Ch 109: Bringing a Farming Game System to the 1970s

When Yu Xiangan mentioned cicada flowers, the others were momentarily confused, unsure what that was. Chen Xiaoyang, however, reacted first — it was those strange, fungus-covered cicada shells that sometimes appeared in the bamboo groves.

“Yes! Yes, we have them too,” she said quickly. She vaguely remembered they were used in medicine.

Cicada flowers were indeed valuable — they lowered cholesterol and blood pressure, nourished the liver, brightened the eyes, and even had anti-tumor effects. It was a medicinal ingredient often compared to Cordyceps sinensis.

Chen Xiaoyang’s eyes widened. So their village had this kind of treasure too!

After admiring the sea of bamboo for a while, Yu Xiangan dug up a few shoots at random and brought them to Chen Xiaoyang’s house. There, they cooked them together. After tasting the fresh, crisp flavor, Yu Xiangan immediately placed an order.

Once preparations were made, she made a phone call — soon, staff from her factory would come to purchase directly. Just like that, the bamboo shoots from this whole mountainside were sold.

Everything went smoothly — no complications, no delays.

The entire village was overjoyed.

With this new source of income, they could finally repair the roads and the school.

It was a big, wonderful thing.

They even signed an official contract right there in Chen Xiaoyang’s home. Chen was so excited she could hardly keep still. Even her mother, seeing her surrounded by village leaders and officials, couldn’t stop smiling — completely forgetting how she had scolded her daughter before.

Now she only felt proud. The villagers would look at their family with new respect; after all, it was her daughter who had made this connection happen. With the money they’d earn, the muddy village road could finally be paved, the leaking school walls repaired, and the broken desks and benches replaced.

Chen Xiaoyang was glowing with happiness. When she caught her mother’s approving look, she let out a breath of relief. Finally, maybe her mother would stop nagging her about marriage. Right now, she was on the brink of promotion and success — marriage could wait.

Sure enough, not long after she returned to the factory, her transfer notice came. She had been promoted.

After her promotion, her mother quieted down, no longer pestering her about finding a husband — too busy joining the villagers in harvesting bamboo shoots and sharing profits instead.

The village decided to divide part of the earnings among the residents and use the rest to fund road and school repairs.

They began caring for the bamboo forests more carefully, even transplanting new shoots onto barren hills to expand the groves. In a few years, new bamboo forests would grow there. Living by the mountains meant living off them — they had no great mountains or seas, only these bamboo-covered hills.

During the hard years, these mountains had kept the villagers alive. Now that they could eat and live comfortably, the same bamboo was helping them earn money. They knew better than to destroy their source of livelihood; if they took care of it, future generations would continue to prosper from it.

*

Meanwhile, Lin Chuanbai had begun recreating the medicines he had once developed in the past. The drugs his team submitted for approval drew attention — their productivity earned them praise.

They weren’t miracle cures for rare or terminal diseases, but essential daily medicines — cold, cough, and fever remedies, treatments for common infant ailments, and everyday products like medicated oils, burn ointments, mosquito repellents, and floral water.

Lin Chuanbai’s goal was clear: he wanted his pharmaceutical line to fill every household’s medicine cabinet and become part of daily life.

The researchers who had followed him from the university were just as satisfied. At Changyao, their salaries had improved, but even more importantly, they finally had unrestricted access to lab equipment.

At the university, instruments had to be shared by rotation, and senior professors always took priority. Here, it was different — anyone could apply and schedule time as needed, no hierarchy, no interference. New equipment kept arriving, and if things continued this way, their research department might soon surpass the university’s entire pharmaceutical lab network in both quantity and quality.

For researchers, instruments were like knives to chefs — indispensable tools.

Though drug testing and approval took time, they were confident this foundation would secure their place in the industry.

Yu Xiangan’s ventures spanned many fields, but her most widespread success still came from her seasoning packets.

Gao Yaping’s family had been living in the Philippines for over twenty years. When they first arrived, life was difficult and money was tight. Now, they ran a small Chinese restaurant in the local Chinatown, serving home-style Chinese dishes and local fusion meals — rice bowls topped with stir-fries or curries that locals loved.

Chinese customers came for the familiar flavors of home, while Filipinos came for the exotic “foreign” twist that still suited their taste.

Their positioning was perfect — and they stuck to it.

The head chef was Gao’s mother. She hadn’t been much of a cook before, but ever since she bought a batch of Wuwei seasoning packets, her cooking had improved dramatically.

No need to spend hours blending spices — just follow the ratios, add salt and water, and the dish turned out beautifully.

Even Gao himself could cook now.

For example, they’d use a bag of Wuwei hotpot base to boil chicken wings and drumsticks, toss in some vegetables, then ladle everything over rice — an attractive, flavorful rice bowl.

