Chapter Seven: Train of Thought

He didn’t care what Uncle Zhang thought. No matter what you do, there will always be doubters. He was indifferent to it; as long as he could pursue what he loved, that was enough.

Life is always about holding yourself accountable. The path you choose for yourself must be walked to the end, even on your knees. Even if someone offers you a broad, sunlit avenue, if it isn’t your own choice, it isn’t your life.

“Zhong Di, it’s not that Uncle wants to lecture you, but it’s already 2020. How many young people of the new era come back to farm like you?” Uncle Zhang advised, pausing for a moment, a bit helpless. “Even if you want to farm, you could be a technician in a big company, offering guidance. You should really think it over. If you have any technical questions, just come to Uncle Zhang.”

After Zhong Di confirmed his intentions once again, Uncle Zhang reluctantly accepted the reality. If it were his own child, he would never allow them to return and farm, not even if it killed him.

“I’ve thought it through. I have some advanced techniques myself—it will work for sure.”

With the ability to perceive plant behavior, how could he not make the orchard profitable? At the very least, making ends meet shouldn’t be a problem.

“All right. Do you have any ideas yet? If you find a way to make money, bring your uncle along.”

Uncle Zhang thought for a moment. This kid attended an agricultural university—Old Zhong boasted about it before. Maybe he really does have some clever ideas.

“I’m planning to replace the fruit trees and pool some money to build a greenhouse, try growing some tropical fruit trees. Those are rare around here.”

The orchard was being irrigated, so it was the perfect opportunity to hear others’ opinions and adjust his plan accordingly. Although he had his own ideas, he couldn’t just shut himself away and invent solutions. Only by pooling wisdom could he do this well.

“Replacing fruit trees? You’d better think carefully. Running an orchard takes at least five years. The market for jujube isn’t great these days, but that doesn’t mean it won’t bounce back.”

“If you switch and the prices go up later, while your new fruit trees don’t sell well, you’ll lose big.”

Uncle Zhang was passionate about growing jujube. According to Zhong Di’s father, Uncle Zhang had been cultivating jujube for over twenty years—it was a bond hard to sever.

“Uncle Zhang, I’m planning to diversify. I want to offer fruit picking, not just grow one variety. We’re near the national highway; if we operate well, there’s a real chance to make money.”

“When the time comes, I’ll build a greenhouse and plant resilient tropical fruits—dragon fruit, mango, lemon, all of them.”

“Many people in the Northwest haven’t seen these fruits. It’s mainly for novelty. I’m not counting on them to make much money; as long as they attract customers and bring traffic, that’s enough.”

In truth, his plans extended far beyond this; he was only offering a portion for others to consider.

“Yes, that’s one way to go about it. But the greenhouse—you probably can’t build it here. Best not to start until you’ve checked. Otherwise, you might finish the project and have it torn down, and that’d be a loss.”

Uncle Zhang was somewhat educated and had worked in agriculture for years. He immediately understood what Zhong Di intended.

“Still can’t build a greenhouse? Uncle Zhang, do you know who I should consult?”

He felt secretly relieved—good thing he had brought it up. Otherwise, he might have thrown himself into the project, invested money, only for it to be demolished. There would be nowhere to argue his case.

“They say this area is designated as a forestry zone; you can’t cut trees or build other structures. A family tried livestock farming before—their well-built house was demolished.”

“Hmm… Let me think… Right, I know someone at the Forestry Bureau. I’ll give you his contact; see if you can ask him.” Uncle Zhang suddenly remembered.

“Thank you, Uncle Zhang.”

Zhong Di was delighted. Though he had extraordinary means, he still needed connections for these hard regulations.

What surprised him was that Uncle Zhang’s contact was on WeChat. It seemed times had changed, and even older folks had adopted it.

They added each other, and Uncle Zhang introduced the Forestry Bureau contact, who happened to be responsible for this area.

“All right, Zhong Di, you get to work. If you need help, just tell Uncle. I’ll help however I can. I’ve still got some things to do, so I’ll be off.”

Uncle Zhang seemed to have received some news, looking hurried as he said goodbye and left.

Returning to his own orchard, Zhong Di first checked the irrigation pipes—no issues.

This was flood irrigation, not drip, so there was no need to check for blocked pipes or leaks.

The main task was to watch for water escaping from the field ridges. Otherwise, just make sure the watering is done, then switch to the next plot.

Given today’s situation, he’d need to stay overnight. Thinking this, Zhong Di opened the small temporary house, fetched some water, and started cleaning.

Once he’d tidied up, he’d just need to go home for bedding, clothes, and daily necessities.

As for cooking, there was only a clay stove in the field—no induction cooker. He’d need to find time to buy a set.

The entire morning, Zhong Di spent cleaning the house and the surrounding mess.

It took until near noon before he finished; there was a heap of trash and broken odds and ends, which he piled atop the pesticide bottles, thinking he’d sell them later.

It wasn’t as if they’d fetch much, but burning large amounts would release a lot of polluting gases, harming both air and soil.

He was growing food for people; he couldn’t do such unscrupulous things.

Now, the small house only had a double iron bed and a set of table and chairs. Everything else had been cleared out—thrown away or stored in the tool shed as appropriate.

The cement floor was dusty, but a daily splash of water made it bearable.

As noon arrived, Zhong Di felt the temperature rising. The stuffy heat was less noticeable in the small house, but out in the sun, it was scorching.

Seeing that one plot had been watered, he switched to the next and, thinking he still needed things from home, didn’t hesitate and rode his electric scooter back.

He made four trips, and it wasn’t until dusk that he brought everything over.

After making up the bed, Zhong Di was a little exhausted. He lay quietly on the bed, phone in hand, checking messages.

Opening WeChat, he saw several people had messaged him—his mentor, many university classmates, and plenty of likes and comments in his circle.

He replied to everyone in his circle, then started reading individual messages, answering as he went. Most were asking what was going on; Zhong Di replied simply, then closed the window.

As he scrolled, he saw a message from Su Rou.