Chapter 93

“Dear tourists, we are now at the Shenhai Changlong Base. Changlong is located in the southwest of Zhuhe County, covering 300,000 mu. It is the largest wheat planting base in Zhuhe…” At 9 a.m. on the morning of November 10th, on a Gaotong Tourism bus in Zhuhe, Xu Hanwen was giving an enthusiastic commentary.

Xu Hanwen was a tour guide with Gaotong Tourism. Since the torrential rains in Longnan, the national tourism economy had plummeted by 70%. Gaotong had managed to hold on for two years thanks to its nationwide chain. Now that the economy was picking up again, the tourism industry across the country faced a new dilemma: there were no scenic spots left.

Longxia’s attractions had once been centered around natural and cultural landmarks. But now, cultural sites had deteriorated, and the mountains and rivers had degraded. What were once majestic peaks had become barren hills. Famous lakes like Guiyue Lake and Longshan Lake had turned into acid rain disaster zones. As long as the ecological crisis remained unresolved, the tourism industry would struggle to recover.

With the resurgence of meat supply, residents’ demand for travel had increased.

Research showed that aside from amusement parks and nostalgic destinations, tourists were most fond of agricultural experience tours. These trips allowed urban residents to visit the countryside and experience the atmosphere of planting and harvesting. The main participants were typically urban white-collar workers and students of various ages.

Zhuhe now had three agricultural experience destinations, with Changlong Base being the largest and best-equipped.

Changlong Base focused on wheat harvesting rather than sowing and was the top choice for nearby residents. Xu Hanwen was in charge of guiding tours from Zhuhe’s city center to the base.

“Why do seeds grow into wheat?” a boy of about eight asked just as Xu Hanwen finished speaking. The boy was a third-grader from Zhuhe Third Elementary School. At the moment, 80% of the passengers on the bus were students from that school, all here to experience the autumn planting program.

“Wheat seeds are like human babies—they absorb sunlight and nutrients to grow,” Xu Hanwen replied with a smile.

“Does Acid Rain Soil have nutrients too?”

“Even though Acid Rain Soil has high levels of heavy metals, it still contains some organic and inorganic matter. Acid Rain Seeds sprout from this kind of soil,” Xu Hanwen explained, then asked, “Does anyone know what the first Acid Rain Seed in the country was?”

“Longfeng 001!”

The students shouted over each other to answer.

“And who developed Longfeng 001?”

“Longxia Agricultural Research Institute!”

“Grandpa Zhou Yuanheng!”

“Grandpa Zhou Yuanheng came to Zhuhe!”

…

Zhuhe County was a small town. Back in ’27, Zhou Yuanheng had visited for a research trip, so when his name came up, everyone could recall it instantly.

“Besides Longfeng 001, what other seeds have we developed?” Xu Hanwen asked.

“Zhongzhi 002.”

“Fengshuang 003!”

“Chengfeng 004, and lots of vegetable and forage seeds too!”

…

Affected by the broader environment, the students were even more sensitive to the food crisis and news coverage than adults.

As they chatted, the kids shared rice crackers made from this year’s new harvest. They were crisp and delicious—better than anything they’d ever tasted!

At 9:20, the bus pulled into the Changlong station.

“Everyone, hold onto your water bottles and snacks. Get ready to line up and get off,” the lead teacher called out, maintaining order.

“Wow.”

“So beautiful!”

…

The students looked out at the rich black soil on both sides of the road, their hearts racing with excitement like little horses galloping wild.

Five minutes later, the bus came to a complete stop, and the students dashed off.

By 9:30, the tour bus was empty.

Xu Hanwen checked for any forgotten items, then walked toward the back of the bus. Two men were still seated there. They had been quiet the entire ride—one with tanned skin and delicate features, the other sitting straight-backed like a soldier.

“The driver’s just gone to log the trip,” Xu Hanwen said.

These two had joined unexpectedly at 6 a.m. According to the original plan, the bus would rest for three hours after arriving. But after coordinating with the company, they agreed to take a detour and drop the two men off at the hospital.

