CHAPTER 51: CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: RICE PLANTING MAYHEM(5)

It turned out to be a decent workout and, against all expectations, a rather fun experience. If nothing else, this would come in handy one day when she inevitably landed a role that required some farming experience.

However, unlike An Ning, the rest of the cast did not feel the same way.

Jiang Shuyue looked as though she had personally been betrayed by nature. Every step she took was followed by a soft gasp, a stiff smile and the unmistakable expression of someone silently plotting revenge on mud as a concept.

Shen Xiyu had adopted the dead-eyed stare of a man reconsidering his entire life path. If someone told him this was karma, he would accept it without argument.

Sun Qiaolian kept her gentle smile in place, but it flickered every time mud splashed higher than her ankles. Her soul had clearly checked out an hour ago and was hovering overhead, silently weeping.

Zhao Guangyao alternated between giving helpful instructions and pretending he was not glancing at Wu Shiyun’s row. His smile stretched thinner with each seedling he planted, as if the mud were siphoning away his hopes and dreams.

Wu Shiyun was experiencing the five stages of grief on loop. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance — she hit every stage at least twice every time her boot sank deeper.

Chen Yiming, who had a mild touch of OCD, looked like he was being slowly spiritually unmade. Every speck of mud on his clothes, every droplet that landed on his sleeve, every ripple that splashed too close to his hands made him visibly flinch. Yet he maintained composure through sheer force of pride and the fear of becoming a meme.

Meanwhile, Zhou Zhenyu worked steadily, silently, as if he had entered agricultural nirvana. Whether he genuinely liked farming or had simply given up resisting reality was unclear.

And so, while An Ning was finding enlightenment in the mud, the rest were finding new and creative ways to suffer.

*****

Behind the cameras, the director sat comfortably under a parasol, sipping his goji berry tea like a man enjoying premium entertainment.

He watched Jiang Shuyue fall for the third time.

He watched Chen Yiming narrowly dodge a mud splash with the reflexes of a desperate cat.

He watched Zhao Guangyao silently mourn his life choices.

The director smiled with deep satisfaction.

"This," he said, raising his cup a little, "is what peak viewership looks like."

The production assistant stared at him. "They’re suffering...out there."

"That," the director replied, "is called content."

The assistant opened his mouth, then closed it. Arguing was pointless. The director was already imagining tomorrow’s trending topics.

Meanwhile, the livestream chat was having the time of their lives.

[This season is unhinged. I love it.]

[Forget dating, this is a survival show now.]

[Director please stop smiling we can SEE you.]

[Chen Yiming looks like he’s losing a year of lifespan per mud splash.]

[Jiang Shuyue slipping is my Roman Empire.]

As the director sipped his tea again, a tiny sparkle of pride lit his eyes.

"This," he whispered, "is art."

The assistant slowly updated his report.

Status of Cast Morale: rapidly deteriorating

Status of Romance: nonexistent

Status of Drama: chef’s kiss

Status of Director’s Conscience: unavailable

And the mud mission continued.

*****

By the time the mission finally crawled to an end, the rice field looked less like a place of agricultural productivity and more like a battlefield where dignity had died bravely.

The production team surveyed the rows.

Some were straight.

Some were crooked.

Some resembled modern art installations.

The cast dragged themselves back toward solid ground, each step accompanied by the squelch of mud, the quiet mourning of ruined footwear, and the faint sound of their souls leaving their bodies.

The director clapped his hands together, practically glowing with joy.

"Great work, everyone! Truly admirable effort!"

Several cast members stared at him with the blank exhaustion of people who were too tired to commit homicide.

A production assistant hurried forward with a clipboard. "Director, the results are tallied."

"Oh, excellent." The director beamed. "Let us reveal the rankings."

The cast straightened out of primal instinct, like soldiers waiting for judgment.

The assistant read aloud.

"First place: An Ning and Zhou Zhenyu. Their row is the most complete, evenly spaced and closest to the instructional video."

An Ning brushed a stray bit of mud off her sleeve. Zhenyu nodded politely.

[Queen of Adaptability strikes again]

[Zhenyu is quietly MVP every episode]

[They need to open a farming channel]

"Second place: Chen Yiming and Wu Shiyun."

Chen Yiming looked relieved. Wu Shiyun looked like she had survived a war and was now ready to publish an autobiography about it.

[Princess Wu climbed the ranks, we love character development]

[I laughed at how Wu Shiyun was crying but refusing to give up too]

"Third place: Zhao Guangyao and Sun Qiaolian."

Sun Qiaolian smiled graciously, though her shoulders drooped slightly from exhaustion. Zhao Guangyao nodded, but only half his heart was present.

