The sales of onion seeds have surged recently. Yan Jingshui stood at the sink in the tool room, washing her hands. She glanced over at her classmates from Class A and frowned. For some reason, they were acting suspiciously, as though they were trying to conceal something.
“What are you all up to?” Yan Jingshui asked as she walked over to the student behind her.
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough to fluster the boy. His hand shook, and he accidentally knocked over the cup-soaking seeds. Luckily, the seeds were wrapped in gauze, preventing them from spilling out.
The tool room fell silent. Everyone briefly looked over at the two of them, then quickly turned back to their tasks, continuing to soak their seeds in secret.
“Onion seeds?” Yan Jingshui picked up one of the tiny seeds and glanced around the room. “Why are all of you soaking these?”
The seeds assigned for the semester were bitter melon and Chinese cabbage—onions weren’t included.
“Well… I just wanted to give it a try,” the male student said, taking tweezers to gently retrieve the onion seed from Yan Jingshui’s hand. “I heard from some Class C students that planting onions with bitter melon can help prevent pests.”
Though Class A students were well-off, money wasn’t always easy to come by, and given how quickly crop diseases could lead to mutations, they were just as eager to cultivate their crops properly. Being in the same freshman group, they had all seen the post and followed Class C’s lead. Onion seeds, after all, weren’t too expensive.
“Class C… Zhao Linong?” Yan Jingshui muttered.
“Didn’t you see the message in the group?” the male student asked, surprised.
“What message?” Yan Jingshui was confused. Ever since joining the group, she had muted notifications and only opened them when necessary.
“Class C’s Zhao Linong said she’s going to compile a document about ‘co-prosperity crops.’” The male student looked excited. Who doesn’t like free, helpful information? And for some reason, people trusted Zhao Linong; she gave off a reliable vibe.
“Co-prosperity crops?” Yan Jingshui suddenly understood why the Class A students were so eager to buy and plant onion seeds.
As the daughter of Yan Shengbian, she was familiar with the concept of “co-prosperity crops,” but she hadn’t given it much thought. Her approach was straightforward: plant crops, and if they got sick, use medicine.
Noticing that she was being unusually talkative today, the male classmate couldn’t resist gossiping a bit. “I heard that Zhao Linong’s family used to have a researcher.”
But before he could say more, Yan Jingshui turned and walked out of the tool room.
She had already read up on Zhao Linong last semester—born in the Central Base and raised in the Lower City District, from a single-parent family with a mother named Feng He.
A researcher in the family?
As she drove into the city, she thought back on Zhao Linong’s previous behavior and wasn’t surprised. It was said that many of the researchers who had left in the past were proud individuals who couldn’t accept the Central Base’s allocation of researchers.
Was Zhao Linong born into such a family? Then why spend money on the planting officer’s answers and researcher Ting’s materials?
Before Zhao Linong shared the document, her family background with Ting was once again dug up by some people from the Ninth Agricultural Base. But this time, the focus was on her family’s elder, Ting.
Zhao Fenghe’s father, Zhao Xian, was once a core member of Ting Agricultural Science when the Central Base was first established. He later withdrew due to illness and passed away shortly after, leaving only a piece of data to Zhao Fenghe.
Originally, Zhao Fenghe had earned a researcher exam quota based on her father’s contributions to Ting, but she mysteriously disappeared before the exam. When she reappeared, she was known as Fenghe in Xiacheng District and had a daughter.
Her Ting background was flawless.
If the Central Base hadn’t revised the researcher exam regulations a few years ago, Zhao Linong would now be able to reclaim Zhao Fenghe’s exam quota based on Zhao Xian’s contributions to Ting.
After thoroughly investigating the matter, Yan Jingshui thought about it for a long time that evening. She wrote down her findings about Zhao Linong in her weekly diary and sent it to Yan Shengbian.
She wasn’t bothered by the lack of a reply. Her father had too much to handle. Though he asked her to send weekly diaries, he didn’t always respond.
After closing the message interface, Yan Jingshui entered the researcher’s intranet to study. Unlike others, she had an account granted by Yan Shengbian, allowing her access to all researcher Q&As.
…
Meanwhile, in the outermost dormitory, 11-111 of the city, Zhao Linong was still working on the “Co-prosperity Crops” document. She needed to strike the right balance so her classmates could understand it while ensuring it didn’t deviate too much from the Fenghe data book.
If word spread and Fenghe caught wind of it, it would surely raise suspicion. But with Fenghe in the Central Base, she could still access knowledge beyond the book’s scope. She could always claim she learned it at the Ninth Agricultural Base.
As for Teacher Kang Anru’s warning, Zhao Linong took it seriously, but that was the extent of her concern. If sharing information disrupted the researchers’ domain, it would only grow more contentious in the future.
Luckily, the Central Base had regulations. The researchers wouldn’t openly confront her, though they might resort to underhanded tactics.
Once she climbed high enough, those shady moves would naturally fade away. For now, her main focus was completing this document.
In the first paragraph of “Co-prosperity Cultivation,” Zhao Linong explained the concept:
“Co-prosperity crops involve intercropping, mixed cropping, or multiple cropping, utilizing the mutual growth and restraint between plants to reduce the occurrence of pests and diseases and promote crop growth.”
She then elaborated on several cultivation methods:
“The co-prosperity system consists of primary and secondary crops. The primary crop is the main one being cultivated, while the secondary crops either emit special scents to repel pests or attract pests to themselves. The former are known as co-prosperity crops, while the latter are beneficial crops.”
