Mist rolled in front of Qian Xiaohao as several figures emerged from the dense fog, approaching his farm.
Of course, calling it a farm was a bit of a stretch—it more closely resembled a large-scale haunted amusement park.
The crops in the field moaned, with anguished faces on red tomatoes that constantly emitted creepy groans.
The scarecrows in the field were rather useful, except when they carelessly followed Qian Xiaohao around. If he looked back, he would see their harmless smiles, which made him feel like he never had enough trousers.
Despite this, the joy of the harvest was undeniable.
Tomatoes moaned, wheat cursed loudly, and sugarcane tried to beat Qian Xiaohao to death—everything seemed so harmonious.
But every time harvest came, a gang of thieves would time their visit perfectly and take all his grain away.
