"Cultivating wheat seedlings?" Mr. Xu exclaimed with joy upon hearing this. His face lit up as he watched the unfamiliar comrade step out of the car, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
Mr. Xu spoke loudly; the heavy rain had destroyed the fields in the village, and now no one knew how to plant wheat.
Everyone was gathered together, chatting, and when they heard that this young man specialized in cultivating seedlings, they stared at Ma Yiguo as though he were an immortal.
Ma Yiguo had long been accustomed to the way these people looked at him—they were a bunch of unexposed villagers, and among them, he held the smallest reputation and his words carried the least weight.
Yet, these people treasured him like a gem.
Ma Yiguo cleared his throat and nodded mysteriously, "Yes, cultivating wheat seedlings is a minor task for us; it's our most basic mission. I used to do it often with my teacher in the laboratory, and we succeeded every time, so you don't have to worry too much."
