Ch 107: Bringing a Farming Game System to the 1970s

While Yu Xiangan and Lin Chuanbai were busy working in the farm realm, the twins were still awake.

Lin Yining, hugging her bunny-shaped pillow, tiptoed into her brother’s room. She asked cautiously, “Brother, do I look pretty with makeup on? Do I look like a movie star? What do you think would happen if I told our parents I wanted to become a celebrity?”

Lin Yihong put down his book and glanced at her. “Are you serious?”

“Just answer first,” Lin Yining said.

He thought for a moment. “I don’t think our parents would react too strongly, but Grandpa and Great-Grandpa would definitely oppose it. They always say every profession can produce talent, but some paths are harder and attract more malice—especially for women in entertainment. Female celebrities face much more difficulty than male ones.”

His tone was calm. “You’re not serious, right? You’re just asking out of curiosity. Think about what we saw on set before—how those actresses had to film summer scenes in freezing winter, wearing qipao dresses with bare legs and still smiling as if they weren’t cold. In winter, they film summer; in summer, they film winter. They stay up all night, push through exhaustion, redo the same scene over and over. You forgot how miserable they looked?”

The memory made Lin Yining shiver.

He nodded knowingly. “If you just want to look beautiful, you can be a musician or dancer. But if you want to do it professionally, it’ll take a lot of hard work.”

Her talent in those areas was slightly above average—not hopeless, but compared to the truly gifted, she’d have to walk a much longer, harder road.

She sighed. “So, studying is still easier. Just listen to the teacher, review after class, pay attention—you can remember most of it.”

“Studying can’t be your career,” Lin Yihong said. “You can’t study for life.”

She tugged on the bunny’s ear. “I can for now, though. High school, then college, then grad school, then a doctorate. If I become a teacher, that’s not bad either—summers and winters off, a relaxed life. Especially if I teach college and don’t have to manage students or projects.”

“You forget,” he said dryly, “if a teacher wears makeup, parents might think she’s unreliable.”

Their teachers were almost all barefaced. Only the English teacher, who had studied abroad, dressed more fashionably—but even she was careful not to look unprofessional. Teachers had to maintain their image.

Lin Yining groaned. “So I can only dress up during breaks… Being a teacher sounds stressful anyway. I don’t have that kind of patience. Some kids are impossible to reason with. Maybe not a teacher then. How about being a doctor, like Great-Grandpa and Aunt?”

“A doctor?” Lin Yihong raised an eyebrow. “When doctors are busy, they eat, drink, and sleep at the hospital. Long shifts, sleepless nights. Didn’t you say staying up ruins your looks?”

“Then maybe I’ll do business like Mom.”

“Running a business isn’t impossible,” he said, “but remember when Mom had that hard time and kept hiding in the kitchen to cook just to calm herself down? The stress can be heavy. And yes, she’s made a lot of money, but her social standing isn’t very high. Even though she pays taxes and does things properly, people still see business owners as unstable. Some still think it’s a shame she quit her government job.

“Mom’s success wasn’t just luck—she’s smart and capable. Plus, she has Grandpa’s influence. Not corruption, but his position shields her from greedy opportunists. You’ve seen Hong Kong’s rich—plenty of them live well, but even they tread carefully.”

Lin Yining twisted the bunny’s ear around and around. “Then maybe I’ll do Dad’s kind of work. He’s a researcher—people respect that. If I pick lighter projects, I won’t be too busy.”

“If you’re idle, you’ll have no achievements,” Lin Yihong said. “No achievements means no reputation. Without reputation, no one truly respects you—you’ll only impress those who don’t know any better.”

Lin Yining groaned dramatically. “Brother, you’re just pouring cold water on me! Everything’s so hard.”

She felt anxious.

Many of their classmates aimed only for technical schools. During breaks, this topic always came up. The twins had already decided to go to high school and university, but even so, thinking about the future made her uneasy.

