Chapter Two: It Is Crying

The boundless cotton fields stretched as far as the eye could see, with the graceful silhouettes of cotton plants swaying gently in every direction. The scenery of the Northwest possessed a unique flavor, one that defied description unless experienced firsthand.

The moment a voice sounded, Zhong Di had already turned his head. Approaching him was a group of six. Their position was rather awkward—if someone approached from this direction, they wouldn't notice them until they were quite close.

Zhong Di recognized the two men leading the group.

One was Zhang Shihua, the general manager of Chenghua Agriculture. In his early twenties and freshly graduated, he had returned home to gradually take over the family business. While his peers were still striving to become ordinary office workers, enduring endless overtime, some people had already become general managers of a subsidiary of a conglomerate.

The other was Wang Bo, Chenghua Agriculture’s senior agricultural technician. Zhong Di wasn’t sure about his technical prowess, but most of the company’s important decisions were essentially made by him.

“Director Zhang, Master Wang.”

Wang Lu stepped to Zhong Di’s side and nudged him with his elbow, greeting them first—a subtle reminder to Zhong Di that, in such situations, this was the proper way to address them.

Staring at the young general manager before him, Zhong Di found it hard to adjust his mindset and could barely manage a greeting.

“You just mentioned that the cotton is showing signs of water deficiency. On what basis are you making that judgment?”

As soon as Zhang Shihua noticed Zhong Di’s hesitation, he understood why Zhong Di hadn’t spoken. He could relate—after all, he was very young himself and did not dwell on such details.

Still, hearing someone his own age question him sparked a few thoughts. Although he was the son of the group’s largest shareholder, that didn’t mean Chenghua Agriculture would always bow to his will. His sudden appointment had ruffled many feathers.

“Just a feeling,” Zhong Di blurted out, immediately regretting his words. Perhaps it really was just a strange illusion—how could something so bizarre happen to him?

“A feeling? Are you trying to be funny?” Wang Bo couldn’t help but mock him the moment the words left Zhong Di’s mouth. It was, in his opinion, the best joke he’d heard all year—one that would provide him amusement for months to come.

“Master Wang, could you let him finish?” Zhang Shihua’s expression darkened. Wang Bo had overstepped many times, emboldened by Zhang’s youth. If there were a suitable replacement, Zhang would have already dismissed him.

“Yes… yes…” Wang Bo reined in his sarcasm, remaining a silent observer for the moment, though he was sure to seize any future opportunity to ridicule. As for Director Zhang, he just needed to keep up appearances; these young heirs never took production seriously and were always here just for show.

“Why do you feel that way?” Zhang Shihua pressed. Differences in opinion always had their reasons—this much his experience had taught him.

“I…” Zhong Di was about to admit he was just guessing when a wave of dizziness swept over him. The cotton before his eyes seemed to change, as though it was speaking directly to him.

It was that same sensation as before.

Quickly, Zhong Di confirmed this thought. This time, the feeling was far stronger; suddenly, his mind was flooded with information—the cotton itself was transmitting it to him.

After quickly sorting through these thoughts, Zhong Di knew what to say.

“The leaves of the cotton plants are wilting, indicating a lack of water within the plants. This could also be due to high temperatures, prompting a temporary self-adjustment by the cotton,” Zhong Di explained, squatting down to dig into the soil with his hand.

“Recently, the temperature has been excessive. Look here—the soil is sandy, which means it retains little water. Our drip irrigation system is fine in principle, but the problem lies in the watering cycle. Given the sand content and infiltration rate, the optimal schedule is watering once every four to six days, each session lasting twelve hours.

“Currently, we water once every seven to nine days, and each session lasts a full day and night. In this scenario, the cotton goes at least two days without sufficient water. Not only does this fail to lower costs, it also reduces yield.

“Of course, this advice applies to the present growth stage. Once the plants begin flowering and setting bolls, the irrigation cycle can be extended and water controlled accordingly.”

Zhong Di spoke with newfound composure, analyzing the situation logically. Everything he said came directly from the cotton’s messages, simply reorganized in his mind. He could see signals from the plants, which he guessed were behavioral cues—like how a sensitive plant folds its leaves when touched.

Usually, such information could only be discerned by analyzing symptoms, such as nitrogen deficiency manifesting specific signs. But Zhong Di could both see and interpret these cues.

Zhang Shihua nodded. Though he wasn’t an expert, Zhong Di’s clear and logical explanation lent credibility to his words.

“What does this have to do with controlling red spider mites? Even if you’re right and we need to adjust irrigation, that’s no reason to dismiss my recommendation to use avermectin and dicofol,” Wang Bo objected. If he didn’t speak up now, he might lose face in front of Zhang Shihua.

