Chapter 77

“The attention’s died down.” At the same time that the entire internet was calling for restraint, inside Fengshan Farm, Liu Wensheng set down the documents in his hand.

Now, both “Fengshan Research” and “Ten Years of Fengshan” had dropped out of the top ten trending topics. Netizens had made their stance clear: Don’t flaunt your wealth, keep your head down and prosper quietly! While people were curious about the national reserves, with global tensions running high, keeping a low profile was the top priority.

“My classmate Canpesheng is studying abroad—just two days ago, two foreigners stopped him asking for food. It’s not safe out there!”

“Everyone, use your brains. Stop bragging in public.”

“@Long Xia News, don’t post sensitive information. We know our own situation best.”

…

With many countries watching Longxia’s every move, netizens were both proud and anxious—afraid that the country might slip up and reveal its entire grain and strategic reserves. That kind of insecurity was downright terrifying.

“Restricted zones are like high-voltage fences—no one should touch them!”

“The economy’s rough right now. Let’s all behave and not cause trouble for the country.”

“Just eat your meals in peace. Don’t let foreign eyes pry into our business.”

…

Netizens began voluntarily regulating their own behavior. While doing so, they didn’t forget to remind official accounts: “Keep it low-key. @Long Xia News @Long Xia Daily…”

As true-blue citizens of Longxia, they felt an urgent need to pass on their hard-earned survival wisdom to the state: Stay humble, make money quietly!

With the global situation so tense, only a secure and discreet nation could guarantee its people a stable life. This wasn’t just paranoia—ever since Longxia announced its export policy for Fengshan Crops, foreign media had been publishing articles like “Longxia Amid Global Crisis” and “A Great Power in Adversity.”

Though most of these came from entertainment outlets, there was a whiff of backhanded praise. In short, with the world in turmoil, Longxia had to act with discretion to protect its own interests.

Netizens were like a nagging father, suddenly overwhelmed with worry.

“Kinda cute…” Liu Wensheng rarely paid attention to online news, but reading the comments now gave him a warm feeling inside.

Qin Yun was organizing some files and chuckled. “People may have different opinions, but when it comes to the big picture, they know what matters.”

“True.” Liu Wensheng nodded. The international situation might be relatively stable for now, but many countries had their eyes on Longxia’s grain reserves. When it came to potential threats, Longxia wouldn’t go looking for trouble—but it certainly wasn’t afraid of it either.

As one of the few nations with large-scale weapons capabilities, Longxia had always maintained a firm yet humble stance on the world stage, sticking to its principles. Because of this, while other countries might issue condemnations, when it came to taking real action… they didn’t dare. Not yet.

“That’s what I call confidence!” Liu Wensheng felt immense pride in Longxia’s progress over the past few years.

After chatting for a bit, Liu Wensheng asked, “Any negative buffs?”

This time, the state had stepped in to assist with farm operations. Even though Longxia had made thorough predictions, there was still concern that Qin Yun might suffer a negative buff from this massive order. The medical team had been keeping a close eye on him, worried that the stress might take a toll.

“None,” Qin Yun replied after checking his condition. The system hadn’t issued any DEBUFF warnings, and he suspected it had something to do with the recent farm upgrade. With the system’s upgrade, he now had access to more permissions.

At 3 p.m., the two headed to the tech division. Inside, the team was fine-tuning the aseptic storage equipment, which functioned similarly to a refrigerator compressor. The general process: prepare a fully sealed space, install the storage unit, run calibration tests, and then put it into use.

Aseptic storage required a highly enclosed environment and could boost storage efficiency for vegetables and meats by 70%. For example, regular frozen meat typically had a shelf life of one year, but with aseptic storage, that could be extended to a year and eight months. Crops like soybeans and corn could be preserved for up to twenty years—massively improving national storage capabilities.

The tech staff worked with expert precision. Watching them, Liu Wensheng teased, “Looks like you’ve made a name for yourselves.”

Right now, every major platform was buzzing about Aseptic Storage Technology—it had climbed to the top three trending topics online.

After Liu Wensheng spoke, Sun Yiping couldn’t stop grinning. “Just lucky, that’s all.”

Despite the modesty, the tech team had been stationed at the farm for a year, and aside from irrigation systems, they hadn’t made any major breakthroughs. Everyone had been holding their breath, waiting for a win. Now that aseptic storage was a success, the whole team was riding high on the thrill of achievement.

Liu Wensheng was swept up in their excitement. “How about five days off for everyone?”

“No way!” Sun Yiping immediately waved him off. The team was in full research mode and didn’t want to break their rhythm for a vacation.

Still, he couldn’t help but bring something up. “Commander Liu, we don’t need time off, but could we get twenty more spots?”

Of the 3,000 available spots, 2,000 had already been allocated. The remaining 1,000 would be redistributed among various departments. Lately, every department had been eyeing those remaining spots, and competition between teams was fierce.

Liu Wensheng groaned. “That’s up to the planning department.”

“Could you maybe put in a good word for us?”

“What’s the evaluation criteria? Can we get some bonus points for this project…”

For the next half hour, Liu Wensheng was surrounded by the tech team, all talking at once. They joked and pleaded, but everyone understood that the distribution was based on the farm’s current needs and that the allocation was as fair as possible. Each team respected the system.

Over the next two days, the farm focused its energy on fulfilling international orders.