“Brother, have you decided what you want to do? Tell me so I can get an idea.”

“Not yet,” he said. “We’ll see once we’re in high school. I haven’t made up my mind either. But your way of thinking is wrong—there’s no job that isn’t hard. No effort, no gain. I’m pointing out the challenges, but you only see the negatives?”

She knew he was right but still pouted. “I’m just saying. I know that already.”

Of course she knew—but she still didn’t know what she wanted to do. She jumped to her feet. “I’m thirsty. Want some juice?”

“Bring me a glass too.”

She went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and glanced toward their parents’ room. The lights were off—they were asleep.

She returned with two glasses. “Brother, what book are you reading? Got any recommendations? I’ve run out of stuff to read.”

“Computer science,” he said. “Want to try it?”

“Sure! Wait, computer science is a career too, right?”

…

Meanwhile, the “sleeping” Yu Xiangan and Lin Chuanbai were still active in the farm space. Lin Chuanbai was in the workshop, mixing formulas. When he finished, he came out to share a midnight snack of grilled fish.

Yu Xiangan, having already harvested the cattle and sheep, had started making chestnut cakes just to pass time.

Lin Chuanbai arrived just as the first batch came out of the oven, and they happily ate a few pieces together.

Since it was late, they didn’t eat much—just two pieces each.

Yu Xiangan asked, “How long until we see results?”

“Eight and a half hours,” Lin Chuanbai replied, stretching.

“So tomorrow morning we can check after breakfast?”

He nodded. “It’s still early. What should we do now?” He glanced toward the vineyard. “The grapes are ripe. Should we store them, make wine, or dry them into raisins?”

“There are already plenty of raisins in storage,” Yu Xiangan said.

Sometimes, when she looked at all their stockpiled supplies, she thought—if they ever found themselves in some apocalyptic world, they’d survive just fine for a long while.

They usually turned grapes into raisins or wine.

The cellar was already stacked with jars of wine. They didn’t drink much themselves—most of it was for gifts. It tasted good, and being handmade, it carried more sincerity.

Lin Chuanbai crouched beside the rows of jars. “Maybe we should start making the health supplements first?”

Health supplements, unlike medicine, had a vast market too—ranging from low to high-end. What they planned to make was a premium ginseng tonic wine.

They had brewed ginseng wine before as gifts for elders—just a small cup before bed, and it worked wonders. So much so that every year, they had to send several jars to Lin Houpou, who gifted them to his own friends.

That said a lot on its own.

The health supplement market was booming—and before this, there had already been one wildly popular but utterly absurd “wellness treatment” known as chicken blood therapy: they would draw blood from a one-year-old rooster and inject it into people.

It had been all the rage among retired officials.

After the injections, people’s faces would flush red, and they’d feel an adrenaline rush—so they thought it was working.

But animals have blood types too, and if the blood was mismatched or injected in excess, it was a straight road to death. Not to mention, chicken blood could carry all kinds of viruses.

Those who survived it were simply lucky.

In contrast, their own product had real ingredients, real efficacy. They weren’t going for the “small profits, high volume” model; once they built a good reputation, sales would take care of themselves.

The only issue was sourcing. “We can’t keep taking ginseng from the medicinal garden,” Yu Xiangan said.

Lin Chuanbai nodded. “I know. I’ve already talked to two people. I plan to visit them soon—they come from families who’ve harvested ginseng for generations.”

“Have you got your eye on suppliers for the factory too?” she asked.

Yu Xiangan didn’t have strong connections in pharmaceuticals—her network mainly covered culinary herbs used for medicinal soups.

“Changyao already has existing supplier relationships,” Lin Chuanbai said. “And I’ve worked with a few through the research institute. No need to worry.”

“Good,” she replied.

After leaving, Yu Xiangan visited Lin Chuanbai’s herb garden. She touched one of the ginseng plants and inhaled deeply—the air itself seemed rich with the scent of money.

