Chapter 8: Working in the Fields

Same time as yesterday.

Anran was once again jolted awake by the loudspeakers.

“Time to work! Time to work!”

With a sour look on her face, Anran grumbled to herself:

“Early to bed, early to rise, work the land, exercise—I must be the healthiest little worker alive.”

“Ugh… life has finally come for me.”

She got up, made the bed, washed up.

Today they were going to the fields. Drawing on her past experience, Anran wisely dressed in long sleeves and long pants, tying the pant legs securely with string. She wore tall socks underneath—not a single patch of skin exposed. On her face, she applied sunscreen—the kind that had no scent or unnatural whiteness.

It was mid-June—just in time to catch the tail end of the summer harvest.

Breakfast had already been made: a thin porridge with more water than grains, plus some leftover dry biscuits. Anran didn’t touch the solids—just drank the porridge.

Back in her room, she pulled out a bottle of milk from her space and downed it in one go. Then she nibbled on some bread until she actually felt full.

She wanted to eat a steamed bun, but didn’t dare—afraid the scent would give her away.

All packed up, she slung her canteen over her shoulder and walked with the others toward the warehouse. She’d already found out yesterday that they had to pick up tools first, then wait for task assignments.

When they arrived at the drying yard, it was already packed. At least a few hundred people had shown up—clearly, anyone who could work had come out.

Qingshan Village really was a big village.

Soon it was Anran’s turn.

The woman handing out tools was named Xiao Hong. She looked up and blinked at the sight before her: Anran, fully geared up, gloved, and dressed like she was about to go into battle.

Xiao Hong: “……”

Still, she handed over the tools and had Anran sign her name before sending her off to await her task.

Anran had become the living definition of “the failing student with the fanciest stationery.”

Xiao Hong couldn’t help but think—maybe there’s just no place left, city or countryside, for someone like this to belong.

Though Anran had helped her grandmother in the garden before, she’d never actually experienced a full summer harvest.

No problem, she thought. Soon they’ll witness what a true queen of the fields looks like.

She was still enjoying her little daydream when—

“Ahem, ahem…”

Anran frowned and turned toward the interruption—only to see it was the village chief.

In a split second, she transformed into the image of obedience.

The so-called queen of the fields got assigned to land reclamation.

Absolutely outrageous.

“Hmph. Take your dates and your medicine—this world’s doomed,” she muttered.

The village chief led the group of educated youths to a stretch of wasteland, then divided it into seven fairly equal plots.

“Pick your piece. However much you get done, that’s how many work points you’ll earn.”

With that, he clasped his hands behind his back and left.

At that moment, Anran had a very unwholesome thought: maybe she should seize power—being village chief looked way too easy.

She was still stewing over being banished to this patch of weeds when the lots were quickly claimed, and everyone began standing by their assigned areas. The whole thing felt like a farming simulation game.

Anran felt like the zombies were about to come eat her brain.

She shook her head and got to work.

The land was wild, overgrown with weeds. It was hard work to clear. Well—hard for others. For powerhouse Anran, it was child’s play.

First came weed clearing, then tilling. Though it wasn’t physically demanding for her, she had to pace herself and stay in line with the group’s progress. That part required a bit more effort.

After a while, the show began.

Our heroine—Wang Xixi—began her performance. While working, she started crying.

“I don’t want to do this anymore… I want to go home…”

She wept like a delicate blossom in the rain. The guy working beside her—young, a little simple-looking—turned to her and said:

“Could you stop crying? I really need to pee. Your crying’s making it worse.”

“Pfft!”

Anran swore she hadn’t meant to laugh. It just slipped out.

What a precious cinnamon roll. No—an iron-willed straight shooter. Wasn’t he supposed to help the heroine finish her work? Where was the Protagonist Halo™?

Expired, or just not renewed?

The whole morning passed in a rhythm of work, water breaks, and more work.

Then the end-of-shift bell rang.

Time to go home.

Honestly? It wasn’t so bad.
—From the narrator of the “Eating Melon Onlooker Squad.”

Anran strolled back slowly.

She wasn’t in a rush—lunch was being made by someone else.

They had brown rice and the cabbage Anran had contributed—the one Dog-Egg’s grandma had given her.

After eating, she returned to her room for a nap, still feeling hungry. She quietly took out some cold noodles and stir-fried rice cakes from her space and finished them off.

**Gulp, gulp—**a bottle of cold soda went down smoothly. She felt reborn.

After a short nap, it was time for the afternoon shift.

Same tasks as the morning. But seeing that half the weeds were now gone gave her a deep sense of satisfaction. She even spotted some wild edible greens growing among them and collected them to make a cold dish later.

Everyone earned about six work points that day. Anran was quite proud of her “blend in while slacking” abilities.

She decided to maintain this standard. Keep it steady. Work smarter, not harder.

Dinner was more porridge.

Anran drank it with a scrunched-up face. The wild greens she’d mixed weren’t exactly tasty either. But no one paid attention—everyone was too exhausted to talk.

Right then, Anran actually kind of missed last night’s group meeting.

Another day, another session of falling in love with brainwashing.

Back in her room, she quietly fired up her little hidden stove and made herself a big bowl of beef rice, paired with milk tea. She finished it off and let out a happy, satisfied burp.

In the wash-up area she’d set up inside her space, she took a quick shower and changed into pajamas that matched the era’s fashion.

Exiting the space, she crawled onto her bed, rubbed her cheek against the blanket, and quickly fell asleep.