Stop it, the country really can't fit any more bans on the domestic entertainment industry.

The control room was filled with smoke.

Director Wang Yuzheng's finger hovered over the call button on the walkie-talkie for a long time before finally letting go.

"never mind."

He shook his head, extinguishing the sudden inspiration for the script.

"Hiring villagers to act is unreliable," the assistant director chimed in. "These villagers may be simple and honest, but they haven't studied acting. What if they act too exaggeratedly and the audience sees through it immediately? Wouldn't that be a giveaway?"

"Yes." Wang Yu sighed, looking at the calm young man on the screen. "Li Mo'an's acting is so natural, it's like he was born with it. If you find a lousy extra to act with him, it would be superfluous."

"Let him do his own thing. I think his current pace is pretty good."

On the other side...

"They must all be returned by 2 PM."

"No time limit."

After the announcement, the anticipated "returning of items" craze did not materialize in the village.

........................................

East end of the village.

Aunt Zhang was enthusiastically chopping garlic.

Upon hearing the broadcast, she paused briefly, then curled her lip, a look of disdain on her face.

"This young man is really into his role."

She held up the heavy wooden-handled grenade, looked at the garlic cloves smashed to pieces below, and said with satisfaction, "Still rushing me? This iron lump is working perfectly fine, not broken, and not missing a single piece of meat, why go back?"

"Let me finish smashing all these garlic cloves first."

After saying that, she slammed it down hard again with a "bang".

........................................

West end of the village.

Li Erniu was squatting in the yard, watching his son having a great time riding on the aerial bomb.

Upon hearing the broadcast, he smiled at his wife, who was sewing shoe soles:

"Listen to this, that's what you call professional."

"Look how good the production team is at creating drama. They even went to the trouble of using a megaphone to shout about a stupid prop, making it seem like a real event."

His wife laughed too: "You're right, city people really know how to have fun. But this metal thing is really sturdy; our son rode it all morning and the paint didn't even chip."

........................................

Most villagers reacted in a similar way to these two.

People scoffed at this so-called ultimatum, thinking it was just a gimmick created by the production team to increase ratings.

People continued doing what they were doing, and no one took the phrase "once it's too late" seriously.

Of course, not everyone ignores advice.

The village's old accountant was a cautious and meticulous person all his life.

After hearing the broadcast, he pushed up his reading glasses, looked at the anti-tank mine lying on top of the pickled vegetable jar, and pondered for a while.

"Taking other people's things is ultimately against the rules."

He muttered to himself, though he thought the thing was pretty useful, he still struggled to pick it up. "Since they want it, I'll just give it back."

There was also a young woman who had recently married into the village.

She was timid, and she already thought the mortar shell her husband brought back to use as a doorstop looked rather frightening, dark and like a bomb.

After listening to the broadcast, she felt even more uneasy.

While her husband was working in the fields, she quickly grabbed the metal lump and ran all the way back to the construction site at the village entrance.

........................................

Apart from these few people, the entire village remained silent.

1:50 PM.

There are ten minutes left until the deadline.

Li Mo'an returned to the construction site from the radio station.

Looking at the pile of recyclables that hadn't increased much, he remained calm, showing no anger or anxiety.

He simply raised his wrist and glanced at the time.

"Hmm, ten minutes left."

With that thought in mind, he picked up his hoe again and continued his unfinished road-building project.

Pengpeng also came over at this time.

He looked at the empty intersection, his face full of worry.

"Brother Mo'an, what should we do?"

Peng Peng wiped his sweat and said in a low voice, "It seems like none of them are doing what we said. It's almost two o'clock, and hardly anyone has come to return it."

Peng Peng was extremely anxious.

He certainly didn't think these were real bombs; he was worried about something else entirely.

"These are all props from the production team. If the villagers lose or damage them, the production team might make us pay for them."

Peng Peng wore a bitter expression, imagining a dramatic scenario: "Even if we don't lose money, that old fox director will definitely take the opportunity to make us do more work to pay off the debt. We're already tired enough; if we get more work, won't I be exhausted to death?"

After all, in the show "Mushroom House", the battle of wits between the guests and the production team is a regular feature.

He felt that this must be a trap set by the production team.

Li Mo'an stopped hoeing, turned around, and glanced at Peng Peng, who was muttering to himself.

His eyes remained calm, even carrying a hint of gentle care for people with intellectual disabilities.

"Don't talk about the rest yet."

Li Mo'an interrupted Peng Peng's complaints in a calm tone.

"Huh? What's wrong?" Peng Peng was stunned for a moment, and subconsciously wanted to take a step forward.

"Don't move."

Li Mo'an's voice wasn't loud, but it had a strange penetrating power that froze Peng Peng's feet in mid-air.

Li Mo'an pointed to Peng Peng's feet, where half of a rusted metal ring was faintly visible in what appeared to be flat soil.

Just now, Pengpeng got excited and stepped on it, making a very slight "click" sound.

"You've stepped on a landmine again."

Li Mo'an said calmly, as naturally as if she were saying, "You stepped in dog poop."

"Don't move, I'll clear the mines for you."

As he spoke, he threw down the hoe and skillfully pulled the small brush out of his pocket.

Peng Peng: "..."

........................................

at the same time.

In that secondhand house in the county town.

The curtains were still drawn tightly, but it was already afternoon inside.

The couple, who suffered from severe procrastination, finally succumbed to sleep just before dawn after a mental breakdown and a sleepless night.

I slept straight through until the afternoon.

"Wake up... wake up..."

The husband rubbed his throbbing temples and sat up from the cot.

He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was almost two in the afternoon.

That familiar, suffocating sense of fear surged back as I regained consciousness, even more intensely than yesterday.

Because he knew that time was running out.

The three-day deadline that the young man mentioned seems to be today.

"Old woman, wake up!"

He nudged his wife beside him, his voice hoarse, "We...we have to go."

The wife opened her eyes groggily, stared blankly for a few seconds, and then suddenly sat up.

The two looked at each other and saw the bloodshot eyes and the resolute determination in each other's eyes.

After a night of struggle and avoidance, they finally overcame that damn procrastination.

"Walk!"

The husband gritted his teeth, stood up, and said, "Let's take Dad with us, we're going to the police station!"

"Go and turn yourself in!"

......

(Any readers reading this? Please click to urge the author to update, sob sob)