*

Yu Mingyao’s makeup skills had improved rapidly. With her aunt’s guidance, she could now manage a light, natural look without difficulty. Once she got the hang of it, practice made perfect—what had taken her ages before, now took just minutes.

One day, she finally worked up the courage to wear makeup to school.

It was her first time showing up with makeup on, and when she returned to the dorm, her roommate Yi Zhuzhu raised a brow with mock disdain. “Well, well—you finally learned something. Even if it’s just a beginner’s attempt, you do look a little livelier. Guess you should thank me for inspiring you, huh?”

Yu Mingyao’s smile froze. Her earlier excitement drained away.

That was her least-favorite roommate—someone she never got along with.

When Yu didn’t answer, Yi Zhuzhu lifted her chin. “I’m going dancing at the ballroom tomorrow with some friends. Do you dare come? Don’t think that a little makeup makes you special. You’ve never even been to a ballroom, have you? Look at your outfit—so plain. Jeans and a white shirt? You’d probably get thrown out before the music starts.”

Yu chuckled stiffly. Jeans and a white blouse—perfectly normal clothes.

If you think they’re so bad, don’t wear them yourself, she thought. Her lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Your parents must’ve skipped a lesson—did they never teach you how to speak to people?”

As for the ballroom—no, she really hadn’t been. Her parents were strict about such things. They said dance halls were indecent places and had warned that if she ever went, they’d “break her legs.”

She doubted they’d go that far—but a painful scolding was guaranteed.

Yi Zhuzhu sniffed. “Of course my parents taught me manners. They also taught me honesty. I just say what I think. It’s not my fault you’re a country bumpkin. Never been to a ballroom—you’re behind the times.”

Anger flared in Yu Mingyao. “Who says I’ve never been?”

“Oh? Then come with me tomorrow,” Yi taunted.

Yu hesitated, glancing at their two other roommates. “All four of us?”

The other two had never gone either. They didn’t dare interfere—the tension between these two had been brewing for months. Yi Zhuzhu came from money: a watch worth over a thousand yuan, a necklace to match, branded clothes head to toe. The others survived on monthly allowances of twenty yuan. None dared offend her—except Yu Mingyao.

Go dancing? They were tempted—but how would they afford it?

Yi Zhuzhu noticed the look in their eyes and smiled smugly. “If you want to come, I’ll cover your expenses. What’s the matter, scared?”

That settled it. The other two agreed immediately.

Yu Mingyao, who had hoped they’d refuse, now had no way to back out. She gritted her teeth. “Fine, I’ll go!”

Yi Zhuzhu’s voice turned falsely sweet. “Do you even have proper clothes? Don’t tell me you don’t own a dress. I wouldn’t want to be seen with you like that. Hmm, maybe I should lend you something—I’ve got plenty I’ve only worn once or twice. Don’t worry, I won’t charge you.”

Yu Mingyao nearly exploded. How could someone be this insufferable?

So what if she was rich? Yu’s family wasn’t poor either. Her aunt’s side was even wealthier than the Yi family, yet they were modest and kind.

This wasn’t about money—it was about personality. Constantly putting others down to lift yourself up was the worst kind of arrogance.

That evening, Yu went home and searched through her wardrobe. She found a dress—light blue, elegant, soft to the touch. Her aunt had given it to her as a gift when she got into college. Unlike her mother’s practical clothes, this one had an unmistakable quality. She cherished it so much that she had only worn it once, then carefully stored it away.

It came with matching light-blue heels and a delicate handbag. Together, they transformed her completely.

She stroked the fabric, worried about snagging it, but she refused to let others look down on her. She packed the dress, shoes, and purse and took them to school.

When it was time to go out, she changed.

The moment she stepped out of the dorm room, her three roommates fell silent—staring in awe.

Yi Zhuzhu’s face turned green, her lips pressed tight in silence.

