Chapter Thirty-One: Can It Cure Anorexia?

“Did you hear? There was a Porsche parked at the Zhong family orchard yesterday.”

“Yeah, I asked my son about it. He said the car costs several million.”

“Several million? It’s at least ten million!”

“What kind of wealthy relatives has old Zhong’s family managed to latch onto this time?”

“No idea, but we should go take a look. If they’ve struck it rich, maybe we can bask in a bit of their good fortune too.”

“Exactly! Let’s go see.”

The news of a Porsche parked at the Zhong family orchard spread through Lingjing Village overnight. No one could say for sure who started the rumor. There were all sorts of speculations, and since morning, Zhong Tian had already greeted a parade of visitors at his door, leaving him no chance to go out and earn his daily wage. Fortunately, Di Chunhua had left early for work, or she would have been caught up in all this as well.

He had seen the car parked outside the orchard the day before, but never expected one car to cause such a stir.

“Zhong Tian, you know we’ve always been on good terms. If you ever find a way to make money, you must remember your old brother here,” a middle-aged man in his forties or fifties said in a low voice.

“There’s really nothing special going on,” Zhong Tian replied helplessly. “Just someone passing by who bought some local eggs from the countryside.” Their friendship was fine for a drink or two, but for other matters—not so much. He still remembered when this same man had tried to borrow a thousand yuan, coming up with endless excuses.

“Come on, old friend. There was an Audi before this, and now a Porsche. If you’ve got a way to get rich, you have to bring us along.”

…

Meanwhile, Zhong Di was in the orchard, connecting drip irrigation lines, his eyes drifting from time to time toward the gate. All morning, people had passed by, pointing and whispering. He’d caught enough of their words to guess what they were talking about.

He paid them no mind. If he cared too much about others’ opinions, he wouldn’t have come back to run the orchard in the first place.

“Yusheng, bring me the scissors,” Zhong Di called out. Given Yusheng’s current size, carrying a pair of scissors was no problem.

Yesterday, with a whole day’s work, the grass had been cut and raked, most of the soil had been tilled, and the vegetables were mostly in the ground. He had to admit: having more hands really made a difference, though it was a costly advantage. The small amount left, Zhong Di intended to finish himself.

Woof woof… Bark.

Yusheng delivered the scissors in his mouth, barked once, and ran off, leaving Zhong Di alone to wrestle with the drip irrigation lines.

For the vegetables on the eastern side, flooding wasn’t an option—they needed drip irrigation. But on the western side, he planned to flood the fields directly.

Seeing the sun climbing higher, Zhong Di tidied up and headed home. The midday heat was intensifying, and he had no intention of working himself to exhaustion.

Back in the house, he decided to fry some eggs—fresh, from the last batch of local hens. After some experimentation, he’d found that the liquid made from five types of leaves, diluted and fed to three hundred chickens, produced eggs only slightly less flavorful than before. This more than met his client’s expectations.

Yesterday afternoon, Dongyang had sent someone to sign a contract for long-term cooperation. The daily supply was to be determined by Zhong Di, and he held all rights of explanation. Dongyang had the right of first purchase, meaning at the same price, they had priority. All in all, the contract was straightforward and sincere.

This morning, he’d supplied the first batch of ten kilograms—the most diluted eggs. If approved, he’d continue to provide that kind. As he fried eggs, his phone rang. It was Yang Yi.

Clearly, the boy had developed a taste for these eggs. The call was surely about buying more. Now that the eggs were going to a restaurant, the price had risen to one hundred yuan per kilo. This put Zhong Di in a dilemma. Previously, he’d vowed to stick to forty yuan and not accept reservations. But when the money was right, even he couldn’t resist the lure of profit.

“Hello, Boss Zhong, do you still have any of those eggs?” Yang Yi’s youthful voice sounded anxious.

Zhong Di considered. In a day, he could expect about three hundred eggs. Sharing a little with Yang Yi shouldn’t be a problem. After all, it was good to cultivate a regular customer; if he stopped selling eggs, there might be other business in the future. It was peak laying season, and with the hens’ diet of corn bran, fresh grass, and the magical Xianya herb, each hen was laying reliably every day.

Although he’d sent off a batch in the morning, there should still be some in the coop—a kilo or two, at least.

“Yes, come and get them.”

As soon as he’d finished speaking, the call was abruptly ended. Such urgency?

Shrugging, Zhong Di returned to his cooking. Fried eggs—he never seemed to tire of them.

After lunch, he checked on the chickens. All looked healthy, and the chicks were thriving, with no sign of their earlier frailty.

“Zhong Di, open the gate!” Yang Yi’s voice rang out clearly from outside.

So soon? It had barely been any time at all.

“Where are the eggs?” As soon as the gate was open, Yang Yi got straight to the point.

“Can you tell me why you’re in such a rush? Did something happen with my eggs?” Zhong Di was genuinely puzzled—what could have caused Yang Yi to act this way?

“No problem with the eggs. In fact, your eggs cured my little cousin’s loss of appetite. My aunt called and asked me to buy more,” Yang Yi said, hurrying into the orchard and immediately searching for the eggs.

“The eggs can cure loss of appetite?” Zhong Di muttered to himself. It seemed their effects went beyond just being delicious.

“I remember you took them from the kitchen last time,” Yang Yi said.

“What’s the hurry? Even if you want more, there’s no need to rush like this,” Zhong Di said, watching the agitated Yang Yi—truly still a child.

“You don’t understand. If I bring these eggs back to my aunt, she promised to buy me a new sports car. I wrecked my last one, and I’ve had to make do with just an Audi. It’s been miserable,” Yang Yi complained.

Zhong Di: …

“The eggs were picked up this morning by someone who had reserved them. But there should still be some fresh ones in the coop—a kilo or two at least.”

He led Yang Yi toward the chicken coop.

“What? Someone already took them? How much did they take?” Yang Yi was crestfallen. He’d told his aunt that the egg supply was low. She’d said she’d start at a kilo, and for every extra kilo, the car’s grade would go up by a hundred thousand. How could his heart not bleed at this?

“Ten kilos. Why?”

Yang Yi was speechless. That was an upgrade worth a million—what a loss.

“Didn’t you say production was low? Didn’t you say you don’t take reservations?”

Yang Yi was now full of frustration, desperately needing an outlet.

“I improved the feed formula. This is a long-term cooperation—one hundred per kilo, with a signed contract,” Zhong Di explained. It was all true; as for his previous promises, those were in the past. In hindsight, the original price was too low. He hadn’t expected the eggs to be so popular. Wealthy people really were everywhere.