suddenly feel like two yuan per jin isn’t impossible after all.”

After finishing the marker placement, Tong Zhanyan drove a lap along the designated main road to confirm everything was in order, then returned to the small building to switch to the tiller.

The large tiller was massive and extremely efficient at turning the soil, but even so, 300 mu was no small task.

Tong Zhanyan had originally planned to finish the entire area in a single day, but by evening, he had only managed to till about 200 mu.

Figuring it was about time, Tong Zhanyan headed back to the small house.

He had intended to switch vehicles and then wait for Qing Jiyue by the back gate, but when he returned, someone was already standing in front of the small house.

The figure was tall and slender, with waist-length black hair tied high, giving off an impression of neatness, sharpness, and striking masculinity.

Hearing the noise, Qing Jiyue turned to look.

The moment their eyes met, his body visibly paused.

He recalled what Tong Zhanyan had said not long ago, and also remembered his own impulsive confession to Tong Zhanyan from even earlier.

Going out was dangerous; even he and Chu Yi couldn’t guarantee they’d make it back alive, so he’d spoken those words on a whim.

He’d also seen Tong Zhanyan’s reply, which left him unsure how to face Tong Zhanyan now.

He’d been fighting monsters on the front lines since he was twelve or thirteen, but this was the first time he’d ever fallen for someone.

Tong Zhanyan got out of the car and asked naturally, “You’re back?”

“Mm.” Qing Jiyue walked toward the eaves, where a bulging bag sat on the ground—it contained the gift he’d prepared for Tong Zhanyan.

Tong Zhanyan took it but didn’t open it right away; instead, he studied Qing Jiyue closely.

Seeing him in person, the sickly pallor and weakness that had accumulated from his frequent outings were even more evident, especially in his skin, which was almost devoid of color.

“Did your old wound reopen?” Tong Zhanyan asked.

“No.” Qing Jiyue’s gaze instinctively shifted away.

Qing Jiyue was clearly lying. Tong Zhanyan felt he should be angry, yet he couldn’t bring himself to be.

Qing Jiyue was the future Qing Family Head, a rising star bearing the hopes of countless people, a figure entrusted with the future.

He didn’t have many options.

Tong Zhanyan sighed silently and said, “Let me take a look.”

With his lie exposed, Qing Jiyue felt a bit uneasy. “I just felt a little unwell when I went out earlier. The team doctor prescribed some medicine.”

Tong Zhanyan didn’t move, still staring at him.

Qing Jiyue grew increasingly guilty under his gaze. He relented and obediently began to undress.

Tong Zhanyan quickly interrupted, “Go upstairs.”

As dusk fell, Ning Langdong and the others were wrapping up for the day, which drew many people’s attention to Qing Jiyue.

Seeing Qing Jiyue start to undress while they were chatting, the group stared in wide-eyed astonishment.

Tian Xinqing had already thoughtfully started redirecting the camera.

Tong Zhanyan’s lips twitched slightly. He turned and went inside, placed the bag of rice seeds in the empty room, then led the way upstairs.

Qing Jiyue followed silently.

The upper floor was Tong Zhanyan’s private domain; the cameras wouldn’t go up there, nor would Ning Langdong and the others.

When they reached the sofa, Tong Zhanyan turned to look back.

Qing Jiyue continued unbuttoning his shirt.

One, two, three…

His neck, collarbone, chest…

Qing Jiyue’s movements grew slower and slower.

Tong Zhanyan was waiting to see the wound; his gaze had been fixed on the gap in Qing Jiyue’s clothing. Seeing his movements slow down, he looked up.

When he saw the faint blush spreading across Qing Jiyue’s pale face, Tong Zhanyan suddenly realized just how strange the current situation was.

It was one thing that there were people downstairs, but being alone upstairs with him made the situation even harder to explain.

Tong Zhanyan glanced at Qing Jiyue’s ears, which were so red they looked as if they might bleed, and shifted his gaze away, feeling slightly uncomfortable. The next moment, he looked back. “I’m just checking the wound.”

Qing Jiyue, who had been bending down to undo the buttons, paused for a moment.

It would have been fine if Tong Zhanyan hadn’t said anything, but now that he had, the atmosphere felt a bit awkward.

With the last button undone, Qing Jiyue steeled himself and looked up.

Tong Zhanyan took a step forward and gently lifted the fabric in front of Qing Jiyue, revealing the wound that ran from his shoulder to his side.

The wound had healed completely, and the scab had fallen off entirely, but the scarred skin was different from the rest—it remained bright red and jagged.

The doctor had prescribed scar-removing medication, but it was hard to say how effective it would be.

Tong Zhanyan tried to focus his attention on the wound, but the scent carrying Qing Jiyue’s body heat still brushed against his hand as he parted Qing Jiyue’s clothes, entering his nose and flooding his brain.

Qing Jiyue’s body bore not only the previous scar but also a distinct new one on his lower right abdomen.

By the time Tong Zhanyan realized it, his hand had already reached out.

