Chapter Three: Homecoming

In Zhong Di’s eyes, the vast fields of cotton seemed to be watching him, weeping ceaselessly, their sorrow spreading like a tide. They revealed their unhappiness with the way they were managed, conveying a sense of utter joylessness. After confirming several times, he was certain he could “see” the cotton crying. If every day was to be like this, how miserable would that be—imagine witnessing cotton cry every day! This, above all, was why he wanted to resign.

Zhang Shihua was a little surprised, his expression tinged with displeasure. Though he hadn’t encountered much in life, he’d heard of similar situations—raising demands at the last moment, which wasn’t uncommon. “Is it the salary you’re dissatisfied with?” he asked.

Zhong Di, seeing Zhang Shihua’s expression, immediately guessed his thoughts and hurriedly shook his head. It wasn’t as if he could tell him the real reason—that he was leaving to avoid seeing cotton cry every day! “No, that’s not it. I truly want to resign.” As for the reason, he would never say. Otherwise, he might be regarded as mentally unstable. He wouldn’t bother making excuses—resignation was resignation; what need for elaborate explanations?

Most people quit because they’re unhappy or underpaid, but his reason was unique, and not something to announce to the world.

“Leave your contact information. If you don’t find suitable work, you can always come back.” Zhang Shihua’s voice softened. Zhong Di nodded—after all, it was just a resignation, not a feud. They exchanged contacts, just in case their paths crossed again.

“Uncle Liu, settle his wages, and add three thousand to the original amount,” Zhang Shihua said, then left, not even glancing at the bewildered Uncle Liu.

In such situations, persuasion was useless—the ones who are meant to leave will leave. Zhang Shihua understood this well; in society, farewells are the norm.

Checking Zhong Di’s employment records, Uncle Liu paid him a total of three thousand two hundred sixty yuan. Zhong Di didn’t refuse—if they were willing to pay extra, why object? With his recent suggestion, if implemented, it could save Chenghua Agriculture countless costs. He didn’t see it as charity; it was what he deserved.

Once everything was settled, Master Wang Lu tossed him a bottle of water and patted his shoulder. “Zhong Di, there’s no need for farewells. I don’t know your reason for leaving, but it’s your choice. As adults, we take responsibility for ourselves. Stay in touch, and if you have any questions, you can always ask me.”

“Mm, I definitely will. Thank you for everything, Master.”

“No need for sentimentality. When are you leaving?”

“Now.”

…

After packing, Zhong Di didn’t linger. He headed straight home; his family lived nearby. A coach ride and a transfer or two—just a couple of hours.

After graduation, half his classmates stayed to strive in big cities; the other half returned to their hometowns. Zhong Di chose a city close to home—a compromise. It also fit with his girlfriend Wen Ya’s belief that one should fight for success outside. She’d wanted him to stay in Kulun and build his career.

Kulun was prosperous, but it didn’t offer the job Zhong Di wanted, so he opted for Chongyang, a slightly lesser city.

As soon as he boarded the coach, Zhong Di dialed Wen Ya’s number—it was only right to inform her of his resignation.

The call connected, and a gentle voice came through, “Zhong Di, what is it? I’m out shopping right now.”

“Wen Ya, whose call is that?” Another man’s voice could be heard in the background.

“My boyfriend, don’t speak for now,” Wen Ya’s voice, soft and low, was clearly a quiet explanation to the person beside her.

“He’s a colleague, Sun Li. We’re both off today, so he invited me out to strengthen our camaraderie,” Wen Ya continued, still gentle.

Zhong Di felt a flash of irritation—he didn’t believe the whole “colleague bonding” story, but he trusted Wen Ya; it was just shopping, nothing more.

He had something else to say, so he didn’t dwell on it. “Wen Ya, I resigned,” he said in a burst of resolve.

“You resigned? Are you planning to work in Kulun? I can introduce you to a good job here—after a year, the monthly salary is around eight thousand,” Wen Ya replied, clearly excited.

“I’m planning to go home and manage an orchard…”

“You mean, you still want to cultivate that barren land?” Wen Ya’s gentle tone sharpened, cutting off Zhong Di before he finished.

“Barren land? That’s my dream—to tend a plot, weed, raise chickens, and research technology that could benefit Greater China. To contribute to society while living warmly—doesn’t that sound wonderful?” Zhong Di’s original plan was to enter production, gain experience, and gradually realize his dream.

But ever since he discovered his ability to perceive the feelings of plants, his plans quietly changed. Now, with mechanized, standardized farming everywhere, no one seemed to care about the plants themselves. If he hadn’t sensed their sadness, perhaps he would have stuck to his old plan. But since he could feel it, he refused to remain in such an environment. He wanted to create a paradise for plants, where he wouldn’t have to see them cry.

While Zhong Di pondered, silence stretched on the other end of the line. Neither spoke; both needed time to cool off.

