Chapter 363: I Wasn

With Thunder's final roar, several thick bolts of lightning shot from its body, striking the four corners of the arena and exploding into dazzling flashes of electric sparks, while at the same time, the giant simulation array was activated.

No wonder they had Thunder handle the event and control the scene—those lightning bolts, if not controlled by it, might have struck the stands and caused chaos.

The lightning bolts weren't just for crowd control—they were the means to activate the giant simulation array. The entire arena lit up, layer upon layer of illusions appearing, while Thunder vanished as the array ignited, slipping away without a sound.

Yet its voice still echoed through the arena: "Ladies and gentlemen, some of you are old friends of the Grain Seed Competition, but many are newcomers. Let me briefly explain the competition rules."

"What you see before you now are the teams that have passed rigorous selection to enter the Grain Seed Competition. Through data recorded by monitoring devices, we can recreate the entire process—from planting to harvest—in this simulation array."

"Now presenting the Southern Porcupine Team, a brand-new team from the southern swamps, cultivating swamp rice—a special variety of rice that thrives in harsh environments, yielding one harvest per year at 450 jin per mu."

The large simulation array displayed effects closer to a dwarf's War God Chessboard. Everyone stared at the arena, where a life-sized swamp environment materialized, complete with wind, rain, sunrise, and sunset—all rendered identically, only accelerated hundreds of times.

Spectators could witness at least half a month of crop growth in mere moments: from nothing to sprouting, growing, flowering, and fruiting—all without enduring the hardships of sun and wind, making the joy of harvest even more intense.

Some people could watch others harvest corn for hours—how much more captivating would this visually stunning scene be?

Throughout the process, Thunder's voice occasionally spoke, perfectly explaining changes laypeople couldn't understand—such as ear formation and grain filling, how fertilization caused recent changes, or how frost would trigger different effects.

Without expert commentary, some changes would leave viewers utterly confused.

Finally, the crops in the simulation array bore abundant fruit, while a column of light rose upward, culminating in the words "450 jin" appearing at its peak.

Now everyone understood—it was a yield bar chart.

"That's kind of low—only 450 jin? Can this even make the finals?" A murmur of discussion rose from the contestant area.

"Didn't you hear the introduction? It thrives in swamp conditions—450 jin is plenty. In swamps, you're lucky to grow grass."

"Also, did you notice the dates? July to October—that's four months. In southern climates, crops should yield two harvests in four months. There's still room to improve. Two harvests a year, 900 jin total—that's impressive."

"You can think of it, but others can too—there must be some limitation."

In a corner of the contestant area, several elderly farmers sat restlessly, beads of sweat forming on their brows as they listened to their peers' comments.

Kuba Da, that one looked like a farmer, that one too—nearly every contestant here bore the same rough, calloused appearance of old farmers, sun-darkened and indistinguishable in demeanor—impossible to tell apart.

Ang's group was by far the most unusual.

Ang walked up to the several contestants and pulled out a sack of magic crystals: "Buy, grain seed."

The restless contestants looked up, bewildered, staring at Ang—what did he mean?

Their gazes fell on the sack in Ang's hand. Once they saw what was inside, their breathing quickened involuntarily.

The sack contained roughly a hundred magic crystals.

Though Meishencheng routinely handled tens of thousands of magic crystals, their actual value was extremely high.

One hundred magic crystals equaled a thousand gold coins—under normal grain prices, enough to buy one hundred tons of grain.

This year's famine had distorted prices, but two years ago, silver coins had been exchanged at one magic crystal per ton to sell one hundred tons of grain to Ice City.

The world's population was sparse; even small rural estates cost no more than two hundred magic crystals. Here, before these contestants, lay enough magic crystals to buy half an estate.

Though they were contestants, their clothing and jewelry revealed their poverty—farmers had no money; only landowners did.

Moreover, their village lay deep in the southern swamps, with little arable land—without cultivating swamp rice, their village couldn't even feed itself.

They'd come to the competition only after an invitation from Qunxing, with all travel and lodging paid by Qunxing Academy—they'd never seen so many magic crystals in their lives and were stunned.

Ang didn't know how much to pay for grain seed. Seeing them frozen, he pulled his hand back.

The contestants' eyes remained locked on the magic crystals, their faces flickering with confusion, disappointment, regret, and frustration.

A hundred magic crystals could buy their village many bolts of cloth, medicine, needles and thread, hoes and tools—children wouldn't have to run barefoot, not even noticing leeches clinging to their genitals.

