Chapter Fifty-One: The Protected Animal—Pallas’s Cat

Because the planting was done slowly, the entire herb garden was laid out with impressive neatness and thoughtful planning, even featuring a simple decorative design. All of this could be credited to Little Hua.

“Auntie, from now on, if there’s anything going on, I’ll let you know in advance. If you have the time, come over; if not, just let me know, all right?” As he was leaving, Zhong Di spoke to Zhang Xiaohua. It wasn’t ideal to always have his mother act as the messenger, and now that messaging apps were convenient, there was no need to bother her with it anymore.

“No problem. As long as you pay well, even if I can’t make it, I’ll find someone to handle it for you,” Zhang Xiaohua replied with a broad grin. Working for Zhong Di was easy and not exhausting, the meals were good, and most importantly, the pay was fair—she had to hold on to this job.

After sending off the ladies, the sky had yet to darken. Zhong Di and Shao Hong continued spraying foliar fertilizer until after ten o’clock at night before stopping. For the foliar fertilizer, Zhong Di used fermented manure, mixed with amino acids and some monopotassium phosphate. Aside from the monopotassium phosphate, everything else was organic.

Of course, Wildsand Fairy Sprout was an essential ingredient. This was something Zhong Di had decided earlier—no hormones or stimulants would be used. Normally, one would add gibberellin and brassinosteroids at this stage, along with some boron and magnesium fertilizers. Once the foliar spray was done, the next step would ensure the fruit set, and the fruitlets would be secure.

But Zhong Di wasn’t going to do it that way; however many fruit set would be left up to fate.

As the native chickens settled down for the night, Zhong Di and Shao Hong caught them all before finally resting. Securing them would be a task for later.

Both were exhausted from the day’s work; even Shao Hong, usually so robust, felt his arms aching.

After throwing together a simple dinner, the two collapsed onto their beds.

“Let’s play PUBG. I’ve got good news for you,” Zhong Di suggested, realizing he hadn’t played in a while and missed that sense of excitement—what exactly was missing? It was his own invincible gameplay, the kind that could win chicken dinners.

“I don’t want to hear any good news. I’d rather sleep,” Shao Hong retorted. After a whole day’s work, who could handle coming home only to be dragged into Zhong Di’s antics?

“Are you sure you don’t want to hear it?” Zhong Di pressed, just to be sure.

“Fine, log on. I’ll help you win a chicken dinner.” After a moment’s hesitation, Shao Hong opened the game. The prospect of some good news was tempting enough to listen.

What followed was a fierce battle, a half-hour of “earth-shattering” action.

“Enough already! What’s the good news? Tell me!” Lying on his bed, Shao Hong felt as if he’d come back from a real war. He’d thought telling Zhong Di to play it safe and let him handle things would work, but then Zhong Di misfired and exposed them both. It ended up two against two; he’d wanted Zhong Di to throw a smoke grenade at his feet, but somehow it landed at the enemy’s. The opponents, with baffling moves, quickly finished them off. In the final round, they both hid in a small attic, holding out until they placed in the top fifteen—only because the zone was kind. Otherwise, it would’ve been over much sooner.

“I told you I have a knack for these games. It won’t be long before we win a chicken dinner. Anyway, the good news is also about chickens. Our chickens will supply Dongyang from now on—two a day, at three hundred yuan per kilo.” Satisfied, Zhong Di finally shared his news. This would be Shao Hong’s responsibility going forward: daily coordination, which was no small task.

“How much?” Shao Hong almost dropped his phone in shock.

“Three hundred per kilo. Just remember to note the weight each time.” And with that, the job was handed to Shao Hong. He made a couple of muffled noises and quieted down. Soon, Zhong Di heard him lying back, mumbling as if calculating something.

“Three kilos a day, three hundred per kilo... that’s a thousand a day, thirty thousand a month, ten percent... three thousand...” Shao Hong’s gleeful giggles floated down from the top bunk to Zhong Di’s ears.

Just as he was about to play another game, his father called.

“Zhong Di, someone wants to buy our chickens. I told them eighty yuan per kilo for two birds. When should they come pick them up from the farm?”

“It’s your Uncle Li. His wife’s milk isn’t coming in, so he wants our chickens to help her recover,” Zhong Tian chuckled. The fact that someone was willing to pay eighty per kilo for their native chickens meant the hard times might soon be over.

“Anytime is fine. But Dad, from now on our chickens are three hundred per kilo. If anyone else wants to buy, that’s the price. Also, there’s a limit—one chicken per household.” Zhong Di could tell that word had spread about their chickens helping with lactation issues. The price was high, but people were still willing to pay. The limit was necessary because the output of Wildsand Fairy Sprout was limited; they couldn’t raise premium chickens endlessly. If problems arose later, they’d deal with them then.

