Old Zhou fell silent. He tucked his smoking pipe into his waistband, got up, and took a few steps before he stopped, unable to proceed. After a long moment of thought, he finally gritted his teeth and crouched back down beside Manbao, "Fine, sell it then!"
He might just need to plant a bit more next year.
Manbao was overjoyed, knowing full well that planting more was impossible.
Old Zhou's tobacco was usually just a small corner of the vegetable garden, not much, just twenty or thirty plants. He had thought about expanding the cultivation, but was too stingy to use the good crop land for tobacco since he was already satisfied with what he grew to curb his cravings.
Even if there were smokers in the town, there weren't many. The tobacco leaves Old Zhou sold had their regular buyers, and growing more meant he wouldn't be able to smoke it all or sell it.
Therefore, he never considered growing tobacco to make money.