Yet those magic crystals slipped away before their eyes…

Ang retracted his hand, flipped it, and now held two sacks—he extended them again: "Buy, grain seed."

The contestants froze again, but now they understood Ang's intent—he wanted to buy their swamp rice seed for two sacks of magic crystals.

Swamp rice wasn't rare—villages and tribes across the southern swamps all grew it; theirs just yielded slightly more.

But they'd assumed high yield meant prestige—until they arrived at the Grain Seed Competition and realized their yield was nothing. The previous champion had surpassed a thousand jin.

If they could trade a common, unremarkable seed for two hundred magic crystals, this deal was too good to pass up.

The eldest contestant took a deep breath, ready to accept—when Ang pulled his hand back again.

That "retraction" nearly stole their hearts; they instinctively leaned forward, as if ready to lunge.

Ang flipped his hand once more—now a third sack appeared: "Buy, grain seed."

The eldest contestant could no longer sit. He stood, gripping Ang's wrist: "Sell."

He pulled a grain sack from his chest, filled with roughly one jin of swamp rice seed.

The old farmer finally understood what Ang was doing—Ang was bidding. Because they hesitated twice, the price rose twice.

In that instant, the old farmer thought: If I hesitate again, will it rise another hundred?

He dared not think it further—he dared not gamble. What if Ang's hand didn't come back? They'd lose even the current price.

One sack had already surpassed his mental price limit; three sacks had stunned him. He dared not be greedy. He dared not gamble.

Nageleisi flew over, laughing and scowling at Ang: "You moved too fast—I didn't even react, and you've already given away three sacks! You don't run business like this! You're a wasteful skeleton!"

But the deal was done. He couldn't object, so he muttered: "Tell me what else you want to buy—I'll negotiate. You're terrible at business—you're bleeding money."

Ang tilted his head: "Silver coins."

Nageleisi paused, then understood—nearly spat blood. At this moment, mentioning silver coins meant: "Business? Silver coins work. You? You don't."

"Even the worst merchant is better than you!" Nageleisi roared. Kuba Da, this damn skeleton had learned to insult people with passive aggression.

As he cursed, the contestants who'd received the money whispered excitedly among themselves. One of the youngest, trembling with joy, asked the old farmer: "Village chief, village chief, so much money! Can I get a pair of shoes?"

"Haha, of course! This much can buy shoes for everyone in the village. After the competition, we'll go buy them."

Nageleisi heard their conversation and glanced down at their feet—each contestant wore straw sandals.

Nageleisi's heart trembled. Just moments ago, he'd scolded Ang for wasting money—but now he couldn't bring himself to complain. Were they really this poor?

A farmer who cultivated a 450-jin high-yield crop couldn't even afford shoes?

That didn't make sense. Landlords and nobles who didn't labor were carried everywhere—yet hardworking farmers went barefoot?

Shouldn't it be the other way around? Shouldn't farmers live in grand estates and ride luxurious carriages? Their grain seeds were clearly valuable!

Look at Ang—he's already sold over ten million magic crystals' worth of grain this year alone, not counting other invisible gains.

Nageleisi suddenly didn't think Ang was wasteful. Didn't the farmers' time, effort, and knowledge deserve more than a few hundred magic crystals?

The Grain Seed Competition continued. The second team took the stage.

"Now presenting the Fatso Farming Team, cultivating wheat, yielding 530 jin per mu. The Fatso Farming Team hails from…"

"Next is the Kobold Team, cultivating rice, yielding 560 jin per mu. The Kobold Team consists entirely of humans with no blood relation to kobolds; they come from the grasslands…"

"Following is the Overfed Team, cultivating wheat, yielding 612 jin per mu. The Overfed Team hails from Steelbone Domain; their greatest wish is to eat until they're full—our collective wish. May all of you eat until you're full…"

As team after team presented, spectators realized the order was strictly by yield—from lowest to highest. This meant the later teams would have higher yields.

Everyone's anticipation soared to its peak.

Ang bought every rare seed he encountered, but most were wheat and rice—none matched the seeds in his possession, so few were worth purchasing.

This disappointed many. When Ang bought swamp rice, many contestants had watched closely, thinking they'd found a wealthy patron ready to be fleeced—only to discover Ang didn't even glance at wheat or rice, crops with far higher yields!

"Isn't this discrimination? He spent three sacks on swamp rice, but our seeds yield more—why won't he even ask? Are you looking down on us?"