After typing this, Zhao Linong highlighted a bolded, red-inked warning at the end:
“Due to frequent mutations, it is recommended to use co-prosperity crops only and to avoid beneficial crops to prevent secondary crop mutations.”
She then listed various compatible crops for the co-prosperity system. She excluded rare varieties and focused on basic crop types.
After reviewing the document twice to ensure there were no errors, she sent it to the agronomy Class C group.
AAA Farmer Xiao Zhao: [《Co-prosperity Crop Cultivation》.docx]
Life is important: [!!!]
Within a minute, the agronomy Class C group was flooded with messages. Ten minutes later, the document had made its way to the freshman group.
That night, in the middle and outer city dormitories, lights that had been turned off began to flicker back on, and one by one, students jumped out of bed.
That night, the Ninth Agronomy Base experienced another collective sleepless night.
…
The next morning, after waking up, Yan Jingshui finally saw the document in the freshman group. She skimmed through it, and closed her computer, but after ten minutes, reopened it and read it carefully.
She had seen countless researchers’ writings growing up, and her standards were high. But she had to admit, Zhao Linong’s document was impeccably organized, and her arguments were flawless.
To quote her father, Yan Shengbian: “Some people are simply born to be researchers.”
“You look awful,” Wei Li remarked as she opened the door and saw a troubled-looking Yan Jingshui standing outside. With a kind tone, she added, “Eat more chicken to replenish your blood.”
Yan Jingshui slowly raised her eyes and stared at her for a long time, then finally asked, “Why did you become friends with Zhao Linong?”
Did Wei Li know about Zhao Linong’s talent? Or had she discovered that Zhao Linong’s grandfather was Zhao Xian? Wei Li had a poor memory and had forgotten she had blacklisted Yan Jingshui and put her on the list of people she didn’t want to associate with anymore.
After thinking for a while, Wei Li clapped her hands and confidently replied, “Because I sell chicken manure cheaply!”
“…”
“Don’t answer if you don’t want to!” Yan Jingshui slammed the door shut.
Wei Li was baffled, but what she had said was true. If she hadn’t sold chicken manure at such a low price, she never would have met Zhao Linong.
Tsk, tsk, she thought. Yan Jingshui has a bad temper—nothing like her father.
With a shake of her head, Wei Li headed to the chicken shed.
—
Agronomy Class C Classroom.
He Yuesheng couldn’t stop yawning. He nudged Zhao Linong, sitting next to him: “Xiao Zhao, let’s talk about something.”
Zhao Linong tilted her head slightly: “What’s up?”
“Can you stop sending documents in the middle of the night?” He Yuesheng pointed at the dark circles under his eyes with both index fingers. “Look, I got so excited I couldn’t sleep at all.”
Zhao Linong remained silent.
He Yuesheng gestured around the room: “Look around.”
The entire classroom was filled with students who were barely awake, all yawning. No one had gotten any sleep after receiving the document the previous night.
At that moment, Kang Anru walked in. Although she quickly tried to cover it up, He Yuesheng and Zhao Linong both noticed that their teacher also stifled a yawn.
“For the sake of everyone’s health,” He Yuesheng whispered, “Xiao Zhao, please don’t send out documents at night!”
Zhao Linong raised a fist to her mouth and coughed lightly. “I’ll be more mindful of the time next time.”
Due to her heavy workload, Zhao Linong was used to sending papers to her tutor right after finishing them, regardless of the hour. She never thought about the timing.
Although Kang Anru began teaching as usual, the minds of the students and the teacher alike were a little distracted. The document Zhao Linong had sent brought not only new knowledge but also an overwhelming sense of disbelief.
They couldn’t get over the fact that Zhao Linong had organized all that information and shared it so freely. It seemed too easy like something precious had just fallen into their laps, leaving them stunned.
Zhao Linong’s mind, however, wasn’t focused on the document. She was preoccupied with thoughts of the helicopter that had flown away from the Ninth Agricultural Base and had yet to return. It was likely Dean Zhou who had left.
She wondered if it had anything to do with the video Wei Li sent. As a livestock researcher, Zhou Qianli’s sudden departure probably had to do with the mutant animals.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t gotten a clear view of the video.
Zhao Linong sighed inwardly. Her cousin Wei Li had arrived too quickly. If she had known, she would have waited to click on the video. It was frustrating, especially for someone like her who was so used to studying Ting, to only get halfway through it.
Propping her face up with one hand, she thought: I wonder if I’ll be able to access those confidential videos once I become a researcher.
…
Meanwhile, in Shicheng, at a temporary camp, Yan Shengbian stood in front of a large screen with a grim expression.
He had applied to the Central Base to have researchers re-observe and document the A-level mutant plants. Besides wanting to confirm if the Shicheng Dragon Claw Sophora japonica was an isolated event, he also wanted the researchers who stayed at the institute year-round to get out and move.
Unexpectedly, there was indeed a problem with the A-level mutant plants.
Staring at the screen, Yan Shengbian’s voice was cold: “Report the current situation.”
“The A-level mutant Platycladus orientalis1
in Shihuangshan has disappeared!”
“The A-level mutant with Dracontomelon duperreanum2
in Qiucheng has disappeared!”
“The A-level mutant Elaeocarpus hainanensis3
in Yuncheng has disappeared!”
With each piece of news, Yan Shengbian’s usually gentle expression turned colder and more oppressive.
Something had changed, and no one had seen it coming.
