An ‘useless' agriculture student who is actually a top-tier spiritual plant cultivator. - Reviews

I need to talk about this one moment because it wrecked me in the best way. Jiang Luokui finds out that Uncle Li—the man who's been her guardian since she can remember, the cook at the Happiness Welfare Institute who never went home—is actually related to the Li family. And because of HER, he actually went back home. "The thought warmed her heart. It felt good to have someone backing her up." That line. That single line. After everything she's been through, after being dropped off at a welfare institute and growing up without knowing her real family, someone is now fighting for her. Li Jueyan, who was arrogant and unruly before, is now calling her "little aunt" like he genuinely means it. It's funny, sure, but it's also kind of heartbreaking when you think about it—he's using this family connection to eliminate a threat, but the result is that Jiang Luokui finally has someone in her corner. And then there's the quiet moment with Pu Qing. He taps on her window after the chicken incident, asks if she's okay, and she barely recognizes him through the protective suit. There's this whole unspoken thing happening here. He's this legendary S-rank combat student who could've just watched from outside, but he was clearly worried enough to check on her specifically. I'm not saying anything, I'm just saying— Also, the exchange with Aunt Chen over the steamed buns and the lettuce. Small gestures, right? But Jiang Luokui bringing lettuce even though she didn't have to? That's her way of saying thank you without actually saying it. These tiny emotional beats are what make the story feel real.

Okay so let me just say—Manager Fang is the WORST kind of antagonist. You know the type? The petty bureaucrat who thinks he can bully his way to the top. He literally steals Jiang Luokui's lettuce, puts it in the trash, then tries to blame her for it mutating. And her response? Chef-level calm. She doesn't even raise her voice. She just points out the SAND on the leaves and drops the whole thing like a mic. The soil in the experimental field is black loam—sticky. Her lettuce would NEVER have sand on it. Boom. Exposed. But here's what really got me—the Boss Zhao subplot. He's selling vegetables at a suspiciously low price, claiming they're from a new variety. Jiang Luokui tastes them and immediately notices something's off: no radiation flavor, but also no soul. It's like the vegetables are hollow. Meanwhile, her own produce tastes better the SECOND time she harvests it. The author is setting up a whole conspiracy here and I am HERE for it. And then the scallion oil post on the forum—wait, what?! Her scallion oil is apparently god-tier and a combat student is losing their mind over it. The OP says even a high-grade protective suit's filtration system couldn't block the aroma. That's not just cooking, that's basically a superpower at this point. The plot is weaving together so many threads and I can't stop turning pages.

Let me just say this first: the dialogue in this book is ridiculously good and I'm not even being sarcastic. The forum messages alone are a masterclass in voice. Wang Meng's messages are a stream of consciousness—"Junior! You're a god!!!" with three exclamation points, then immediately pivoting to "my roommate said your ability is only D-rank—how did you do it?!" You can hear her typing fast, excited, slightly unhinged from lack of sleep. And Jiang Luokui's replies are the perfect contrast: short, measured, almost clinical. "Glad I could help. As for my ability, I'd rather not say." She's not being mysterious on purpose—she's just a person who wants to survive. The voice difference between them is instant and total. Then you have the boys' dorm scene. Chen Fatty gripping the bed rail and screaming "THAT'S MY SCRIPT!!!" after spending half a month building hype with bots. The humor comes from the specificity—he didn't just start a betting pool, he invested HALF A MONTH of work into it. And the line "I spent half a month hiring bots to build this momentum—and someone swoops in and steals it?!" is genuinely funny because it's so petty and so specific. The classroom dialogue is where it gets interesting though. The freshmen discussing betting odds like it's a math problem—"Any math geniuses want to calculate which option has the best odds?"—that's natural group dynamics. People don't speak in monologues in real life, and neither do these characters. Even Professor Qian's single paragraph of dialogue feels earned. He doesn't give a speech. He says Botany is easy to learn but hard to master, it affects your survival rate outside the base, and don't slack off. That's it. Seventy years of experience compressed into three sentences. The man doesn't need to prove anything. His voice is authority without performance.