The moment his fingertips touched the wound, Qing Jiyue’s body tensed instantly as if struck by electricity, and Tong Zhanyan’s breath caught involuntarily.

“Is it deep?” Tong Zhanyan asked.

“No…”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Tong Zhanyan looked at him. Was Qing Jiyue made of wood?

Qing Jiyue was clearly not made of wood; the flush on his earlobes had already spread to his neck. “Just a little…”

Tong Zhanyan withdrew his hand. “What about the effects of the sun?”

“It’ll take a month or two to fully recover.” Qing Jiyue buttoned up his shirt.

His movements were quick, tinged with a touch of fluster.

It felt as though they’d sucked all the air out of the room; the entire living room felt suffocating.

“Any dietary restrictions?” Tong Zhanyan asked.

Qing Jiyue looked bewildered. “What?”

“Let’s have dinner here tonight,” Tong Zhanyan realized. In a world without crops, where would dietary restrictions even come from?

He headed downstairs to boil some eggs for Qing Jiyue.

The door opened to reveal Tian Xinqing and a group of people in the hallway, ears pricked up, eavesdropping.

Tong Zhanyan was startled, but immediately broke into a smile. “Got nothing better to do?”

The group immediately scattered.

It had grown completely dark, and the streetlights had come on.

After watching the commotion, Gu Yunyang and his group of students headed back to school, while Ning Langdong and the others made their way toward the back gate.

Tong Zhanyan went out to the garden to pick some low-infection-rate bok choy, then grabbed five eggs from the henhouse before heading to the kitchen.

In less than ten minutes, two bowls of boiled eggs and bok choy were ready.

Qing Jiyue had already gotten dressed and come downstairs.

Tong Zhanyan placed the bowls on the living room table.

After the others left, the base returned to its usual quiet, far removed from the city.

The two ate in silence.

“Are you staying here tonight?” Tong Zhanyan suddenly asked in the silence.

“Cough, cough…” Qing Jiyue nearly choked on a mouthful of soup; his ears, which had just regained their color, quickly turned bright red again.

“I just wanted to ask you about the situation out there and chat with you a bit longer.” Tong Zhanyan looked completely innocent; Qing Jiyue wondered why he was getting so worked up.

Qing Jiyue composed himself. “There’s still something waiting for me to handle at the back gate.”

He had always been in charge of the drug trials, and this time he’d been gone for over a month.

Tong Zhanyan looked a little disappointed, but since he was back now, a little more time didn’t matter.

After they finished eating, Tong Zhanyan asked about Yang Hong and the others, then walked Qing Jiyue to the door.

In the darkness, the headlights of the electric car stood out sharply.

Qing Jiyue stared at the lights, his mind going blank.

After the car passed through the chicken and duck pens and rounded the foot of the mountain, a vast open field lay ahead.

In the distance, the lights near the back gate twinkled like stars.

Qing Jiyue turned the car around and drove back.

As he neared the foot of the mountain, he turned back again.

Making the turn once more, Qing Jiyue slammed his foot down on the gas pedal—he must have been out of his mind.

Just as Qing Jiyue was lost in thought, his terminal buzzed.

He assumed it was someone from the back gate asking why he hadn’t returned yet, but when he opened the terminal, the message was from Tong Zhanyan.

Tong Zhanyan asked him, “Did you forget something?”

Qing Jiyue’s heart skipped a beat, and the next moment, he nearly careened into a ditch.

Most of the base was fairly flat, but there were still some uneven sections; he’d forgotten he was still driving.

After regaining control of the car, Qing Jiyue looked back.

There were streetlights by the pig and chicken pens, but he was already quite far from there.

Tong Zhanyan wasn’t under the streetlights.

Qing Jiyue, trying to convince himself otherwise, turned off the terminal and focused on driving.

He hadn’t seen him; if he hadn’t seen him, he didn’t exist.

At the back gate, a group of people was waiting for him.

Back at the small house, Tong Zhanyan stared at the foot of the mountain for a while longer. When he saw no more lights, he finally went back inside.

A little later, while washing the dishes, he realized what had happened and couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Tong Zhanyan was in a great mood all evening.

The next day, he remained completely unfazed by the strange looks from Ning Langdong and the others.

As usual, he headed straight for the greenhouse.

Half of the wheat had already sprouted; likely because the root systems hadn’t fully developed yet, the infection rate among the corn remained unchanged.

After finishing his inspection, Tong Zhanyan returned to the small house to make breakfast, then hesitated over whether to call Qing Jiyue over to eat or bring it to him.

A moment later, he headed toward the back door.

Chu Yi was also returning, and Tong Zhanyan decided to check on him as well—after all, they were acquaintances.

It was still early; most people were in the dining hall, with only a few who had already finished heading toward the small building up front.

Tong Zhanyan spotted Qing Jiyue immediately; he was just about to eat.

Those unaffected by the frenzy at the back door were still eating nutrient solution; crops were reserved for those in need, and Qing Jiyue was no exception.

Tong Zhanyan stepped forward and shoved the two eggs in his hand toward him. “You’re in such poor health right now. Eat these to build yourself up.”

