American Farmers: Facing a Cutoff at the Start

"A sincere offer of five hundred US dollars."

Fett patted the packaged Leyland cypress, which was over three meters tall and had lush foliage, and quoted a price.

"What?! Five hundred US dollars?!"

The fat man may be rich, but he's not stupid.

Upon hearing this number, his eyes, usually shrunk by fat, widened in disbelief.

"Why is this tree so expensive? The one we just saw only cost less than a hundred!"

Fett remained completely calm, instead explaining with a composed expression:

"Sir, you get what you pay for. That one was a Virginia pine, which is fragrant, but it grows quickly and its leaves fall off easily. The one in front of you, however, is a genuine Leyland pine."

He stroked the lush, green needle-like leaves:

"This tree doesn't drop needles or prick your hands, making it perfect for families with children and pets."

"Moreover, a Leyland cypress of this height needs to grow for at least six or seven years and requires careful pruning to achieve such a perfect pyramid shape."

"That's the cost of time."

"Sir, you are knowledgeable in this field."

He pointed to the brand-new luxury car parked by the fat man on the side of the road:

"Look, this tree is huge; the trunk alone weighs tens of pounds."

"If you just strap it to the roof of the car, not only will it scratch the paint, but with such a large wind resistance, it won't be safe to drive back."

Fetter paused for a moment, then unleashed his trump card:

"This $500 includes our VIP delivery service."

"I'll have my dad drive that old pickup truck himself to help you deliver the tree safely home."

"You don't need to worry about anything. Just take the kids and drive back comfortably."

"Think about it, in this freezing weather, you don't have to lift a finger, you don't have to worry about damaging your car, and you can enjoy this kind of exclusive service."

"Five hundred dollars for peace of mind and a respectable life, isn't that worth it?"

Upon hearing this, the fat man looked at the enormous tree, covered in mud and resin, and then at Jessica standing beside him with a disdainful expression.

He gritted his teeth, pulled out a wad of bills from his wallet, counted them, and slapped them generously into Fett's hand:

"Okay! You're right! I'm paying for comfort! Deliver it! Deliver it to my door!"

After seeing the fat father and son off, Fett turned and went back to the farm.

Jessica wasn't in a hurry to leave. Her Leyland cypress had already been sawed down and packed by old Frank, and it was lying quietly on the ground.

She watched Fett approach, a playful smile playing on her lips.

"Wonderful."

She clapped her hands lightly, her beautiful eyes sweeping over Fett: "I didn't expect you to be so strong that you could fight a wild boar one-on-one, and you're so good with words too."

"With just a few words, I managed to trick that show-off jerk into willingly handing over five hundred dollars."

Fett smiled modestly:

"It's a win-win situation. He wants to save face, I want money, and everyone's happy."

He bent down, intending to lift the bundled tree:

"I'll help you load the tree onto the truck right away."

"Alright."

Jessica reached into the limited-edition LV bag and pulled out a stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills, counted out five, and handed them to Fett between her fingers:

"I'll also contribute five hundred to this tree."

Fett paused, looking at the five bright green Franklins in front of him with some surprise:

"This tree only costs a little over a hundred based on its size, what did you do...?"

Jessica stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and the expensive perfume scent once again lingered around Fett's nose.

She extended a finger with an exquisitely manicured nail and gently touched Fett's chest, her eyes alluring:

"I can't possibly offer less than that jerk who only knows how to throw money around, can I? Where would I put my pride then?"

"I like intelligent men; consider any extra credit as a reward for your wisdom."

She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowered, carrying a hint of suggestion:

"I originally wanted the VIP delivery service, and even wanted you to deliver it to my door personally, since it's just my son and me at home, and moving such a big tree is indeed a bit strenuous."

She glanced back at the group of customers still queuing at the garage entrance, waiting to buy wooden sword souvenirs and peering longingly in her direction. She sighed regretfully, then smiled.

"But I think I'll pass. Many customers are waiting for your cooking, so I shouldn't disappoint them. If I ruin my business just to give you a tree, I'll be a sinner."

She pulled a high-quality business card from her bag and handed it to Fett:

"My name is Jessica Whitmore, and I run an art gallery in Little Rock. If you ever want to sell the knife as an art piece for a better price, or if you have any other needs, feel free to contact me."

After saying that, she patted her son's head and pointed at Fett:

"Okay, say goodbye to your uncle."

The little boy gripped the wooden knife tightly in his hand, looked up at Fett's young and handsome face, and frowned in confusion:

"Mom, I think it's better to call him 'brother'? This 'brother' looks quite young."

Jessica's smile froze, then she glared at her son, her tone still gentle, but her eyes conveying a sense of authority:

"No, you have to call me uncle."

The little boy shrank back, not understanding why, but still yielded to his mother's tyranny and obediently waved to Fred:

"Okay... goodbye, Uncle."

Goodbye, little man!

Fett smiled and bumped fists with the little boy, escorted the mother and son to their car, and watched them start the engine and drive away.

Watching the luxury car disappear at the intersection, Fett glanced down at the business card in his hand.

This is a thick, specialty paper with a fine linen texture on the surface and a warm, smooth feel.

The name "Jessica Whitmore" is printed with gold foil, shimmering with a low-key yet luxurious luster in the sunlight, exuding a strong sense of money and art.

"The art gallery owner..."

Fetmore ran his fingers along the edge of the business card and carefully tucked it into his inner pocket.

When I master the forging techniques of Damascus steel in the future and create truly collectible art knives, perhaps I can talk to her about it.

After all, someone like her must have access to a lot of high-end clients who are willing to pay for art and stories.

Fett turned and walked back, and from a distance he saw Leila struggling to carry a bulging canvas bag that was bigger than her upper body, moving towards him with some unsteady steps.

His heart tightened, and he quickly took two steps forward to meet the heavy bag.

"call--"

Leila suddenly felt a lightness in her hand, and her shoulders, which had been a little sore from the pressure, immediately felt much better.

She looked up and met Fett's concerned eyes.

"Your leg isn't fully healed yet, give it back to me!"

She instinctively tried to snatch it back, but Fett dodged it by stepping to the side.

"Don't worry, it's nothing serious now."

Fett, carrying his bag, smiled:

"I just helped lift that huge tree onto the roof of the passenger's car, so this little bit of weight is nothing."

Seeing his relaxed demeanor, Leila finally felt relieved.

She followed Fett for a couple of steps, then finally couldn't help but tentatively speak:

"that……"

"Lina is gone?"