“No problem,” Xu Hanwen said. Qin Yun glanced at his watch.

He and Zhang Hu had planned to head straight to Gaojia Ridge Hospital at 5 a.m., but a section of mountain road between Zhuhe and Gaojia Ridge was under repair. Not wanting to trouble the local authorities, they were debating what to do when they spotted the tour bus—and now here they were.

“There are drinks and sunflower seeds here—want some?” Xu Hanwen, seeing that Qin Yun was easygoing, opened his backpack.

“Thanks, I’ve got some,” Qin Yun said, pointing to his own bag.

Hearing Qin Yun’s local accent, Xu Hanwen assumed he worked out of town. They chatted a bit before Xu Hanwen grabbed a tomato to wash.

With fruit production down, tomatoes had become a popular meal replacement fruit among residents.

“Changlong Base,” Zhang Hu said, glancing around as Xu Hanwen stepped off the bus.

“Yeah.” Qin Yun looked out the window.

Changlong Base was the largest planting base in Zhuhe. It originally covered just over 20,000 mu, but after land transfers, it had expanded to 30,000 mu. This summer had been hotter than usual, and winter came a month late, so winter wheat sowing was also delayed by a month. Along the country roads, farmers were busy planting seeds. As Qin Yun looked out at the familiar base, memories of an awkward moment two years ago came flooding back.

He took a sip from a bottle of mineral water just as the dark-skinned driver opened the door. “Just went to log the trip.”

“No problem,” Qin Yun said, sitting up straighter.

It was 30 kilometers from Changlong Base to Gaojia Ridge Hospital. Half an hour later, the vehicle pulled up at the hospital entrance.

Gaojia Ridge Hospital was a three-story township hospital. Qin Yun didn’t have to search long before finding Gao Hongwei’s room.

“Ow!” Qin Yun had just stepped inside when he saw a nurse pinching Gao Hongwei’s arm.

It was a three-bed room, but since there weren’t many patients at Gaojia Ridge, Gao Hongwei was enjoying a private room.

“Uncle Gao,” Qin Yun said, placing the gifts he’d brought on the table.

“You didn’t need to bring anything,” Gao Hongwei said, repeating a classic Longxia line.

The nurse, seeing they knew each other, reminded Gao Hongwei not to move around too much before leaving. At the moment, both his right arm and legs were in casts—he looked like a plaster statue.

“Medical equipment’s tight these days. The nurse was just checking my arm,” Gao Hongwei said, moving his only usable arm. With vegetation dwindling, even basic medical supplies were in short supply. He had considered transferring to the county hospital, but their inventory was even worse than the township’s. Since he could still move, he decided not to bother.

After chatting for a bit, Gao Hongwei looked a little embarrassed. “I told you I was fine, but you still came all the way back.”

He was two generations older than Qin Yun, and wouldn’t have contacted him over a fall. But someone in the village had posted a photo of him with a bloody head in the group chat. Qin Yun had called the Village Brigade. No one there knew the details, just that it looked serious. And so, by a twist of fate, Qin Yun had rushed back from out of town.

“If Old Qin were still around, he’d be enjoying life now,” Gao Hongwei said, touched by Qin Yun’s thoughtfulness.

Qin Yun bore a resemblance to his father, Qin Hai, though his demeanor was gentler. Qin Hai had always been cold and aloof. He was three years older than Qin Yun, and even the older kids in the village had been afraid of him—not because he was a bully, but because he had a naturally intimidating presence.

As a child, Qin Yun had thought Qin Hai was one of those brooding anti-heroes from TV dramas. Qin Hai had left the village for a couple of years in his youth, then returned, got married, had kids, and ended up settling down in Gaojia Ridge for life…

“How long are you staying this time?” Gao Hongwei asked.

“A week, probably.” Not wanting to burden the old man, Qin Yun said he was just taking some annual leave, not that he’d come back specifically to see him.