Their family often ate this way themselves.

Before opening the restaurant, they had done hard labor — hauling cargo, sweeping streets, taking whatever jobs no one else wanted. If they didn’t work, they didn’t eat.

Once the restaurant opened, they slowly quit those jobs and focused entirely on running it.

Imported goods weren’t yet flooding the market, so as long as trade barriers remained, their restaurant kept a competitive edge. Locals didn’t know where to buy those sauces and spices, and even if they did, few had the patience to make them. That meant the business could keep thriving.

It was their livelihood, and they had grown deeply loyal to the Wuwei brand.

Whenever new products were released, they’d buy some right away to test new recipes.

This time, Gao brought home a large batch of spicy vermicelli and the newly launched pickled bamboo shoot packets. The bamboo shoots were an instant hit — many customers came specifically asking for them, boosting the restaurant’s sales even more.

…

Because the pharmaceutical plant was in Yangcheng, Lin Chuanbai sometimes brought the twins over to spend time there, letting them observe.

He didn’t make them do any real work — he didn’t want to affect their studies — but they could do homework, make friends, or simply watch the researchers at work.

Soon, Lin Yining found a new friend.

Ye Jingjing, the daughter of one of the researchers, lived in the factory dorms with her father after her mother passed away. She was two years younger than Yining.

Yining had many friends, but her closest ones were two boys — Fatty Chen Yi and Wang Lipan.

It wasn’t that she only befriended boys because of looks; Wang Lipan happened to be handsome, but Chen Yi was completely ordinary.

She wasn’t without female friends either — she got along well with her classmates — but she didn’t have that one inseparable, “tell-everything” best friend. As she put it, “There’s always just a bit of distance. It’s not as easy to relax.” So she didn’t force it.

But this little girl was different — she had a round, apple-shaped face, shy and soft-spoken, and blushed easily. Especially when she ate, she looked just like a tiny hamster nibbling on food. Watching her made Lin Yining’s heart flutter uncontrollably; she always felt an urge to feed her something.

Before long, every time she came over, she would bring snacks in her bag — beef jerky, biscuits, dried squid, flower pastries, candy… Watching Ye Jingjing eat filled her with pure satisfaction.

Ye Jingjing’s father was an absent-minded man. He thought his daughter was old enough to look after herself, so he left her alone most of the time, buried in his lab work. When she was hungry, she ate at the cafeteria; if she wanted something, he left her money at home. Essentially, she was being raised on autopilot.

Once Lin Yining learned this, her heart ached for her. They went to the same school — Ye Jingjing was two grades lower — and their schedules mostly overlapped. So from time to time, Lin Yining would go find her and invite her along to play.

At school, Ye Jingjing was practically invisible. The only reason people remembered her at all was her decent grades; otherwise, she was the kind of student you might forget existed.

One day at dinner, Lin Yining told her father, “Dad, don’t you think you’re working them too hard? Jingjing’s father doesn’t even have time to take care of her. Yesterday was her birthday — she spent it all alone. It was so quiet. Her dad didn’t even come home last night; she waited for him in the living room until she fell asleep on the couch.”

Lin Chuanbai frowned when he heard his daughter’s “complaint.”

“Alright,” he said, “I understand.”

He wasn’t familiar with every researcher’s personal situation, so he asked around — and soon learned that Ye’s father was one of those “lab maniacs” who practically lived in the lab and hated to leave.

After asking further, Lin Chuanbai realized there were quite a few like him. But since most of them had family members at home, their children were still looked after. He decided to create a new position — someone specifically assigned to remind these obsessive researchers to eat, rest, and take care of themselves.

A healthy body was the foundation of good research.

When Lin Yihong heard about this, he felt his sister had missed the point. “Shouldn’t the main issue be that her father is neglecting his family? Dad hired them to work hard — that’s a good thing. But he’s failed to balance work and home life. He needs to realize that himself. That’s what Dad should talk to him about.”

Lin Yining sighed, a little frustrated. “I know that, but he doesn’t listen to me. That’s why I hoped Dad could talk to him and maybe make things better.”

She had tried talking to Ye’s father, but she suspected he hadn’t heard a word she said. It was disheartening.

Still, once Lin Chuanbai intervened, things improved. Ye’s father was genuinely ashamed. He knew he had neglected his daughter, but once he got caught up in experiments, he just couldn’t stop. With someone now reminding him to rest and eat, his health — and his attention to his daughter — improved. After all, a strong body was the foundation for a lifetime of research.

…

Meanwhile, Yu Mingyao was in low spirits. Ever since that night at the dance hall, when she and her three roommates stayed at her house, one of them — Yi Zhuzhu — had become friendlier toward her. But soon, a new rumor spread: people said she was being kept by a rich man — because Lin Chuanbai had come to pick her up by car.

