Chapter 630: Who Is the Real Target?

Yi Xiaoling and Mo Qianlan simultaneously turned their gazes toward the entrance, where a neatly dressed, cleanly groomed boy walked into the vegetable shed.

“Hmm… you’re right, fluorescent lights can indeed promote crop growth, but the biggest problem we’re facing right now is temperature. Uh… who are you?”

Yi Xiaoling looked at the boy with slight confusion, feeling entirely unfamiliar with him.

Wang Zhetao scratched the back of his head sheepishly, nodded to Mo Qianlan beside him, and said, “My name is Wang Zhetao. I’m a new survivor who arrived on the mountain a few days ago. My father is Wang Guangjun; we live at Wangshan Guesthouse. Today I had no outside assignment, so Brother Su sent me to help with farm work.”

After speaking, Wang Zhetao smiled broadly.

“Oh, I’ve heard of you and Uncle Wang.”

Yi Xiaoling suddenly remembered—she’d heard about him during past conversations—and began to study Wang Zhetao more closely.

To be honest, it had been a long time since she’d seen a boy so clean—not only was his clothing neat, his face was fresh, and most importantly, his hair had been deliberately styled. He looked bright and cheerful overall.

“Hello.”

Mo Qianlan offered a faint smile by way of greeting, then returned to her work.

Like Yi Xiaoling, she also found Wang Zhetao bright and clean-looking—not handsome by any stretch, but already better than most men in the camp. Still, she had no interest in him, because she remembered her mother mentioning minor details from past outside missions, some of which involved Wang Zhetao—and the evaluation wasn’t good…

Most crucially, she already knew about the past between her mother and his father.

As a daughter, she wished her mother happiness, but her acceptance of the Wang father-son duo could only be described as lukewarm.

Wang Zhetao sensed Yi Xiaoling and Mo Qianlan weren’t warm toward him, but it didn’t matter—he rolled up his sleeves neatly and said, “You two clearly know your way around farming. I only have theoretical knowledge. Whatever tasks you need done, just tell me. If I don’t know how, teach me—I learn quickly.”

Yi Xiaoling and Mo Qianlan exchanged glances. There was plenty of farm work to do, but they didn’t really want Wang Zhetao doing it—he clearly didn’t look like someone who worked.

Both of them wore aprons, arm guards, gloves, and rubber boots, their clothes still stained with dirt from the pigpen. In contrast, Wang Zhetao was spotless—why would anyone come to a vegetable shed to do farm work looking like this, as if preparing for a gathering?

Who’d believe he had no ulterior motives?

“Hmm… do you know how to pollinate cucumber vines?”

Still, Yi Xiaoling didn’t turn him away—he’d said himself that their leader had sent him to help with farm work; how could she casually send him off?

Wang Zhetao naturally knew nothing about professional farming, but with Yi Xiaoling’s help, he quickly picked it up—there wasn’t much technical skill involved, just repeatedly dipping cucumber flowers into the solution, requiring only perseverance and patience.

This solution had been mixed by Ma Changshou, but he had since left his role as agricultural advisor to oversee the river channel renovation project in Xidaying Village.

“Sister Xiao, not only are you highly skilled yourself, but you teach so well too—what could possibly stump you?… Am I doing this right?”

Wang Zhetao praised Yi Xiaoling as he worked.

Mo Qianlan was busy on the other side, but the quiet environment made it easy to hear their conversation—she couldn’t help but smile wryly.

Young girls are cunning little things—they understand plenty. She instantly grasped Wang Zhetao’s intent: he was here to court Senior Sister!

After a barrage of exaggerated flattery, Yi Xiaoling did feel a bit dizzy—but she quickly snapped back to sense, realizing this guy was smooth-talking and had no good intentions.

Her life was now stable, her companion was incredibly strong, and even if she’d chosen another path, she already had a target—she had no spare time at all. Facing Wang Zhetao’s advances, she simply smiled and said, “Mm, good, you’ve learned it.”

With that, she brushed off the dust on her clothes and called to Mo Qianlan, who was weeding and fertilizing the vegetables: “Lanlan, you two keep working—I’ll go check on the fruit trees and fish pond.”

Mo Qianlan, busy with her weeding, nodded without much thought: “Alright, Sister Xiao, go ahead.”