“Let’s break up,” said a cold voice suddenly, nothing like the gentle Wen Ya he knew. Zhong Di’s mind went blank.

“Why?” he finally managed after a long silence.

“No reason. You like the peace of small towns, I prefer the vibrancy of big cities. You go out wearing clothes that cost just a few dozen yuan, but I can’t—I need to wear designer brands as much as possible. We’re just not suited for each other.” Wen Ya’s voice was brittle, as if on the verge of collapse. She finished quickly and hung up.

So this was what she’d really wanted to say?

But living in a small city didn’t mean you couldn’t earn money! You could have both income and warmth—wasn’t that good enough?

Panicked, Zhong Di quickly dialed Wen Ya’s number again. After several rings, he got the “on another call” tone—she’d hung up on him. He dialed a few more times, and only on the ninth attempt did the call go through.

“Can’t you stop pestering Ya Ya? What can a pauper like you give her? To tell you the truth, I’m out with her on a date today,” Sun Li’s voice came through, lingering in Zhong Di’s ears like a haunting echo.

A date? A date?

Zhong Di stared blankly at the back of the seat in front of him, clutching his phone in silence.

Suddenly, a waft of fragrance passed by, and the phone was snatched from his hand. A passenger with an exquisitely beautiful face took his phone and pressed it to her ear.

“Oh? What classic Louis Vuitton handbag is so cheap, only eight thousand yuan? It must be a knockoff, right?” The woman spoke calmly into the phone. Having witnessed the scene, she could no longer tolerate it.

“Who are you? Where’s Zhong Di? What Louis Vuitton handbag—it’s LV, LV classic, got it?” Sun Li’s words were agitated, clearly unable to accept anyone calling his purchase counterfeit.

“If you don’t even know Louis Vuitton, how dare you show off? LV is short for Louis Vuitton, founded in 1854, a renowned brand. For over 150 years, it has upheld the philosophy of exquisite craftsmanship, quality, and comfort as the core premise of its design.” The woman’s tone was cool.

“If you can’t grasp the basics, spare us your pitiful superiority. Pass on my message to Wen Ya: Zhong Di doesn’t need a girlfriend like her.” With that, she hung up and handed the phone back to Zhong Di, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

“Um… sorry, I just couldn’t help myself,” she apologized after ending the call.

“It’s… alright,” Zhong Di replied. Honestly, the moment he heard Sun Li’s voice—and Wen Ya’s lack of explanation—he’d already given up. Perhaps this was the best ending.

“Don’t do anything rash. With a girlfriend like that, you don’t need to be sincere,” the woman said, worried he might do something drastic.

“In the adult world, people aren’t so fragile. But you—how do you know so much about Louis Vuitton?”

He didn’t need her comfort; he’d already made peace with it. Rather than tormenting each other, it was better to part early. He felt no resentment; in matters of the heart, there’s no right or wrong—just as Wen Ya said, they were simply incompatible.

“Me? I just know a bit. Actually, I can’t afford such expensive handbags. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be taking the coach,” she laughed.

“Let’s not talk about that. Let’s get to know each other. I’m Su Rou, twenty-two, living in the development zone south of Kulun. What about you?”

“Twenty-three, Zhong Di, from Lingjing Village, Shache County—not far from the development zone south of Kulun, just half an hour along National Highway 136.”

They chatted away, and before they knew it, they arrived in Kulun. After getting off, they exchanged contacts and went their separate ways—Su Rou headed home, and Zhong Di waited for another coach.

Kulun, as a prefecture-level city, was well-developed, on par with any third-tier city, but it didn’t hold much attraction for Zhong Di; it wasn’t the life he sought.

Heading south along National Highway 136, Zhong Di’s mood was mixed, his gaze fixed on the scenery outside the window.

Much of the northwest was desert, and even this highway was built across sand. Kulun was an oasis, as was Shache County, but between the two lay a modest stretch of desert. Years of effort had improved it considerably.

From the window, he could see patches of thriving reeds and groves of poplar trees. Poplars, a northwest specialty, owed their status to their drought resistance.

It was July, and the poplar leaves were still green—not the best time for viewing. Come October, especially late October, their golden leaves would be a sight to behold.

Near the highway, an artificial canal ran between Kulun and Shache, built to ensure mutual support during water shortages.

Tall poplars lined the canal, pleasing to the eye—especially amid the endless sands, their beauty stood out all the more.

Enjoying the scenery, Zhong Di’s troubled heart lightened.

Seeing the familiar landscape, he knew he was almost home.

“Driver, please stop at the Lingjing Village entrance,” he called.

“Got it,” the driver replied.

After some distance, the coach rattled to a stop. Lingjing Village—home.

Zhong Di stepped off, luggage in hand, gazing at the familiar entrance, his heart flooded with emotion.