Qing Jiyue didn’t refuse. “Thanks.”

Beside them, Chu Yi slurped the cornmeal porridge from his bowl noisily while looking expectantly at Tong Zhanyan.

Tong Zhanyan ignored him.

Chu Yi was still alive—that was good enough.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” Tong Zhanyan reminded him.

Qing Jiyue nodded obediently.

Having given his instructions, Tong Zhanyan returned to the front; he had plenty on his plate.

In the dining hall, after watching Tong Zhanyan leave, Qing Jiyue held the two eggs under his nose to smell them; they still carried the lingering warmth of Tong Zhanyan.

“Xiao Qing, we were teacher and student after all…” Chu Yi began.

Qing Jiyue ignored him and headed for the door.

That morning, Tong Zhanyan finished clearing the remaining 100 mu of land he hadn’t finished the day before.

At noon, he called Qing Jiyue over to eat.

After lunch, he took Qing Jiyue to see the lambs and baby rabbits.

Qing Jiyue was immediately captivated by the little rabbits, and Tong Zhanyan took his hand to let him pet one.

The little rabbit wasn’t one to be trifled with; it turned and ran off.

Tong Zhanyan had almost instantly figured out how to cook it—rabbit meat was quite nourishing, and he had chili peppers.

Qing Jiyue, however, was quite happy.

That evening, Tong Zhanyan simply brought his own ingredients to the cafeteria to borrow a pot, then ate with Qing Jiyue.

On the way back, as they passed the chicken coop, Tong Zhanyan stopped to take a look inside.

After more than a year, the chickens had grown quite plump.

Since they often went in to clean up after them, the chickens weren’t afraid of people. Even when Tong Zhanyan picked them up to examine them, they merely flapped their wings a couple of times.

The next day, the first thing Tong Zhanyan did upon waking was check on the wheat.

The remaining half of the wheat had already sprouted, and the few that had sprouted earlier had now grown five centimeters above the ground.

There was still no change with the corn.

After checking on them, Tong Zhanyan went to the field where the purple vetch was growing.

He had finished the first pass of clearing the land himself; he planned to hand the rest over to Ning Langdong and the others after some time.

The small tiller was far less efficient than the large one; to ensure the soil was fine enough, he’d have to go over it at least three or four times, and then mix in decomposed leaves afterward. Working alone, it would take him at least a week.

Ning Langdong and his team had more manpower; operating five machines simultaneously would be much faster.

His visit this time was for harvesting.

Because he had planted so much, there was a significant time lag. Some of the purple vetch seed pods had already dried out, while others had only just begun to bloom.

Tong Zhanyan cut the dried, nearly ripe seeds along with the flower stems; they would be sun-dried like rapeseed before shelling.

It was the critical pollination period for the other crops, and Ning Langdong and his team were swamped with work every day.

It was nearly impossible for a single person to manage a hundred mu of land.

After harvesting for three straight days only to find the crop growing back even more, Tong Zhanyan decisively took a break.

The purple vetch grows to a certain height, and since it was broadcast-sown, it grows rather haphazardly, so harvesting requires bending over.

Over a hundred people worked from dawn till dusk, and by the time they left, none of them could stand up straight.

Tong Zhanyan wasn’t much better off than they were, since this was already his fourth day.

Even with a full day’s work, they hadn’t managed to harvest all the seeds, but Tong Zhanyan could handle the remainder on his own.

Three days later, just as Tong Zhanyan had barely finished going over the last bit, Ning Langdong and the others had just wrapped up their work.

Tong Zhanyan quickly called them over to help.

Meanwhile, changes were beginning to appear in the wheat field as well.

Just one week after planting, the wheat had already grown above his knees, and the root systems buried in the soil had begun to spread outward.

The infection rate of the corn plants closest to them had changed, and it had skyrocketed by 6% in a single go.

This left Tong Zhanyan deeply concerned.

Feeling uneasy, Tong Zhanyan rushed to the greenhouse the very next day without even washing his face to collect samples.

The infection rate had surged another 7%.

Tong Zhanyan did the math: at this rate, by the time the wheat matured, the infection rate in all these corn plants would exceed 80%.

Moreover, this time the infection rate in the second row of corn had also begun to rise.

A little later, the Institute of Paleontological Conservation brought Tong Zhanyan some good news: they had discovered crabs.

To be more precise, they had discovered crab shells.

“The shells look intact. According to our analysis, they’re from within the last year.”

“We plan to expand our search outward from the location where the shells were found.”

The voice of the person in charge of liaising with Tong Zhanyan was trembling as he spoke; they hadn’t held out much hope to begin with.

This was largely thanks to Tong Zhanyan. Thanks to the funding he provided, everyone except for the two who stayed behind to feed the animals had come this time, and they had even managed to purchase the latest scanning equipment.

Hearing this news lifted Tong Zhanyan’s spirits considerably, and it also put him in the right frame of mind to think about the chickens again.

Half an hour later, Su Yanran saw Tong Zhanyan sneaking around, holding a chicken in one hand and a knife in the other.