Her roommates knew he was her uncle by marriage, but outsiders didn’t. The story spread and twisted until people were whispering that she had a wealthy “sugar daddy.”

Yu Mingyao was furious. No matter how much she tried to explain, no one wanted to believe her. They probably knew it was ridiculous, but gossiping about someone else’s scandal gave them a thrill.

Thankfully, no one mentioned her name directly. Eventually, the rumor drifted so far from the truth that even Yu Mingyao could only sigh and let it go. Still, it left a bitter taste in her heart.

Besides the rumor, news had also spread that she had wealthy relatives.

When she joined the student union, some students saw an opportunity. Whenever they needed sponsors for events, they came knocking.

“Mingyao, I know you’re not from our department, but we’re short on funds. Can you help us out? Don’t you have a relative who runs a business? This kind of money’s nothing for them.”

Yu Mingyao wasn’t in the outreach department, and she didn’t like people overstepping roles, so she refused. They weren’t even close. But it didn’t stop there — they came back a second, third time.

It was exhausting.

Yi Zhuzhu, watching this, rolled her eyes. “Don’t think of it as them mooching off your relatives. Sponsorships build reputation and recognition. You know companies pay for advertising, right? If your relatives want to recruit people in the future, having name recognition helps. More students will want to work for them. You should think bigger — seriously, what a small-minded, narrow view.”

Yu Mingyao’s face darkened. The first half almost made sense, but the second half? Completely unnecessary. She could barely hold her temper. Would it kill her to say things nicely?

Without those last two sentences, it might’ve sounded like friendly advice — but with them, it was just sharp-tongued insult. Words could wound deeply, even in summer.

Yu Mingyao stormed off and walked two furious laps around campus before she calmed down enough to return. When she did, she said sweetly, “I thought about what you said. You’re right. Thank you for the reminder — I’ll talk to my uncle about it.”

Yi Zhuzhu sniffed. “I wasn’t reminding you. I just can’t stand people being that stupid.”

Yu Mingyao: “…”

Deep breath. She wasn’t going to get angry.

When Lin Chuanbai heard about it, he nodded. “Sponsorship, huh? Do you know how much they need? Give me a number.”

Then he turned to Lin Yihong. “Write up a note explaining the details.”

Seeing how readily he agreed, Yu Mingyao asked, “Uncle, does sponsorship really help? Like, can it actually boost their reputation?”

Lin Chuanbai smiled. “Of course. For example, if we sponsor it under the Wuwei Restaurant name, we’ll provide banners or slogans. Your classmates will see the name. Those who’ve never been might get curious and try it. Those who have been will feel proud — like, ‘Hey, I knew this place before it got popular.’ Others will just find it familiar and think they have good taste. It all increases recognition and promotes business.”

Yu Mingyao had refused before because she thought it was pointless — just throwing money away. But now she realized she’d misunderstood. It actually had value.

Lin Chuanbai continued, “It depends on the size and reach of the event. If attendance is high, a bigger sponsorship is worth it. But if turnout is small, spending too much would be a loss.”

Yu Mingyao felt enlightened. Lin Yihong and Lin Yining listened intently too.

Lin Chuanbai gave them some books on economics, encouraging them to read. “Study first — but when you have time, broaden your horizons. Learning more never hurts. If you can truly understand what you read, this path will be open to you too.”

When Yu Xiangan returned to Yangcheng, Lin Yining brought along her new little friend. “Mom,” she said brightly, “this is my new best friend! Isn’t she the cutest thing ever?”

Ye Jingjing shyly lowered her head, then lifted it again with quiet courage, looking at Yu Xiangan. Her voice was small but clear. “Hello, Auntie.”

Yu Xiangan smiled. “Hello. Jingjing, right? I hope you and Yining get along well.” The girl was so gentle, timid, and adorable that it was easy to like her instantly.

After asking about her favorite foods, Yu Xiangan made sure to prepare dishes she would enjoy.

In Jingjing’s life, there was no womanly presence—just her father and her teachers. Her father, being absent-minded, often left her to take care of herself.

Now, with Yu Xiangan’s warmth and attention, she looked radiant with happiness, her cheeks flushed pink.

Seeing this, Lin Yining couldn’t help reflecting—maybe she herself had been given too much, and that was why she sometimes forgot to cherish it. Looking at Jingjing, then at herself, the thought only grew stronger.

Whether a person is outgoing or reserved, interacting with others often reveals traits in oneself that usually go unnoticed. As the saying goes, “Among any three people, there is always one who can be my teacher.”

That kind of reflection was its own form of learning.