The irrigation issue had always existed and was hard to resolve—some funds had even been embezzled, and Wang Bo himself had been involved. Furthermore, his brother-in-law ran an agrochemical chain, and Chenghua was a major client. Thanks to him, his brother-in-law’s business thrived, and Wang Bo received generous kickbacks. The more pesticides and fertilizers they used, the better for everyone—or at least for him.

“While water deficiency isn’t the direct cause of red spider mite outbreaks, it greatly influences their occurrence. Historical data shows that these pests thrive in high-temperature, arid conditions. In such environments, their reproduction rate is at its peak.

“With adequate irrigation, we can keep the fields moist and lower the temperature, significantly reducing the likelihood of infestations. Even if we still need to spray, we’ll at least halve the cost. This is just a matter of adjusting our irrigation schedule.

“And right now, the cotton is suffering from drought, not in need of water restriction. Our priority should be to water, not spray pesticides.”

Zhong Di’s tone was sharp, leaving Wang Bo no room to save face. Previously, he would never have dared speak so boldly, but having confirmed he could perceive the plants’ signals, he had gained new confidence.

Within moments, Wang Bo was left speechless, and Wang Lu was even more stunned.

As for Zhang Shihua, his lack of expertise kept him from overanalyzing and instead, he began sizing Zhong Di up.

They all knew the conditions under which red spider mites proliferate. Why hadn’t they applied this knowledge here before? Why rely on pesticides when irrigation could solve the problem? And more importantly, adjusting the watering schedule wouldn’t bring him or his brother-in-law any extra profit. Only by using more chemicals could they maximize their earnings.

“Very well, Uncle Liu, make a note of this. Adjust according to this plan,” Zhang Shihua decided. This was a moment to show resolve.

“Director Zhang, while adjusting the irrigation will reduce risks, it won’t eradicate red spider mites. If there’s an outbreak later…” Wang Bo protested.

“If there are any problems, I’ll take responsibility. Master Wang, if I’m not mistaken, our agricultural supplies come from Xinrong Agrochemicals, don’t they?”

From the moment he joined the company, Zhang Shihua had investigated every level of Chenghua Agriculture and was aware of these issues. He had been waiting for the right moment to act, and now that it had come, he wasn’t about to let go.

“Director Zhang, give me three days. I’ll resolve this issue. Please continue your inspection—I’ll take care of this right away.” Despite the sweltering heat, cold sweat broke out on Wang Bo’s back. This Director Zhang was clearly different from the typical privileged heir.

“May I know your name?” Zhang Shihua asked Zhong Di. While it would be ideal to resolve these internal issues, he knew it would take time. For now, he was more interested in the man before him.

At that moment, Zhong Di was studying the cotton plants, discovering that the more he focused, the more he seemed to understand them. It was extraordinary.

“Zhong Di… Zhong Di, Director Zhang is speaking to you,” Wang Lu prompted, noticing his apprentice lost in thought. This young man had truly startled him—it was as if he’d been possessed by some agricultural savant.

What was done was done. All Wang Lu could do now was accept it, and perhaps teach him even more. Who knew—he might have a prodigy under his wing.

Hearing his mentor call, Zhong Di finally looked up and gazed calmly at Director Zhang.

Zhang Shihua smiled faintly and asked gently, “Zhong Di, is it? What’s your current monthly salary?”

Such quirks didn’t bother Zhang Shihua—talented people often had their eccentricities. He needed capable men, not mere yes-men.

“Two thousand six hundred during the internship, three thousand five when I’m permanent, plus standard insurance and housing fund.” Zhong Di replied instinctively, then immediately returned his attention to the cotton. He couldn’t help it—the plants seemed to be weeping.

No, this was absurd. He must be hallucinating. He had to snap out of it.

“Uncle Liu, promote him immediately. Salary to four thousand five, insurance and housing fund as per standard, and award a year-end bonus,” Zhang Shihua decided after brief consideration.

Liu Mingliang, standing nearby, was momentarily stunned. “Director Zhang, that’s not appropriate—he doesn’t even have a junior technician’s certificate. And the year-end bonus is unheard of…”

With the full package, the monthly income would reach seven or eight thousand—almost at the level of a mid-level technician.

“Is there a problem with my instructions? If not, carry them out. I’ll handle any issues.”

“No… no problem,” Liu Mingliang stammered. As head of finance, he would process whatever Director Zhang ordered. He had only questioned it because it seemed so unbelievable.

“Actually… I’d like to resign. There’s no need to adjust my salary.”