Chapter 25: In Dire Need of Manure!

“Oh... this texture, this smoothness, this freshness—what kind of heavenly flavor is this?” The moment Yang Yi put a mouthful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, he couldn't help but blurt out such extravagant praise.

“I want a hundred kilograms of these free-range eggs,” he said, eating as he spoke.

In no time, Yang Yi finished the rest of the eggs. There hadn’t been much to begin with, and after Uncle Zhang and the others had some, there was very little left.

“There’s probably only three kilograms left,” Zhong Di said, taking out the remaining eggs. Usually, a kilogram of large free-range eggs holds about twelve or thirteen eggs, and the smaller ones around fifteen or sixteen. The ones he'd saved up, plus the ones collected today, added up to nearly forty—at most three kilograms.

Yang Yi pointed at the chickens in front of the homestead, his expression exaggerated. “Don’t tell me, with all these chickens, you’ve only got this few eggs?”

“Those are newly bought, not raised by me yet. The eggs they’re laying now are just ordinary free-range eggs. Especially these ones—they were probably still being fed chicken feed before. The eggs laid in the past couple of days aren’t for sale.”

Zhong Di had already thought of how to answer these questions before Yang Yi arrived, so he handled them with ease.

“How do you raise them?” Yang Yi, with a look of youthful curiosity, was obviously intrigued.

“Herbs mixed with some seasonings in their feed.”

“I see, I get it—it’s a secret recipe, right? From now on, I’ll give you sixty per kilogram for the eggs, but make sure to sell them to me first.”

Hearing the previous explanation, Yang Yi understood at once—it was all about a special formula, the kind you’d never reveal to outsiders. That was a business secret.

“If I say forty, it’s forty. Whoever comes first gets them. No advance orders accepted.”

Zhong Di refused Yang Yi’s proposal. This kind of thing was hard to promise, so he preferred to make things clear in advance. Otherwise, if another wealthy buyer showed up and insisted on buying, who would he sell to?

Such awkward situations, though melodramatic, were not unheard of.

“Fine, but don’t forget to let me know when you have more.”

“I’ll take them all. I’ll transfer the money to you—here’s two hundred, no need to give change. The extra can count as a deposit for next time.”

Yang Yi wasn’t the type to dither; when it came to business, he was straightforward.

He packed up the eggs, weighed them—just over three kilograms, but rounded it down to three, making it a neat total of one hundred and twenty.

Yang Yi took the eggs and said to Zhong Di, “Goodbye, Boss Zhong. I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

Yang Yi moved quickly, glancing at his phone from time to time, as if he had something urgent to do.

“So this was your plan all along, Zhong Di. At forty per kilogram, there’s definitely profit here. I shouldn’t have been so nosy,” Uncle Zhang said, suddenly feeling embarrassed about his earlier comments; they were still fresh in his mind. Clearly, one shouldn’t judge by their own experience.

“Uncle Zhang, you were just looking out for me. If there’s anything I don’t understand in the future, I’ll need your advice.”

“All right, then. We’ll head back and rest for a bit. We’ll be done in at most two hours this afternoon.”

With that, Uncle Zhang left. Zhong Di sat alone, quietly eating the leftover scraps. He regretted not saving a couple of eggs to make an omelette for himself. As for the dog, Yusheng, he had to settle for what Zhong Di hadn’t finished, and he wasn’t happy about it at all.

After lunch, the barrels arrived. They came in a van that could be driven with a standard license. Twenty brand-new yellow oil barrels were unloaded and placed near the chicken coop. There was no way he would keep them in front of the house—no one could bear the smell of manure every day. He wasn’t Crazy Sand Immortal Sprout, after all, seeking the path through excrement.

The blue oil barrels originally had sealed lids, but Zhong Di had asked the seller to cut them off beforehand. The boss was curious but didn’t ask questions—customers could be eccentric, but as long as they paid, that was all that mattered.

After settling the bill, the deliveryman left. Zhong Di calculated that with eggs alone, he could collect about a kilogram a day. If he upped production to four or five kilograms daily, two hundred yuan would be easy. That would mean a monthly income of six thousand—better than some city salaries.

Feeling somewhat excited, he braved the blazing sun, hauled the sheep manure from the field, and loaded it into the barrels. There wasn’t much to start with, and the blue barrels were big; in the end, he only filled three and a half.

He was running short!

He thought about the chicken and rabbit manure in the pens, but none of it was fermented yet. Even in good weather, without biological agents to help, it would take two months or more for proper fermentation. He couldn’t wait that long—it would delay his money-making plans.

With that in mind, he quickly called his father.

“Dad, can you get hold of some sheep manure? The kind that’s already been fermented. The price is negotiable.”

He got straight to the point. There was no need to beat around the bush.

“Sheep manure? There’s plenty in our village—just collect and haul it yourself, it’s free.”

His father, Zhong Tian, was always happy to save money. He didn’t know what his son needed it for, but it was clearly useful.

“Dad, that sheep manure isn’t fermented. If I bring it back now, I can’t use it. I need it ready to go.”

Usually, even sheep manure that’s been piled up for years in the sheep pen isn’t truly fermented. Proper fermentation requires high temperatures. Without sealing or covering, natural fermentation could take who knows how many years. Even then, it’s only the compressed lower layers that ferment from the heat buildup.

That’s why unfermented manure burns crops—once buried, the bacteria activity generates heat and burns the roots.

“All right, I’ll ask around.”

Once he understood his son’s purpose, Zhong Tian knew what to do.

With that settled, Zhong Di went back inside for a short rest. He checked his phone, opened a message from Yang Yi, received the payment, and noted it down—eighty yuan still unused.

He closed the window and opened Su Rou’s messages. There was a new one: “My best friend’s wedding got moved up—it’s in a month. See if you can gather what you can. However much you can manage is fine.”

Reading the message, Zhong Di knew what to do.

On average, at ten leaves a day, that would be about ten double-yolk eggs. In a month, he’d easily have enough.

“I’ll do my best, I already have quite a few,” he replied, then closed the chat.

Hmm? What’s this? Why so many messages?

Zhong Di looked at the string of texts from someone named Miao Miao, puzzled—did he even know her?

Normally, if you don’t reply, people would stop messaging. But here she was, sending message after message—it was almost impossible.

“Why are you so cold, big brother?”

“Why don’t you post more selfies?”

“Why aren’t you responding to me?”

“I want to buy eggs!”

Four messages in a row, each one beginning with “big brother.” At first, he hadn’t planned to reply, but seeing she wanted to buy eggs, Zhong Di decided to respond.