Chapter 54
by SummerShen Nong’s Five Grains
After a long silence, Bai Suzhen finally spoke. “Principal, I admit you’re the best… but this name is really too…”
“Old-fashioned,” Xiao Qing finished with a grimace. “Let’s change it.”
Duan Jiazhe: “…”
Was he seriously getting roasted for this?
He had stepped in to prevent Lu Ya and You Su from murdering each other over naming rights. You’d think they’d thank him for his quick thinking. But no—just criticism.
Even You Su joined in with a gentle stab. “Director, please reconsider.”
Lu Ya just muttered the name under his breath—“Jia Jia?”—and snorted like it personally offended him.
That was the last straw.
Duan Jiazhe slammed the table. “I don’t care! I’m not changing it! It’s Jia Jia! Final!”
He’d been hesitant, maybe even a little embarrassed, but now—now he was doubling down out of pure spite. Director’s authority, invoked.
Everyone stared at him like he was a tyrant clinging to his terrible legacy. You Su even murmured, “This feels oddly familiar…”
Duan Jiazhe: “…………”
He cleared his throat. “Let’s move on. The name’s set. Now—housing.”
They only had one room left, and the new dorms weren’t finished. That meant someone was going to have to bunk up. Or worse… sleep in the exhibition hall.
He looked around and saw everyone smiling mysteriously.
Clearly, they all thought they were too important to be that someone.
He scanned the group. “Um… which two of you will share a room?”
He instinctively looked at Bai Suzhen and Xiao Qing.
Xiao Qing immediately raised his hand like a student dodging homework. “Director, don’t look at me. I’m a guy right now—I can’t sleep with my sister.”
Fair.
He turned to You Su.
She fluttered her lashes, resting her face in her hands. “The rooms are already small enough,” her expression said, Try making me share and see what happens.
…Okay, moving on.
He couldn’t ask Lu Ya. He knew better.
Which left…
“Little Bear,” Duan Jiazhe said gently, turning to Xiong Siqian. “Let’s share a room.”
Xiong Siqian visibly died a little inside, but Lu Ya’s protection meant he couldn’t refuse. At least he wasn’t stuck in the exhibit hall. Reluctantly, he nodded.
Being the director meant bowing to deities and bullying bears.
That night, Duan Jiazhe brought his toiletries to Xiong Siqian’s room and resigned himself to a life of squished sleeping.
The bed was technically a double, but once Xiong Siqian laid down, he took up the space of two and the gravitational pull of a black hole.
Duan Jiazhe tried to stay on his side, but he was clinging to the edge like a mountain climber on his last rope.
In a flash of regret, he muttered, “Can you conjure another bed?”
“Of course,” Xiong Siqian said helpfully. He pointed to the ground, and a single bed bloomed out of thin air like a magic mushroom.
Bless him.
Duan Jiazhe rolled onto it with a sigh of relief and drifted off.
He woke up screaming internally to the sound of operatic tragedy.
“Hearing his words scared me so much I was sweating all over~”
He cracked one eye open.
Xiong Siqian was fully immersed in an old opera video, headphones on, singing along with deep emotion. He was completely absorbed. Passionate. Loud.
It was 1 a.m.
Duan Jiazhe: “…”
He sat up, blanket in hand. There was no winning this.
Quietly, he slipped out of the room. At this point, even the exhibition hall was better.
As he trudged into the moonlit zoo, the door to Lu Ya’s room creaked open.
A voice, colder than the moonlight, called out, “Come in.”
Duan Jiazhe froze.
He glanced at the dark hallway ahead, then turned and tiptoed into Lu Ya’s room like a guilty child.
Lu Ya didn’t even glance at him. He was watching TV, cool and disinterested.
But there was an extra bed.
It hadn’t been there before.
“…Thanks, Lord Dao,” Duan Jiazhe whispered, clutching his blanket.
Lu Ya ignored him.
But even without words, the gesture said enough. Duan Jiazhe had to admit: for someone with the personality of a dagger, Lu Ya had surprisingly soft moments.
(Xiong Siqian would strangle him for saying that.)
Duan Jiazhe curled into bed, just two meters away from Lu Ya, and mumbled a final “Thank you, Lord Dao” before falling asleep.
Later—
“What does it mean to die for face and suffer in life?” Duan Jiazhe asked wearily.
Huang Qi stared at him. “…What?”
“I’m opening a restaurant,” Duan Jiazhe muttered. “Called Jia Jia.”
A beat.
“…Is that the ‘Jia’ from Duan Jiazhe?”
“…Yes.”
Huang Qi looked at him like he’d just confessed to naming his child after his Wi-Fi password.
To be fair, Jia Jia Restaurant wasn’t awful. A little tacky, maybe, but memorable. And let’s be real—the zoo was the main draw. The restaurant was just bonus content.