*Snap.* A soft sound as Yi Xiaoling pushed open the door and left the shed.

Wang Zhetao, who had been diligently dipping cucumber flowers, immediately brightened at the sound of the door. His gaze involuntarily flickered toward the figure hidden among the green leaves at the field’s edge. The silence lasted less than two minutes before Wang Zhetao casually remarked, “Little Lan, I remember you’re Miss Tan’s daughter, right?”

Mo Qianlan, absorbed in her work, paused at Wang Zhetao’s words, then nodded: “Mm.”

“Sigh… come to think of it, we’re both in the same boat.”

Suddenly, Wang Zhetao let out a heavy sigh, his tone brimming with sorrow.

Mo Qianlan felt confused, turned her head toward the figure among the cucumber vines, and though she didn’t want to speak, curiosity drove her to ask: “How are we in the same boat?”

“After the disaster, my father went to great lengths to save me, and Miss Tan braved hardship to save you—we’re both pitiful people who waited to be rescued. Isn’t that the same suffering?”

Wang Zhetao’s mournful tone and low voice conveyed a sense of being utterly lost—yet finding a kindred spirit.

Any other woman in the camp would have felt little special emotion hearing Wang Zhetao’s words. Someone like Zheng Xinyu or Zhang Ya, more fiery, might even retort.

But Mo Qianlan was different. His words stirred memories of the unbearable past inside Jinyuan Mall, of her grandfather who died there—and her eyes instantly welled up.

And just then, a pack of tissues appeared at her tearful corner.

“Little Lan, you’re strong—I truly admire you.”

Wang Zhetao’s voice rose with conviction, his gaze fixed intently on her.

If Zhang Su were here, he’d surely give Wang Zhetao a thumbs-up—this line delivery and expression were perfectly matched, the work of a seasoned player!

Phrases like “Don’t be sad,” “Things will get better,” or “You must be strong” were pathetic compared to Wang Zhetao’s praise and affirmation—his words delivered less than one-tenth the emotional impact!

A reasoned compliment, paired with recognition and affirmation, combined with a gaze utterly free of malice, could shatter a person’s psychological defenses!

“I have tissues, thank you.”

Yet Mo Qianlan was not broken. She firmly refused his gesture, removed her gloves, and pulled a strip of toilet paper from her pocket.

She’d almost taken his tissue—such a small act seemed trivial, but it could plant a seed in the soul, one that, once sprouted, would grow unstoppable.

Wang Zhetao didn’t hesitate—he swiftly retracted the tissues, acting perfectly normal: “You know about the relationship between my father and Miss Tan… hmm… I think we shouldn’t be so distant. Why don’t I call you little sister? I’m just a brother with no real power or status in the camp—I can only help you weed and pull grass.”

As he spoke, he casually plucked a clump of weeds from the field and tossed them aside, with no trace of performance—as if it were pure emotion.

Mo Qianlan looked down at Wang Zhetao, and suddenly a figure flashed through her mind—Lu Yubo. This reaction turned her face pale.

She had little romantic experience, but she’d read many novels and watched many films—she knew exactly what it meant when she compared a partner to someone else.

“No, that wouldn’t be right—it might cause misunderstandings!”

Mo Qianlan firmly rejected Wang Zhetao’s suggestion. She sensed something off—wasn’t his target Yi Xiaoling? She wouldn’t interfere in her mother’s love life, nor did she have the right to—but her own emotional life was hers to control. She loved Lu Yubo, and they were happy together—she didn’t want anyone intruding.

Wang Zhetao stood up, curious: “I’m six or seven years older than you. If—if my dad and your mom get together, what else would I be but your brother? Where’s the misunderstanding?”

Mo Qianlan fell silent. His logic seemed flawless—yes, the son of a stepfather was indeed an older brother…

But she still resisted. Yet if that day ever came, she’d eventually have to call him brother—or her mother would suffer. She sighed weakly: “Fine. I’ll call you Brother Xiaotao.”

“Mm, right. I’ll call you Little Lan. So, Little Lan, is there any farm work today you need me to help with?”

Wang Zhetao pointed at the vegetable field with righteous sincerity—as if he were utterly not here to court anyone, his face clearly reading: I’m truly working!

(End of Chapter)