Half a month later at noon, Old Hao, holding his smoking pipe, casually strolled over the Low Hill with each step covering more than ten meters.
"After half a month of hard labor, you must have had your fill of suffering."
"The acre I helped to plant should have already sprouted by now."
"Those he planted himself, at least half must be dead!"
"At noon, after toiling all morning. The heat, exhaustion, and agitation."
"All I need is to provoke him with my words, and he'll definitely feel resentful."
Thinking this, Old Hao's demeanor was leisurely, yet he swiftly arrived at the edge of the field like the wind.
He immediately saw the acre he had helped plant, with young seedlings as long as an index finger, green like iron needles, breaking through the soil, pointing straight towards the sky.
"Without comparison, there can be no hurt feelings. See, it's all stable!"
He had already seen the hard-working figure under the sun and immediately approached.