After Jingjing left, Lin Yining sat beside Yu Xiangan and clung to her arm. “Mom, you haven’t come by in a while. What have you been busy with?”

Yu Xiangan stroked her hair. “Mom’s been busy picking a new location for the factory. We’re planning to relocate.”

Lin Yining was startled. “Why? Isn’t the current site big enough?”

Yu Xiangan shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s that the current land will be more valuable later. There’s no need for a factory to sit in a prime commercial district. Once we move out, the land can be used for a plaza, hotels, a food court, office buildings—anything.”

If her new factory location later developed into a thriving area, she could move again. Each relocation would mark a wise decision; only a stagnant, valueless site would stay the same.

Besides the new factory, Yu Xiangan was also building office towers. She knew how property values would skyrocket in the future. To her, not buying or developing more now while prices were low would be sheer waste.

Especially office buildings in the heart of the Special Economic Zone—those would someday rent for hundreds of thousands, even millions, per floor each month.

Lin Yining gasped. “Wow. So how are you going to design the new factory? Have you decided yet?”

“Not yet,” Yu Xiangan replied. “I plan to consult professionals.” She wanted to hire proper planners to design the site.

In her early startup days, building the factory at all was enough—no one cared about layout. Now she saw flaws in the old design: inefficient space, redundant sections. This time, with both money and time, she wanted it done right.

Yu Xiangan had already formed a plan. She turned to Lin Chuanbai. “I want to go back to the university and have the architecture department host a design competition. I’ll provide the land area and let the students create their own blueprints. The professors can be the judges. We’ll see whose design uses space best and looks the most appealing.”

That way, she would get solid design proposals; students would gain recognition and prize money; and the school would enjoy a publicity boost—three wins in one move.

Lin Chuanbai nodded. “That should be fine.” The university certainly wouldn’t refuse.

Indeed, when Yu Xiangan returned to the capital and visited Qingmu University, the faculty were immediately interested.

She was a well-known alumna there—the most successful entrepreneur among those who had left government work to start a business. Just the previous year, she had donated a large number of books to the university library, including many foreign titles they hadn’t owned before.

Because of that, the school held her in high regard.

And since this competition benefited everyone, they quickly approved it.

It was decided that third- and fourth-year students could enter. The judges would include several famous professors from the architecture school. The prizes: ten thousand yuan for first place, five thousand for second, one thousand for third.

At that time, while workers’ wages were rising—over a hundred yuan a month was common—ten thousand was still an enormous sum.

As for whether the students’ designs might have technical flaws, the judges would screen them. And since the students could consult their instructors at any time, how wrong could the results be?

What Yu Xiangan wanted was a usable design. Even the prettiest blueprint was worthless if it couldn’t be built.

Once she submitted the site maps and measurements, the competition officially began. Posters went up on bulletin boards, and professors mentioned it in class.

The response was overwhelming—far more than expected.

So many entries poured in that the first round of screening eliminated a large portion.

Even second-year students protested to their teachers: why couldn’t they join? They wanted a chance to try too.

Their foundations weren’t as strong as the upperclassmen’s, of course. When Yu Xiangan was asked about it, she smiled and said, “There’ll be other chances. This won’t be the last one.”

It was hardly a small project. When Liu Mingyue heard about it, she came over with some water-chestnut cakes she’d made herself and teased, “You really are generous, huh? If you’ve got that much money lying around, come find me next time—I can definitely put it to use.”

Yu Xiangan speared a piece of cake with a bamboo pick and tasted it. “I’ve got my reasons. Ever heard of spending a fortune to buy fame? I want my juniors to know me, to see that I’m generous. If they ever think about future jobs, they’ll think of coming to work with me.”

Liu Mingyue laughed. “How is it? That’s the best batch I’ve ever made. Delicious, right? I knew there had to be a deeper motive. Well, you’ll get what you want. Job placements aren’t what they used to be—more and more of the younger students are choosing private companies. After all, every official post is already filled, and no one’s retiring anytime soon. There’s no room for newcomers.”

It was true that private firms lacked the ironclad security of government positions, but they had their perks—higher pay, more flexibility, and fewer rigid rules. For those with ambition and ideas, it was a good path.

Liu Mingyue herself no longer had the courage to take that leap again, but it didn’t stop her from admiring her former classmate who had. “Back when you resigned, who would’ve guessed you’d get this far? Remember how everyone tried to talk you out of it? Now no one dares say it was a mistake. And when you donated those books last year, everyone was singing your praises.”

As reform continued and policies stayed open, prejudice against entrepreneurs faded. Money’s influence grew; society was beginning to believe that wealth was power. People laughed at poverty, not ambition.

“So,” Liu Mingyue said, smiling, “besides the design competition, what else brings you back this time?”

🌱🌿 🫧🍃