When Lin Zhi opened the creaking wooden door of the old house, the first thing that came out was not the musty smell, but the faint scent of soap locust from her grandmother's body in her memory. She never thought that at the age of thirty, she would return to the mountain village she wanted to escape with, all tired from the city and a diagnosis of thyroid nodules. What's more, she didn't expect that her grandma held her hand before she died, and what she left behind was not the deposit password, but a sentence: "Nanny, don't let the land behind the house go to waste." She lowered her head, looked at her hands that had clear joints from long-term typing on the keyboard, but knew nothing about the soil, and smiled bitterly. Does she have the final say whether it's wild or not? Until she was behind the portrait of the Kitchen God and touched the "Farming Notes" with yellowed pages and strange symbols painted on them. The first page said: "In the Guimao Year, the Grain Rain, the soil paste pulses, and you can grow melons. Be careful of being distracted, and be careful not to notice...