After half a month of negotiations, the one hundred million ton order had been fully booked, involving 120 countries. The largest single order was for three million tons, with smaller ones ranging from fifty to one hundred thousand tons.

On June 1st, Fengshan shipments began rolling out.

Kyrgyzstan, a small country covering 150,000 square kilometers near the Arctic, relied mainly on energy and livestock. Though it had avoided the Harma Storm last year, polar snowstorms had slashed its agricultural and livestock output by 50%.

In March, Kyrgyzstan signed a grain trade agreement with Weir, which helped keep the country running. But with the Harma Storm expected to hit the polar regions by mid-July, and Weir and Natal halting exports, Kyrgyzstan had no choice but to rely on imports to maintain its reserves.

At the end of last month, the moment they learned Longxia was openly selling grain, Kyrgyzstan immediately placed an order for three million tons. Due to an economic crunch, the payment was made through coal resources and fresh dairy and meat products. The country had already convened a national food summit—part of the grain would go into reserves, the rest would be distributed through major food companies.

Amid high anticipation, on June 7th, the first shipment arrived at Kyrgyzstan’s port.

As the cargo ship docked, a man from Longxia disembarked.

“Mr. Li Jie.” A Kyrgyzstan merchant stepped forward.

“Mr. Diaz.” The man, Li Jie, was a specially appointed trade officer from Fengshan Farm, responsible for overseeing transport and handling follow-up procedures.

After a brief exchange, the crew opened the hold. Customs inspections confirmed the cargo: 300,000 tons of wheat, 300,000 tons of corn, and 120,000 tons of sweet potatoes—all top-grade, first-class quality.

“Thank you so much!” The moment the goods were verified, Diaz gave Li Jie a hearty hug. Diaz was a senior executive at Gil Food Company and in charge of this trade operation.

The Gil order totaled 80 billion Longxia Coins. Before placing the order, Kyrgyzstan had already vetted Fengshan’s quality. Though priced the same as Weir’s, Fengshan’s grains were all first-class—a rarity even before the global food crisis.

Because Fengshan’s quality was so exceptional, many food companies had been skeptical. Despite reviewing Fengshan’s export records, there had still been lingering doubts. Now, those doubts were gone. Fengshan’s quality had exceeded all expectations.

Diaz warmly invited him, “Kyrgyzstan has the best ski resorts—we’ve already booked a ski hotel for you…”

“I’ve made other arrangements,” Li Jie declined politely, then asked, “Will your side fulfill the agreement as promised?”

“Of course.” Diaz gave him an OK sign.

Longxia’s supplementary agreement had two key points:

1. Mandatory promotion of Fengshan Crops.

2. Priority sales of Fengshan Grains by the contracting party.

These two conditions weren’t just lenient—in fact, given the current crisis, they were incredibly easy to fulfill.

Li Jie returned to the hotel to rest, while Diaz double-checked the shipment before heading straight to Jie’er Food Headquarters.

“These are Longxia’s terms,” Diaz reported to the company executives, handing over the supplementary agreement from Longxia.

“Just these two?”

One of the executives asked in disbelief. Before placing the order, they had already reviewed Longxia’s agreement. It was so simple that they had prepared for additional clauses. Now, the outcome was completely unexpected.

“Just these two,” Diaz confirmed with a nod.

Before they parted ways, he had specifically asked Li Jie—Longxia’s requirements truly consisted of only those two points.

“What does everyone think?” the executive looked around at the others.

“With the current food crisis, Longxia probably wants to expand its brand influence.”

“A comprehensive agricultural brand resonates more with consumers than a generic one…”

…

The executives concluded that Longxia was aiming to build recognizable national brands like Jie’er Beef and Jie’er Milk. Even if the crisis eventually passed, these Longxia national brands would still carry weight in the international market.

After the discussion, one of the executives chuckled, “Totally unnecessary.”

Right now, Longxia is the world’s largest grain exporter. What the world cares about is Longxia’s grain itself—a brand name doesn’t add much value.

“Let’s go,” the group rose after the meeting.

Now that the shipment had arrived, they needed to inspect the goods before making any further decisions.

Jie’er Company brought in Kyrgyzstan’s most authoritative grain inspection agency. According to the tests, the Fengshan Grains matched the previous reports exactly—this was top-tier grain on a global scale.

They milled the wheat into flour and baked a batch of traditional Kyrgyz sliced bread.

“This is the best bread I’ve ever had.”

“It tastes like a wheat field in autumn…”

…

The moment the bread touched their lips, a wave of comfort washed over them like never before.

Diaz ate three slices in a row, then asked, still savoring the taste, “Do we stick with the original promotional strategy?”

Previously, Jie’er Company had agreed to promote Longxia’s agricultural products, but it was more of a formality—half-hearted at best.

After Diaz asked, one of the executives replied directly, “We can arrange something on a much higher level.”

Jie’er Company is the largest grain company in Kyrgyzstan—producing a high-quality product ad is no challenge. Initially, they just wanted to go through the motions, but now they felt Longxia’s crops deserved a better campaign.

This upgrade wasn’t just a gesture of goodwill toward Longxia—Jie’er Company had its own motives too: after this 3-million-dollar order, they hoped to establish a deeper partnership with Fengshan.

The more the executives thought about it, the more feasible it seemed.

Jie’er Company had deep pockets, but how to create an ad that would truly satisfy Longxia… that was the real headache.