The other two couldn’t stop praising her.

“Mingyao, that dress is gorgeous!”
“Where did you get it? How much was it?”
“I’ve never seen you wear it before—it’s so elegant! Like something out of a fairy tale.”
“You look like a rich young lady.”

Yu smiled. “I don’t know how much it cost—my aunt gave it to me. I’ve only worn it once before. I’d be heartbroken if it got damaged.”

Yi Zhuzhu rolled her eyes. “Probably some street-stall knockoff.”

Yu smiled sweetly. “How would you know? You shop at street stalls yourself?”

“Then tell me the brand,” Yi snapped.

“What does that matter?” Yu said calmly. “It’s pretty, that’s enough.”

In truth, the dress had no label—it had been tailored to her measurements. It was definitely not cheap.

Everyone changed and, looking bright and stylish, they headed to the ballroom. Aside from the four girls, there were several male classmates—Yi Zhuzhu’s acquaintances.

On the way, Yi’s smile started to strain.

Half the boys who had always hovered around her now had their eyes fixed on Yu Mingyao.

How could she possibly stay cheerful after that?

So what if she wore a nice dress—underneath, she was still that same “country bumpkin.”

It was Yu Mingyao’s first time at a ballroom—and it ended in disaster.

A group of hot-blooded young men got into a fight. Someone called the police, and the whole group had to wait for their guardians to pick them up.

Yu Xianghai and Ye Qijia happened to be out of town, which was her one small blessing.

Even though the girls hadn’t caused any trouble, the police still insisted their guardians come and give them “a lesson.”

Yu Mingyao froze.
If she told her older brother, he would definitely inform their parents—and then she’d be lectured for hours.
After thinking it over again and again, she decided to call her uncle-in-law instead.

Lin Chuanbai answered immediately and came to pick her up.

For him, this really was a new kind of experience.

At the police station, he saw a group of youthful, wide-eyed girls—beautiful, nervous, and clearly out of place. It wasn’t hard to imagine how, in that kind of charged atmosphere, tempers and hormones could boil over.

“Comrade, hello. I’m here to take them home. May I ask what happened?”

The story was simple enough.
Yu Mingyao, a strikingly pretty girl, and Yi Zhuzhu, who wasn’t bad-looking either, had drawn plenty of attention as soon as they entered the dance hall. Several boys wanted to dance with them, shoving aside the male classmates who had come along. The boys, unwilling to give ground, pushed back.
Tempers flared. A fight broke out.

Fortunately, none of the girls were hurt.

Lin Chuanbai glanced over the group—Yu Mingyao and her roommates were fine.

Since the other three girls had no family nearby, he decided to take all of them.
“I’ll drive your classmates back to campus?” he asked.

Yu Mingyao hesitated. “We can’t. The dorm’s locked. We won’t get in.”

There was a strict curfew, and unless it was an emergency, the dorm matron wouldn’t open the doors. Returning like this would only cause trouble.

Yi Zhuzhu bit her lip and glanced at Lin Chuanbai before turning to Yu Mingyao. Her tone softened for once. “Mingyao, could we stay at your place tonight? It’s too late, and it’s not safe outside.”

The other two roommates looked at Yu Mingyao hopefully. She didn’t like Yi Zhuzhu, but she got along well with the other two—they studied and ate together.

“Fine, you can all stay at my place for the night,” she agreed. She couldn’t bring herself to say no; if something happened to them on the street, she’d feel guilty forever.

Lin Chuanbai drove them back without a word.

When they entered the residential complex, Yi Zhuzhu was stunned. Yu Mingyao lived here? The place was one of the city’s most expensive neighborhoods. Her family was clearly well-off. Her own father had once considered buying an apartment here but had given up after the deal fell through.

She knew exactly what these houses cost.

And then her curiosity shifted—who exactly was Lin Chuanbai to Yu Mingyao? The man was far too striking: tall, composed, confident, mature, and handsome—completely different from the fumbling boys she knew.

