Inheriting a Farm Made Me an Internet Sensation - Chapter 49

Tan Xiao’s hands involuntarily tightened. She swallowed hard, her eyes downcast, and her lips felt parched.

Could she really do it after agreeing? Hesitation bloomed in her heart.

Lifting her gaze, she met Zhu Manli’s eyes. She saw the mockery in Zhu Manli’s pupils, silently questioning her: Look, you don’t even have confidence in yourself.

The veins on the back of Tan Xiao’s clenched hands were clearly visible. Gritting her teeth, she said, “Fine.”

If she couldn’t do it, giving up might be a better choice—for Lin Muhan, and for herself.

Zhu Manli nodded slightly. She turned to pick up her bag from the side and stood up. “Remember your words today.” With that, she turned and walked out.

Tan Xiao rose to watch Zhu Manli leave before sitting back down in her original spot. Her gaze fell on the gift box left on the table, and she let out a self-deprecating laugh.

Meanwhile, at the farm courtyard, Lin Muhan finally sensed that something was wrong. She went downstairs and called out to Chen Cuihua, who was about to head back to the fields. “Sister Chen, do you know what Tan Xiao went to do?”

Chen Cuihua stopped and shook her head. “She didn’t say. She only mentioned going into town for a trip.” Thinking of something, she asked nervously, “Did something happen?”

Lin Muhan quickly shook her head in denial. “No, I was just asking.”

Chen Cuihua breathed a small sigh of relief. “That’s good. She’s been gone for a while; she should be back soon.” She pointed toward the fields. “There’s still some work left. I’ll head over first.” She turned back toward her electric scooter.

Lin Muhan walked quickly toward her. “Take me with you. I want to go take a look too.”

Chen Cuihua nodded, handed her a helmet, and they sped off toward their destination.

Before meeting Zhu Manli, Tan Xiao had asked Zhu Quanyong for leave. Coincidentally, they wanted to check on the silver ear mushroom greenhouse, so while Tan Xiao was in town, the group headed there.

Under the guidance of a helper, Gao Jie and Liu Bin naturally inquired about the details of growing silver ear mushrooms. Not only that, but the helper also led them in planting the spores, allowing everyone in the production crew to see exactly how silver ear mushrooms were grown.

Lin Muhan didn’t know the crew had gone to the greenhouse. She had arrived at the field with Chen Cuihua and was imitating her, taking off her gloves to start pulling weeds from the soil.

Exhausted from crouching, Chen Cuihua stood up and noticed the mud smeared on Lin Muhan’s manicure. She said urgently, “Don’t pull them anymore! Look at your nails. Doing this is just wasting the money you spent on them.”

Lin Muhan looked down at her nails. The decorative pearls and flowers were covered in mud, and there was quite a bit of dirt under the nails themselves.

The image of Tan Xiao’s nails involuntarily flashed into her mind. Tan Xiao didn’t just lack manicures; she didn’t even wear nail polish.

“Farming is like this. There’s endless work all year round,” Chen Cuihua said, crouching down again to continue weeding. “Sometimes when I watch these girls busy in the fields, I wonder… with so many schools to choose from, why choose farming? Look at Xiao Xiao. Since she came to the farm, she’s been rooted in these fields every day. She doesn’t even have a life of her own. It’s hard for her to endure it; if it were me when I was young, I couldn’t have stayed.”

These words caused Lin Muhan to fall into deep thought. The question that had always lingered in her heart surged up again: Can a person really change so thoroughly?

In the materials Su Han had given her previously, Tan Xiao in the photos dressed quite elegantly. Compared to the current Tan Xiao, they could be described as worlds apart.

Crucially, how could a person who loved self-expression suddenly become so silent and spend every single day in these fields with such immense patience?

She had observed the female students from the agricultural college. Some of them genuinely liked farming, but she couldn’t find a second person who could do it to the extent Tan Xiao did.

So, what exactly was going on with Tan Xiao?

Hearing no response, Chen Cuihua looked up. Seeing Lin Muhan standing there in a daze, she asked tentatively, “What’s wrong?” Her face was filled with immediate regret; she shouldn’t have been rambling.

Lin Muhan forced a smile and shook her head, acting naturally. “It just proves that Tan Xiao truly loves farming.”

Only someone who loved it from the bottom of their soul could do what Tan Xiao did—give up a social life and personal time to focus entirely on one thing.

Ever since Tan Xiao confessed to her, they hadn’t had a proper date, except for that one time they went shopping for clothes. Every time she wanted to bring it up, she gave up because Tan Xiao couldn’t get away from her work.

Thinking of this, a sense of confusion entered her eyes. Was this flat, passionless life really what she wanted?

Country life was certainly beautiful, but if life consisted only of fields, one would eventually grow weary.

Chen Cuihua didn’t notice her internal struggle and agreed wholeheartedly. “Right, right. Other people do it for the money, but her? She truly loves it.” She threw a handful of grass to the side and said sentimentally, “I used to envy those researchers. They don’t have to deal with the wind and sun, they get high salaries, and they win one trophy after another.” She smiled and waved her hand. “But since Xiao Xiao came to our farm, I’ve understood. Behind the high salaries and trophies, there is a lot of hardship.”

Hearing this, Lin Muhan remembered a quote she had seen online: To do scientific research, one must first be able to withstand loneliness.

If one cannot endure loneliness, how can one achieve a breakthrough?