[These two tried their best... I think]

[Guangyao please stop glancing at Wu Shiyun, we can SEE you]

"And lastly, fourth place: Jiang Shuyue and Shen Xiyu."

Jiang Shuyue stood perfectly still, the way a statue stands before it crumbles.

Shen Xiyu’s eye twitched. "We expected that."

The assistant wisely did not comment on the fact that half their seedlings were leaning like they were trying to escape the show altogether.

*****

The director clapped once more, far too cheerfully.

"With that, everyone, it’s time for lunch!"

A collective sigh of relief rose through the group.

"For fairness, you will all receive the same meal this afternoon."

Thank goodness, several of them thought.

The director continued.

"But dinner..."

The sigh froze.

"...will be based on your overall performance today."

Silence.

Then:

Zhao Guangyao blinked. "Overall performance meaning...?"

"Team cooperation, contribution, technique, spirit and entertainment value," the director said, as if this were perfectly normal.

Sun Qiaolian’s smile strained.

Wu Shiyun exhaled sharply through her nose.

Shen Xiyu looked skyward, as though hoping to ascend early.

Jiang Shuyue gripped her muddy sleeves.

An Ning tilted her head thoughtfully.

Zhou Zhenyu, ever calm, asked, "Will dinner portions differ?"

The director smiled the smile of a man who loved chaos.

"Significantly."

The audience reacted instantly.

[OH NO THIS IS GOING TO BE BRUTAL]

[Imagine being last and only getting a bowl of rice water]

[Shuyue and Shen Xiyu are doomed tonight]

[Director... you are a menace]

The director raised his teacup triumphantly.

"Everyone, enjoy your lunch. And prepare yourselves. Dinner will be... enlightening."

He walked off.

The cast stared after him, dread slowly settling in.

Lunch suddenly tasted a lot like fear.

Even though the food was simple—vegetable stir-fry, braised tofu, a modest portion of chicken, and a bowl of soup—everyone chewed as if they were eating their potential last meal before public execution.

An Ning ate calmly, unbothered.

Zhou Zhenyu ate quietly, efficiently.

Chen Yiming sterilised his utensils twice before taking a bite.

Across the table, Wu Shiyun held her chopsticks with both hands, as if praying for inner strength. "If dinner is based on performance, then lunch should at least replenish morale," she muttered.

"You did well," Chen Yiming said. "You will not starve."

"That is not reassuring," she replied, staring at her tofu as if it might deliver divine answers.

Further down, Sun Qiaolian dabbed the corner of her mouth with a tissue and said in a soft voice, "Personally, I think the director values effort. Even if we were not perfect, we showed sincerity."

"Some showed more sincerity than others," Jiang Shuyue said lightly, her smile fixed, her pride cracked. She had fallen three times today. She was determined never to fall again, even metaphorically.

Shen Xiyu, who had spent half the mission pulling her upright, sighed quietly. "Let us just eat," he said.

Zhao Guangyao had been silent for most of lunch. When he finally spoke, it was with a hesitant attempt at positivity. "At least the mission is over."

An Ning arched a brow. "For now."

Sun Qiaolian, who had been stirring her soup in delicate circles, lifted her gaze with a soft smile. "Still, Guangyao did very well today. It must be because he grew up in a rural village. People who have farm experience often have an easier time adjusting."

The table stirred.

Zhao Guangyao froze midsip.

His smile wavered. "Ah... well, I helped out when I could. Mostly during holidays. When I wasn’t studying."

He laughed lightly, but the sound was thin, like paper left out in the rain.

Sun Qiaolian nodded gently. "It really showed. You seemed very... natural in the field."

Jiang Shuyue blinked. "Natural is one word for it."

Zhao Guangyao lowered his gaze into his soup.

From the far end of the table, Chen Yiming finally spoke, voice cool and painfully honest. "If we are basing performance on background, then An Ning and Zhou Zhenyu must be exceptional learners."

The table fell quiet.

Chen Yiming continued, completely unfazed. He was simply giving credit where it was due. "Their row was neater than everyone’s. Including Guangyao’s."

Zhao Guangyao choked slightly.

Sun Qiaolian’s smile froze at the edges.

An Ning calmly picked up another piece of tofu. She did not look pleased or embarrassed, simply... neutral. Effective.

Zhou Zhenyu, kind soul that he was, murmured, "We just followed the instructions."

Chen Yiming sipped his soup. "Precisely. Some people follow faster than others."

A hush settled over the table.

The little melon floated behind An Ning, delighted.

"Ningning," the little melon whispered gleefully, "they must still have some energy left after all."