“How’s work treating you?” Gao Hongwei only knew that Qin Yun worked for a construction company in Gan Province. The job was stable, with full benefits. Even though it was far from home, in this economy, it was practically a government job.

“Work’s good. Colleagues are great too.”

“That’s good.”

Gao Hongwei was getting on in years, and with his injuries, he tired quickly. Before long, he dozed off.

Qin Yun tucked the blanket around Gao Hongwei, then made his way to the doctor’s office. According to the attending physician, Gao Hongwei had fallen from a thirty-meter slope. His head injury had looked pretty bad at the time, blood everywhere, but luckily he’d landed on a patch of wheat stalks. It was those stalks that had saved his life.

“Nothing too serious. He just needs rest and follow-up checkups,” the doctor said.

Right now, Gao Hongwei was dealing with fractures and soft tissue injuries. As long as he took care of himself, he’d be more or less recovered in a year.

“Thank you, doctor.” Qin Yun felt a wave of relief wash over him.

For the next three days, Qin Yun stayed at the hospital, keeping watch with the Gao family kids. After confirming that this Gao Hongwei was truly different from the one in his previous life, Qin Yun decided to return to the old family home.

On November 15, Qin Yun arrived at the old house on Gaojia Ridge.

Zhang Hu did a full sweep of the place, then said, “All clear. You can go in.”

“Thanks.” Qin Yun felt a bit awkward. Zhang Hu was the personal bodyguard assigned to him by the farm. They saw each other every day, but this kind of professional protection still felt a little strange.

The old house was a traditional Bamboo River courtyard. The west wing was the main residence, while the north and south wings were guest rooms.

Zhang Hu took a walk around the courtyard, then went to rest in the guest room he’d used last time. Qin Yun headed for the main house. In the center of the main room was a photo of Qin Hai. Qin Yun lit two sticks of incense with practiced ease and placed them before the photo.

“Things have been going pretty well the past two years. We’ve got rice and tomatoes now, and there’s more pork and beef too.” The Farm System had been left behind by Qin Hai. Qin Yun didn’t know whether Qin Hai was alive or dead, but over the past two years, many things had quietly started to change.

At eight in the evening, after dinner with Zhang Hu, Qin Yun was about to turn in when he noticed Qin Hai’s photo had gathered some dust.

He grabbed a clean velvet cloth and began to wipe it down. In the photo, Qin Hai looked meticulous as always. Qin Yun thought back—Qin Hai had rarely smiled in life. Even when Qin Yun got into college, the only celebration was an extra bowl of braised pork at lunch.

Seeing that it was still early, Qin Yun finished wiping Qin Hai’s photo and then went to the small room to bring out the photos of his parents and grandmother. His parents had died in an accident when he was three, and his grandmother had passed away from illness when he was seven.

He carefully cleaned each photo. As he wiped, he couldn’t help but feel how alone he was. If he weren’t so bold, cleaning four memorial portraits on a dark, windy night like this… it’d be downright spooky.

Once he was done, he arranged the four portraits neatly.

His parents looked like a gentle middle-aged couple. Qin Yun stared at them for a while, then lit incense before turning to look at his grandmother.

In the photo, his grandmother’s hair was silver, her eyes kind and warm—just like he remembered.

Qin Yun placed her photo next to Qin Hai’s. Though she had passed thirteen years before Qin Hai, the two didn’t look mismatched together. Qin Hai had always been lean and wiry, and their photos side by side looked surprisingly harmonious.

Looking from Qin Hai to his grandmother’s silver hair, Qin Yun couldn’t help but muse, “They actually look good together.”

Even though she was older, you could still see traces of her youthful beauty.

It was just a casual thought, but then a familiar voice rang out: “Congratulations, Qin Yun. You’ve received a mysterious gift—a present from Grandpa Qin Hai.”

Qin Yun froze.

That voice—it was Qin Hai’s. And the message hadn’t said “Host,” but “Qin Yun.”