As they stepped out of the car, she couldn’t hold back her question. “Is he your brother?”

Yu Mingyao’s mouth twitched. “That’s my uncle-in-law. I know he looks young, but my cousins aren’t much younger than me.”

“Uncle-in-law?”

Yi Zhuzhu’s face went pale. So—he was already married. Instantly, her interest cooled. Why was it that every man who caught her eye already had a family?

Yu Mingyao had seen this kind of mood swing from her before. She rolled her eyes. “Wait here. I need to talk to my uncle for a moment.”

She slipped back into the car.
“Uncle, could you please not tell my parents about this? I swear I’ll never go again.”

She meant it. The night had left her genuinely shaken.
When those strange men surrounded them, she had been terrified of what might happen.

Lin Chuanbai studied her expression. “You’re not lying?”

She held up three fingers. “Absolutely not.”

He nodded. “Then just this once. I won’t tell them.”

Relief washed over her. “Thank you, Uncle. It’s late—you should get some rest.”

When Yu Xiangan later heard the story from Lin Chuanbai, she couldn’t stop laughing. “Poor child—one trip to a dance hall, and she’s traumatized already.”

“Poor but lucky,” Lin Chuanbai said, shaking his head. “Even proper ballrooms can get messy. For pretty girls, a single incident can be enough to regret for life.”

Dancing itself wasn’t wrong—but those places carried risks.

After that, Yu Mingyao never went to a ballroom again.
And after seeing how well she lived, Yi Zhuzhu stopped sneering at her for being “country” or “cheap.”

Yu Mingyao was exasperated but secretly relieved—life was easier without daily fights.

*

Changyao Pharmaceutical was finally acquired.

Yu Xiangan had to pour in a huge sum—not just to buy the factory itself, but also to compensate the workers for their years of service and to clear the company’s debts.

Roughly sixty percent of the management staff were dismissed, leaving behind the honest, hardworking employees. Those were worth keeping. The ones who’d only ever lined their own pockets—she wanted none of them.

The old inventory in the warehouse was cleared out, half sold and half given away.
It was a loss, but letting it sit until expiration would have been worse.

Those discontinued drugs would never be produced again.

Lin Chuanbai formally resigned from his teaching position and brought with him several colleagues willing to follow him to Changyao. Together, they established a new R&D department.

He offered double their previous salaries as a starting point—and promised that anyone who successfully developed a new drug would receive 1 percent of its net profit for five years.

For a hit product, that was enough to make someone a millionaire.

Lin Chuanbai didn’t immediately present the formulas he had already created years ago. That would have been too conspicuous. Everyone knew what experiments he’d conducted in the university lab; if he suddenly unveiled a finished product, people would suspect he’d used school resources for personal gain.

So he quietly recreated one of his earlier medicines step by step, in front of everyone’s eyes.

He already knew every shortcut to take, so the process seemed almost miraculous—smooth, fast, and flawless. In no time, the new drug was ready and sent for approval. Thanks to his contacts, the paperwork went through quickly, and animal testing began soon after.

It was a pediatric fever-relief patch.

The financial incentives sparked competition; while that product went through its trials, others in the department began developing their own ideas.

Within months, results poured in—and Lin Chuanbai released his second new medicine.

Meanwhile, the factory workers stayed busy too.
While drugs required lengthy procedures, health supplements did not.

The supplement line launched first—and immediately sold out.

After reviewing inventory, Yu Xiangan decided to go big. She spent tens of thousands to buy a full-page advertisement in the largest newspaper in Yangcheng.

In just two months, the ad costs were fully recouped.

The entire stock nearly vanished from the shelves, and soon customers had to book in advance.

When the first batch of buyers began sharing glowing feedback, the product’s demand exploded further—so much that scalpers appeared, reselling reservation slots for high prices.

🌱🌿 🫧🍃