If Tan Xiao didn’t watch the experimental greenhouse every day, how could she summarize such accurate planting data?

She understood the logic, yet for some reason, her heart felt heavy and stifled.

Suppressing her thoughts, she stayed with Chen Cuihua until the remaining weeds were pulled before returning to the courtyard.

She took a shower and scrubbed the mud-stained manicure repeatedly. Even then, dirt remained under the nails, which only increased her irritation.

Tan Xiao, who had been called to the agricultural college, came upstairs and heard noise coming from Lin Muhan’s room. She immediately quickened her pace. She saw Lin Muhan taking her anger out on her manicure.

She hurried inside and sat opposite Lin Muhan. She took Lin Muhan’s hand and saw that the nails had lost the luster they had two days ago, still harboring traces of dirt. Zhu Manli’s words from earlier today echoed in her ears again.

Lin Muhan pulled her hand away forcefully, turned her head away, and said stiffly, “I’m going to the nail salon tomorrow to have the technician remove them.”

Tan Xiao snapped out of it and glanced at the tools on the small round table. Seeing nothing suitable, she abandoned the idea of helping.

“Give me your hand then. I’ll help you clean the dirt from under your nails.” Without waiting for an answer, she reached out for the hand resting on Lin Muhan’s lap.

Lin Muhan dodged. She pursed her lips and turned back to stare at her. “Are you hiding something from me?”

Does Muhan know?

Tan Xiao averted her gaze, unable to meet Lin Muhan’s eyes.

She didn’t realize that the panic in her eyes had been caught by Lin Muhan, which only confirmed the latter’s suspicions. “Between a couple, the most important thing is trust. Once that trust is gone, there’s no point in maintaining the relationship. Tan Xiao, what exactly are you hiding from me?”

Tan Xiao pursed her lips, struggling for a long while. She whispered, “I… I went to see Auntie Zhu today.”

Lin Muhan’s eyes widened, and the hand on her lap trembled slightly. “And?”

She had clearly warned Tan Xiao before that if her parents contacted her, Tan Xiao had to tell her. In the end, Tan Xiao not only kept it from her but went to see her mother behind her back.

Tan Xiao looked lost.

Lin Muhan took a deep breath. “Then let me remind you—your personality is vastly different from before.” She raised her hand. “Don’t tell me it’s because of cyberbullying. There’s a saying that a leopard doesn’t change its spots. You couldn’t have changed so completely in such a short time.”

That last sentence forced the words Tan Xiao was about to say back down her throat.

How could she explain to Muhan? Was she supposed to say she came from another world?

No. Even if Muhan believed her, what then? Would Muhan be afraid of her?

She remembered what Tu Yan had said to her while drunk: Once the truth of the soul-transmigration is revealed, the only ending is lying on an experimental table. I’ve worked hard all these years for self-protection, just so that if the secret is exposed, I might keep my life.

Tu Yan had also said: Don’t tell anyone unless necessary. Unless you are prepared for the consequences of the secret being revealed.

Images formed in her mind of herself being tied to a bed, being researched and experimented on repeatedly. Just thinking about it was terrifying.

After waiting a long time for a response and getting none, Lin Muhan gave a bitter laugh. Enduring the tears in her eyes, she turned her face toward the window. “What if I said that if you don’t be honest with me today, you’ll lose me?”

Panic seized Tan Xiao’s heart. She left her seat and knelt in front of Lin Muhan, gripping her hands tightly. “Muhan… is the… is the answer really that important?”

As she spoke, she felt utterly devoid of confidence.

Lin Muhan let out a mocking laugh. The tears glistening in her eyes rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto the back of Tan Xiao’s hand. Her heart throbbed with sharp, heavy pain.

She wiped her tears and looked back at Tan Xiao, saying through gritted teeth, “I have the right to know if I am with a person or a ghost.” With that, she pulled her hands away with force and strode out.

Tan Xiao stood up and chased after her, but as she watched Lin Muhan’s lonely silhouette, she couldn’t squeeze out a single word to ask her to stay.

If she called out to Muhan, what could she say other than “I’m sorry”?

Tell Muhan the truth?

No, she couldn’t do it yet.

Lin Muhan, having rushed downstairs, stopped her pace and listened intently behind her. She didn’t hear Tan Xiao’s footsteps.

Lin Muhan, face reality. You aren’t that important to Tan Xiao.

If Tan Xiao had put her first, she would have told her the truth.

Ha, is the answer important? She didn’t know what Tan Xiao was feeling when she asked that question. She only knew that she couldn’t continue with someone who would rather guard a secret than tell her the truth.

At that thought, the tears defied her control again and began to fall.

Tilting her head back, she tried her hardest to force the tears back, but no matter how hard she tried, they were like a faucet that wouldn’t shut—dripping one after another. Her nose was sour and blocked, and her chest felt as if a thousand-pound stone were pressing down on it, making it difficult even to breathe.

She looked back at the stairs one more time. It was still empty. It was quiet both upstairs and downstairs.

She withdrew her gaze, started her car, and stepped on the gas, fleeing from this place where even the air was filled with Tan Xiao’s scent.

Upstairs in the living room, Tan Xiao leaned against the wall. She heard it—the sound of Muhan driving away.

Muhan must be blaming her. Blaming her for the deception.

But she truly couldn’t speak that secret now. Whether it was a lack of love or her own selfishness, she couldn’t find the answer for a moment.