"Exactly! My rice yields over 610 jin per mu—he didn't even look! How insulting!"

"Either buy them all or none at all—why just swamp rice? It's unfair!"

"Cough, cough—this is the contestant area. Everyone here is a competing team. So far, none of them have been displayed. Could they also be growing rice or wheat—with yields higher than ours?"

"Uh…"

"Uh…"

One clear-headed person spoke—and the noisy crowd fell silent.

Right—if they were also growing rice or wheat and hadn't appeared yet, their yield must be higher than ours. Why would they sell their seeds?

As the lineup neared its end, yield jumped dramatically from 820 jin: "Next presenting the Elven Seedling Team, cultivating Elven Rice—a refined rice variety, yielding 1, 20 jin per mu…"

"Whoa!" A roar erupted from both audience and contestant areas—Elves? Elves were participating in the Grain Seed Competition?

What were Elves? Spirits of nature, nature's darlings, children of the realm. They needed no cultivation to live in abundance—yet when they farmed, deserts turned to fertile land.

Among Druids, Elves were the most numerous. Elven Druids were so renowned that many equated Druids with Elves—mention Druids, and people thought of Elves.

This changed only after the arrival of the Great Spring Druid. After the competition was named after him, Great Spring Druid's fame spread far and wide.

Yet no one dared underestimate Elves or doubt their ability to breed superior seeds—most simply assumed they were too proud to join.

No one expected the proud Elves to appear silently at the Grain Seed Competition—and immediately unveil a seed yielding 1, 20 jin per mu.

The previous champion record, set by Master Du Binqi, stood at just over 1, 00 jin.

The Elves had raised it by over 200 jin. If Du Binqi had no higher-yielding seed, then for the next two years, the championship crown would rest on the Elves' heads.

No one knew the order of appearance or who else was competing—so the situation turned delicate.

Had Du Binqi not appeared because he wasn't competing this year? Or because his seed yield surpassed the Elves'? Was his turn still coming?

The answer came swiftly. After the Elves' presentation, Thunder's voice rang out: "Next presenting Master Du Binqi's Team, cultivating Du Binqi High-Yield Rice, yielding 1, 00 jin per mu!"

The arena erupted in a roar of astonishment and cheers—astonishment at the 1, 00-jin figure.

In just two years, Master Du Binqi had increased his thousand-jin seed by nearly 400 jin—yielding a two-thirds increase. No wonder he was the champion—the first in history to break the 1, 00-jin barrier.

The cheers, of course, were for humanity's triumph over the Elves. The Elves had raised the record by 200 jin—but humanity had shattered it.

Everyone watched the simulation illusions eagerly, afraid to miss a single detail.

Yet in the Southern Porcupine Team, the young farmer who'd wanted shoes suddenly realized something. He whispered to the village chief: "Chief, chief—the man who bought our seed—he hasn't appeared yet. Could he be coming later?"

The chief shook his head: "Impossible! Later means their yield exceeds Master Du Binqi's—over 1, 00 jin per mu. How could that be? We're grateful he paid so much for our seed, but higher than Du Binqi's? Unthinkable."

In the VIP section nearby, Du Binqi and his students wiped sweat from their brows. Thank goodness they'd used extra measures—otherwise, they'd have lost.

Even if they hadn't lost to the academy's simulated record-holder, they'd have lost to these sudden Elves. What madness—why were Elves even here?

As he thought this, Du Binqi turned his gaze toward the nearby box, where a curvaceous Elven lady leaned against the railing, gazing blankly at the contestant area.

The contestants would be assigned to the contestant area, but those with money could buy their own private boxes and sit in the VIP section; Du Binqi and the Elf had both paid for themselves.

Du Binqi speculated: "Could it be that she's upset about losing and is looking for the person who defeated her?"

"She probably thinks I'm in the contestant area, constantly glancing that way—should I go over and strike up a conversation? Tell her it was me who defeated the Elf, then invite her to my room to discuss breeding techniques in depth? But I heard the Elf is very pure; she probably wouldn't casually 'discuss' or 'breed' with just anyone."

Just as Du Binqi was lost in daydreams, Lei Ting's voice rang out again: "Next, we welcome the Salted Fish Team! They have cultivated..."

Hearing this, Du Binqi's mind exploded: "I'm not even the last team?"

PS: On the last day of this year, I'm posting early—wishing everyone a happy new year, free of bad luck, and blessed with fortune next year.