Uncle Li was getting one of the large chickens, which had been fed plenty of Wildsand Fairy Sprout and would certainly be effective. The smaller chickens wouldn’t have quite the same effect; when they arrived, he’d have to explain this.

For premium eggs, Zhong Di planned to feed only the three hundred or so native chickens. No more, otherwise it would become unmanageable.

Currently, the two large chicken coops had been merged. The empty one would be used for something new, though Zhong Di hadn’t yet decided what.

“Three hundred? Won’t people think we’re price gouging?” Zhong Tian was hesitant, worried that rumors of profiteering would ruin their reputation before the business even got off the ground.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. We already have a guaranteed buyer for our chickens—no need to worry about sales.” After a few more words with his father, Zhong Di hung up.

Only then did he start thinking about how best to utilize Wildsand Fairy Sprout and build a stable supply chain.

Eggs and chicks would be the first to receive the sprout—fifteen leaves a day, eight for the adult chickens, four for the chicks, and the remaining three distributed elsewhere.

For example, rabbits and sheep, all fed in water form. This was the most suitable method.

With these thoughts settled, Zhong Di opened his messaging app to reply to messages and add new contacts.

There were quite a few people adding him, including someone from the Forestry Bureau, according to their note. Zhong Di found this odd but accepted; he hadn’t done anything wrong, after all—other than some late-night activities everyone could guess at, but certainly nothing for the Forestry Bureau to get involved in.

After adding contacts, Zhong Di replied to his messages one by one.

To those who had requested his address, he sent his location. For those wanting to buy eggs, he replied that there were none left.

For now, this wasn’t a problem, but as demand grew, there would certainly be complaints. Zhong Di needed to come up with a good solution.

“Your chickens work wonders! The anorexia patient actually didn’t vomit after eating and looks much better,” came a message from Su Rou.

“As long as she’s recovering,” he replied simply.

After exchanging a few words, Zhong Di closed the messaging app. Sun Miaomiao had also sent a message, but he chose not to reply. For normal business, he would respond, but for anything else, he’d rather not.

Opening his social media app, he was greeted by a slew of notifications.

Maybe the hedgehog video had gone viral again? Zhong Di scrolled quickly.

But it wasn’t the hedgehog video—rather, it was the clickbait video promoting his native chickens.

“That’s definitely a Pallas’s cat. I did a comparison—it’s a feline, and if you’re not careful, you’d mistake it for a regular cat.”

“I’m from the Shache County Forestry Bureau. I’ve added your messaging app; please accept. We need to verify something with you.”

“Haha, the influencer’s in trouble now—caught the Forestry Bureau’s attention.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He hasn’t done anything wrong, just took a photo. If it checks out, there might even be a reward.”

“Pallas’s cats are a Class II protected species. If there’s a population in Shache County, that means there’s a local group.”

“So what? It’s just a protected species, right?”

“Just a protected species? Say that again—you’ll get flamed. It’s on the Red List, classified as Near Threatened, with only about two thousand in Tibet. That’s significant.”

“This is exciting! Maybe Shache County will get a wildlife reserve someday.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself—it still needs to be verified.”

“Following for updates. Don’t forget to keep us posted!”

Most of the comments were from locals, so Zhong Di finally understood why the Forestry Bureau wanted to contact him.

He quickly removed his messaging handle from his social media profile—otherwise, he’d be overwhelmed with messages. He’d need to find someone to help manage his account in the future.

After closing the app, he checked his messages to see if the Forestry Bureau had reached out.

In Shache County, terrestrial wild animal protection fell under the Forestry Bureau—a broad organization with several departments handling different responsibilities.

“Is the Pallas’s cat real? We’d like to verify it. When are you available for us to come by?” The Bureau was clearly giving the matter serious attention.

“Anytime,” Zhong Di replied, sending his location before turning off his phone. From now on, he’d have to be more careful about what he posted online to avoid unwanted trouble. He had enough on his plate already.

Meanwhile, Xing Aiguo, Deputy Director of Shache County Forestry Bureau, was reading the message.

Earlier that day, someone had reported a sighting of a Pallas’s cat in Shache County. He hadn’t believed it at first and immediately set out to verify the claim. A staff member had spotted the video online and reported it to the Wildlife Protection Office. After further confirmation, it was brought to him. Newly appointed, he’d been searching for a way to make his mark—and here it was.

This couldn’t wait. Action would be taken first thing in the morning. If a population of Pallas’s cats was found in Shache County, it would be a major breakthrough.