Can we just talk about how Li Jueyan speaks for a second? Because this guy's dialogue is a masterclass in making readers want to throw things. "Get lost! This is none of your business!" — said while physically fighting his own cousin in public. The arrogance is so thick you could cut it with a knife. And then he strikes first! Jiang Luokui's internal reaction—"How can he be so heartless? He even hits his own cousin?"—is exactly what every reader is thinking. The author uses Lin Zihan's dialogue here as the audience surrogate, which is clever. But the best dialogue moment has to be Jiang Luokui's exchange with Li Jueyan when he offers her fifty thousand yuan to transfer departments. Her response: "If you like the agriculture department so much, why not drop out and repeat a year? With your confidence—and your obscure Li family connections—I'm sure you'll get into agriculture next year. Good luck!" She's being sarcastic but keeping it surface-level polite. The subtext is screaming. And Li Jueyan can't even handle it—he gets physically agitated. Meanwhile, Li Jueming's dialogue is minimal but every word counts. "Don't disgrace the Li family." Three words. Cold. Authoritative. That's it. He doesn't need to say more. Chen Pan's dialogue is also fun—his internal panic when Jiang Luokui calls him out: "You've got the wrong person, junior. I'm not Chen Pan..." The denial is so weak and he knows it. The author gives each character a distinct voice through their dialogue patterns. Jiang is sharp and measured. Li Jueyan is loud and reactive. Li Jueming is terse. Chen Pan is nervous and evasive. No two characters sound the same.

Let me just list the conflicts in this batch because the density is insane: 1. Jiang vs. the rice seeds (external—will she actually succeed?) 2. Jiang vs. Li Jueyan (external—family power vs. orphan with no backing) 3. Li Jueyan vs. Li Jueming (internal family conflict—cousins fighting) 4. Jiang vs. Chen Pan (external—she knows he's the forum smearer, he knows she knows) 5. Uncle Li vs. the Li family patriarch (external—twenty years of absence culminating in a confrontation) 6. Jiang vs. spiritual energy scarcity (internal/external—she needs more energy to grow stronger but the world is thin) The stakes keep rising and the author never lets us forget what's at risk. When Li Jueyan offers fifty thousand yuan, it's not just an insult—it's a test. Can Jiang be bought? Will she abandon her department, her goals, her identity? Her response isn't just defiance; it's a statement that she won't be controlled. The physical fight between the cousins is where the stakes become visceral. This isn't just verbal sparring anymore. Li Jueyan strikes first. Li Jueming aims for the face. Other students have to break it up. The bias in the "mediation" shows how the Li family's influence extends even into how conflicts are resolved. And underneath all of this is the largest conflict: humanity vs. a dying world. The Revival Plan. The disaster that's coming in four years. The rising mortality rates. Every small conflict in this batch echoes the larger one. Jiang is preparing for a world that's already ending, and every seed she plants, every ability she tests, every enemy she makes is part of that preparation. The stakes aren't just personal—they're existential.

There's this one detail that keeps coming back to me—the sand on Manager Fang's lettuce. Jiang Luokui notices it immediately and uses it as proof that the vegetables aren't hers. But I think it means more than that. The experimental field has black loam. Sticky. Rich. The kind of soil that actually nurtures things. The sand represents something artificial, something imported from outside—the kind of shortcut Boss Zhao is taking with his outer-wall zone produce. It's grown in harsh conditions with fancy equipment, but it lacks the soul of something grown in real earth. And then there's the lettuce that "mutated" after being in the trash. Manager Fang thought he was being clever—swapping the vegetables, making them look bad. But the lettuce didn't actually change. It was always perfect. The mutation was in the handling, in the disrespect. The author seems to be saying something about how integrity can't be faked, no matter how much you try to contaminate it. Jiang Luokui's cultivation improving after someone sprinkled something on her plants at night—that's another layer. Who was it? Why did it work? The story keeps hinting that there's a deeper connection between radiation and spiritual energy, between the physical world and something more. The vegetables aren't just food. They're a bridge between two systems of power. The scallion oil being described as "salvation" by a starving combat student—that's the theme in its purest form. What grows in this broken world isn't just sustenance. It's hope. It's the thing that keeps people going when everything else is falling apart.

Okay, so the Forward Farm scene is where this chapter really snaps into focus. On the surface it's a field trip, right? Teacher Li and Researcher Dong giving agriculture students a tour of radiation-resistant rice varieties. But then—BAM. Chu Zi'an gets absolutely wrecked by a rice plant that undergoes a SECOND MUTATION. Not just mutated, but mutating again in real time. The grains swell up like a pufferfish and those fine hairs literally shoot out through his protective suit. Jiang Luokui sees it happening and immediately calls it out, and here's the thing that got me—Researcher Dong's reaction is... weirdly calm? Like, most people would be losing their minds over a second mutation event, but he just nods and asks Pu Qing to help him find the plant. No shock, no panic. Just 'alright I understand.' That's a plot thread I am NOT letting go of. Also the whole setup with the cucumber vine that moved on its own earlier that morning, plus this rice incident—Jiang Luokui is clearly connecting dots that nobody else is. The plot is layering mysteries on top of each other and I'm here for it. The secondary mutation reveal alone is worth the price of admission.