Still… now that it was obviously his name…
Duan Jiazhe flushed and covered his face. “Don’t look at me! It’s all Lu Ya’s fault!”
Huang Qi tried not to laugh. It made sense now. That smug deity had probably called him Jia Jia enough times to turn it into branding.
Huang Qi suddenly recalled Xiao Su’s past suspicions and felt a shiver run down his spine.
Before he could dwell, Duan Jiazhe shifted back to work mode.
“The aquarium should finish next month. Contact the fish importers. And also start interviews for the vet position. We got some resumes from the headhunters.”
“Yes, Director,” Huang Qi said crisply.
Paperwork was smooth sailing. The government loved them now—thanks to the interfaith forum and some well-placed support.
Duan Jiazhe secured approval for the new buildings, permits for the restaurant, and rental land from surrounding villages.
Most villagers were happy to lease their land. Farming was hard; working in the city paid better. This way, they earned money without lifting a hoe.
He also struck a deal for a barren mountain.
The soil was trash, but hey—Yangzhi Ganlu was miracle grow. He had Xiong Siqian plant test plots with high-concentration Ganlu. The seeds germinated in record time, ready for harvest almost instantly.
He packed up a batch of freshly cut wheatgrass and returned to the zoo.
Back at Lingyou, Liu Bin was dealing with a skeptical construction team arguing with Zhu Feng.
Zhu Feng’s instructions apparently sounded “mysterious” and “not industry-standard.”
Liu Bin was flustered. “Director, what do I tell them?”
“Tell them to follow Zhu Feng,” Duan Jiazhe said coolly. “We’ll take full responsibility.”
If you couldn’t trust a divine being to build your dorm, who could you trust?
Liu Bin noticed the basket and asked, “What’s all this?”
“Test ingredients for the restaurant,” Duan Jiazhe said. “We’ll cook them up tomorrow.”
The next morning, he brought the grains and wheatgrass to the kitchen.
Xu Chenggong stepped aside for two monks, Liu Xi and Yan Zhen, to help with the big iron pot. They were used to Duan Jiazhe sneaking into the kitchen to make meat dishes for his “special guests,” but this was new.
“This grain smells incredible!” Liu Xi said, recognizing the scent from his farming childhood. “What variety is this?”
Yan Zhen sniffed the wheatgrass and nodded politely.
Duan Jiazhe didn’t answer. He just smiled and began measuring the grains.
White pearl rice, golden millet, glossy wheat, amber chestnuts, and fat soybeans—each one shining like it had been hand-polished by a divine grain artist.
This was Shen Nong’s legacy. The original five grains, cultivated by a god, now bubbling away in his rice cooker.
He chopped the wheatgrass, added a slice of lemon, juiced it, and sipped.
Sweet, grassy, refreshing. Even without honey or fruit, the flavor was smooth and comforting.
He called it Shen Nong wheatgrass in his heart.
Employees gathered in the temporary canteen, curious about today’s “special meal.”
Liu Bin had hyped it up, so when Duan Jiazhe walked in holding… a glass bottle of wheatgrass juice, the air went flat.
“…Wheatgrass juice?” someone asked weakly.
Still, they tried it.
And then—
“Whoa! What fruit did you use?!”
“It’s so fragrant!”
“This is wheatgrass? It’s better than anything I’ve bought!”
“My stomach feels amazing now!”
Suddenly, everyone wanted more.
“There’s more,” Duan Jiazhe said, pleased. “Help me juice it. And bring out the porridge.”
In the kitchen, Yan Zhen and Liu Xi were crouched by the rice cooker like it was a treasure chest.
“The smell’s even stronger now,” Yan Zhen said, sniffing hungrily. “I’m starving.”
No spices, no meat—just pure grain. But it was addictive.
Even the pot of simmering meat next to them was forgotten.
When Duan Jiazhe arrived with Xiao Su, the cooker was almost done.
Xiao Su sniffed. “My god. That smells divine.”
It reminded her of the bamboo shoots here—simple, but otherworldly.
The porridge was a pale gold-white blend, rich and glossy, the grains plump and suspended in a thick, creamy broth.
Everyone drooled.
“I’ll just taste a little…” Duan Jiazhe muttered.
They scooped small bowls and dug in.
One bite—and Duan Jiazhe was stunned.
Sticky, smooth, rich. Each grain kept its shape, but the harmony was perfect. No need for salt, sugar, or oil. Just flavor.
His stomach felt warm. His soul felt full.
It was just porridge.
Just five grains.
But it tasted like something ancient and sacred. Like the memory of home you didn’t know you had.
Duan Jiazhe swallowed slowly, eyes wide.
“…I really know nothing about Shen Nong.”
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