It's just that they have money.

For the business deals that Zhang Zhenghao negotiated himself, he had to personally travel to the United States.

Fang Chen took him to the airport and handed him an envelope from his pocket.

Zhang Zhenghao took it, but didn't open it; he just felt its thickness. "What?"

"Cash. US dollars. For emergencies when I get there."

Zhang Zhenghao put the envelope into the inside pocket of his coat, patted it, and didn't ask how much it contained or say thank you.

"Once we get there, I'll make some decisions myself?"

"You decide. Don't ask me about everything."

Zhang Zhenghao glanced at him. "What if I made a mistake?"

"If we made a mistake, we'll come back and change it."

Zhang Zhenghao stared at him for two seconds, then smiled.

"If you are the emperor, then I am the Grand Marshal of North America, with the authority to act on behalf of the emperor."

"Go to hell." Fang Chen punched him in annoyance.

Zhang Zhenghao picked up his small bag, took two steps forward, then suddenly stopped, turned around, looked at Fang Chen, and pointed to the inside pocket of his coat, the same pocket where he had just put the envelope.

"I'll keep track of every penny of the money in here." He then pointed to his heart. "What's inside here is your trust, and I'll remember it."

Fang Chen didn't speak.

Zhang Zhenghao clearly distinguishes between public and private matters.

In the company, he was Fang Chen's subordinate.

Privately, we're buddies.

He never acted overly close to Fang Chen at the company, but in private they remained the same as before.

After dropping Zhang Zhenghao off, Fang Chen didn't go home; instead, he turned around and drove straight back to the base.

Huang Zi'ang sent a message saying that the initial draft of the agritainment plan had been completed and asked him to take a look.

When he arrived, it was almost noon. Huang Zi'ang was squatting on the ground in front of the prefab house, smoking. There were a few cigarette butts under his feet, and a crumpled piece of paper next to him, which had been drawn and revised many times with a ballpoint pen.

He saw Fang Chen's car stop, stubbed out his cigarette in the dirt, and stood up.

"It's here? Take a look at this."

Fang Chen took the paper, glanced at it, and handed it back to him without looking at it closely. "No need to look at it, you can decide."

Huang Ziang was stunned for a moment, holding the paper in his hand, hanging in mid-air, as if he hadn't caught the words.

"For the restaurant business, should we build a new building or rent one?" Fang Chen asked.

"Rent. There are empty houses in the village; renovating them is faster than building a new one."

"Okay. You go and negotiate. It's fine if the rent is a little higher, we can sign a longer lease term, and I'll cover the renovation costs." Fang Chen said quickly, as if he were talking about something that didn't need to be discussed.

Huang Zi'ang glanced at him, folded the paper, and stuffed it into his pocket.

"What about Sister Chen and the others?"

"You decide, the salary will be 20% higher than it is now, and those who want to come can come. Once you've finalized the staffing, I'll have Xuwen arrange for the signing of employment agreements."

Huang Zi'ang nodded. He put the deformed cigarette back behind his ear. "About the money..."

"You don't need to worry about the money." Fang Chen opened the car door, glanced back at him, and said, "Just focus on cultivating the land and managing the people. I'll take care of the rest."

Huang Zi'ang was silent for a moment, then nodded, asked no more questions, and went about his own business.

The June wind carries the scent of earth, not the kind of wind that's been baked by asphalt roads and air conditioner units in the city, but a truly earthy, damp wind mixed with the smell of grass and fertilizer.

Fang Chen stood next to the car, stretched, and his back bones cracked twice.

Huang Zi'ang poked his head out of the prefab house. "Aren't you leaving?"

"I'm not leaving, I'll stay here tonight."

Huang Ziang was taken aback: "Where do we live? There's only a cot in the prefab house."

"You go to sleep, I'll just make do for the night."

"Your home isn't far, why don't you go back?"

"The old house is about to be demolished, and my parents are packing their things. Going back now would be a disturbance. I don't have anything else to do anyway, and it's more comfortable staying in the countryside than in the city."

Huang Zi'ang glanced at him, said nothing more, and shrank back.

After a while, the sound of rummaging through things came from the prefab house, rustling and rattling, like someone turning over a drawer that hadn't been opened in a long time.

Then Huang Zi'ang's voice came from inside: "There's a blanket, you can make do with it."

As evening fell, the sun began to sink, and the clouds on the horizon turned a fiery orange-red, layer upon layer, as if someone had painted them on with a brush. The white plastic sheeting of the greenhouse was tinged with a warm yellow, looking from afar like a vast expanse of luminous amber.

Fang Chen squatted at the entrance of the prefab house, holding a bowl of tea in his hand. It was the strong tea that Huang Zi'ang often drank, and its color was so dark it was almost black.

Huang Ziang came out of the greenhouse carrying a plastic bucket containing a few blueberries that had been picked that day. They weren't in great condition; they were small and not very dark in color, but they tasted alright.

He placed the bucket next to Fang Chen, took out a bag of peanuts from his pocket, tore it open, poured the peanuts onto the bucket lid, and handed it over.

"Is it to your liking?"

"Even my dad doesn't drink this bitter stuff." Fang Chen frowned, but swallowed it down with a forced bitterness.

Huang Ziang moved a small stool and sat down next to him, also pouring himself a cup of tea. The two of them sat side by side, like two sweet potatoes planted at the entrance of the prefab house.

In the distance, several farmers who had finished their work came out of the greenhouse in twos and threes. Some carried baskets, and some carried ladders. Their laughter was carried by the wind and could not be heard clearly. But the sense of relaxation after finishing their work could be felt even from dozens of meters away.

Someone spotted Fang Chen and waved to him.

Fang Chen waved back.

The man approached; he was in his fifties, with dark skin, wearing a faded blue work uniform, his trousers and rubber boots covered in mud. He stopped, glanced at Fang Chen, then at Huang Zi'ang, and rubbed his hands together.

"Mr. Fang, you haven't left yet?"

"I'll stay here tonight."

The man paused for a moment, then laughed, revealing a missing lower tooth.

"Stay here? There are so many mosquitoes here at night, they bite and keep you awake." He turned and pointed to a house with lights on in the distance. "Why don't you stay at my place? I'll have my wife clean up a guest room. It's a bit simple, but it's better than this shack."

Fang Chen shook his head. "No need to trouble yourself, I'll just stay one night, it'll be fine."

Before the man could say anything more, Huang Zi'ang chimed in, "Old Wu, Mr. Fang won't stay, don't try to persuade him anymore."

The man called Lao Wu scratched his head, smiled sheepishly, took out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, and handed one to Fang Chen.

Fang Chen waved his hand and handed it to Huang Zi'ang, who took it, put it in his mouth, and didn't light it.

"Mr. Fang, I have something to tell you." Old Wu squatted down next to Fang Chen, resting his hands on his knees and rubbing his fingers together as if organizing his thoughts. "My nephew is about to graduate from university but hasn't secured a job yet. Do you think it would be possible for him to give your company a try?"

Fang Chen paused for a moment, his hand holding the teacup still.

He glanced at Huang Zi'ang, but Huang Zi'ang didn't look at him. He kept the unlit cigarette in his mouth and his gaze was fixed on the distant fields.

"What's your educational background?" Fang Chen asked.

"A bachelor's degree, a proper bachelor's degree." Old Wu raised his voice a little.

Fang Chen smiled, having grasped the general idea.

If the school is good, then say "school".

Even if the school isn't that good, just talking about its ranking, a first-tier university sounds better than a second-tier university.

If only undergraduate degree is mentioned.

That's enough.