Three days passed in the blink of an eye. Although the company was stingy, they still had to put on a show of decency, so they sent a car to take Zhao Biezhi to the filming location.
It wasn’t until she got in the car that she noticed several cameramen were already seated inside, their long lenses and bulky equipment aimed directly at her.
Only then did she finally feel a sense of reality about the shoot.
The filming location was in Wu County, a relatively remote rural area of S City. There were no high-rises here—as far as the eye could see, endless fields stretched along the roadside, dotted with a few low farmhouses, and beyond that, rolling mountain ranges.
Setting aside everything else, the scenery was absolutely stunning.
Zhao Biezhi was lost in the natural beauty when she suddenly felt someone poke her arm.
Turning around, a cameraman beside her reminded her, “Teacher Zhao, we’ve already started the livestream. You can introduce yourself first.”
Only then did Zhao Biezhi snap back to reality and quickly spoke up: “Hello everyone, I’m a recent college graduate from R University, 22 years old—”
The moment she opened her mouth, she instinctively recited the self-introduction she had prepared for her civil service interview. She wished she could slap herself.
The cameraman hadn’t expected her to say that either, but what surprised him even more was that she was actually an R University graduate?
In an entertainment industry flooded with nine-leak fish, a graduate from a prestigious university like that was practically as rare as a phoenix feather or a qilin horn.
“Teacher Zhao, no need to be nervous—just show your most authentic self,” the cameraman couldn’t help but comfort her.
Zhao Biezhi smiled awkwardly, nodded, and reintroduced herself: “Hello everyone, my name is Zhao Biezhi. I’m 22 years old, from Morningstar Entertainment. I’m very honored to be participating in the show Treasure-Like Countryside.”
Adhering to the principle that the more you say, the more mistakes you make, Zhao Biezhi didn’t say much more.
Don’t ask—ask and she’d say she was afraid of getting cyberbullied. She was a very fragile girl.
Another voice came through the cameraman’s earpiece: “Get her to say something else. The livestream response is pretty good.”
The speaker was none other than the director, Song Qun, observing the livestream feed on the monitor from the filming location in the distance.
Although Treasure-Like Countryside hadn’t invited any big-name guests, there was no denying that the concept of four men and one woman farming for half a year was quite a gimmick, attracting some spectators looking for entertainment.
Since the guests hadn’t arrived at the filming location yet, the production team had set up an individual livestream for each guest, in addition to one main livestream fixed at the filming site.
Viewers could choose to watch all of them at once, or click into a specific guest’s personal livestream.
Zhao Biezhi was the first guest to appear. Her delicate features still attracted a small number of viewers—though only a few dozen people.
And when she fumbled her words, several bullet comments instantly appeared in the livestream.
【LMAO, does she think she’s at an interview?】
【At this moment, I’m reminded of the fear of being dominated by interviews again.】
【Wait, but the girl is actually an R University grad!】
【R University graduate, but a silly pretty girl.】
【She looks so fragile and delicate—can she really farm? She’s not one of those drama queens I hate, is she?】
【She seems so fake】
【To the person above, if you don’t like watching, leave and check out other livestreams. She hasn’t even done anything yet—do you really need to speculate with such malice?】
The cameraman caught the director’s signal and quickly relayed it to Zhao Biezhi. “We still have a bit of a drive to the filming location. Why don’t you talk about something else for a while?”
“Uh…” Zhao Biezhi was momentarily at a loss, her gaze drifting until it landed on the fruit trees outside the car window, and suddenly an idea struck her.
“Then let me briefly chat with everyone about Wu County. As it happens, I’m from S City too.”
A few less-than-friendly comments popped up in the livestream chat.
[What a coincidence? This can’t be scripted, right?]
[Obviously scripted. She looks like a city girl through and through. I’m from S City too, and I’ve never even heard of some small place called Wu County.]
[Why is the person above so hostile? She hasn’t even said anything yet.]
[Looking at that profile picture, they’re a fan of w61. Probably bitter that their idol is about to film a variety show with this young lady.]
Zhao Biezhi, unaware of the livestream’s reaction, continued speaking on her own.
She naturally hadn’t known the filming location was in Wu County before this—it was just that a few days ago, while preparing materials for an interview, she happened to come across information about the area.
“Wu County is located in the southeastern part of S City. It got its name because the area was originally a stretch of wasteland overgrown with wild grass. ‘Wu’ means overgrown with weeds—that’s where the word ‘huangwu’ (desolate) comes from.”
“Later, the villagers gradually cleared away the weeds from the fields, and after reclaiming the wasteland, they planted various crops on it. That’s how it slowly became what we see today.”
“However, in recent years, with the advancement of urbanization, more and more people have chosen to go work in the cities. Currently, the permanent resident population ratio in Wu County has dropped to less than 50%.”
“With a massive outflow of young and middle-aged labor, most of those left behind are the elderly and children. Over time, much of the land has fallen into disuse once again.”
“See—you can look outside and notice that many plots of land along the roadside are completely bare, with nothing planted on them.”
Just as Zhao Biezhi said this, the cameraman aptly turned the lens toward the fields outside the car.
[Wow, she explains it so professionally.]
[No wonder the production team chose this place for them to farm. Such a shame that so much land is just lying fallow.]
[Yeah, it makes me want to go farming myself. So I’m opening up my Stardew Valley and playing for a furious hour.]
[One hour isn’t nearly enough, buddy. When you play a game like Stardew Valley, isn’t it just—blink once, and it’s gone from dark to dawn?]
In the distance, Director Song watched Zhao Biezhi chatting away confidently on the livestream monitor and nodded in satisfaction.
“Earlier, Chenxing said Zhao Biezhi had never been on a show before and worried she might lack experience. From what I can see, she’s doing just fine.”
“Tsk, who would’ve thought that a few golden phoenixes could actually fly out of Chenxing’s shabby nest.”
The assistant director beside him, afraid he might say something else offensive, quickly interrupted. “Director Song, Zhao Biezhi will be arriving soon. Should we send someone to receive her?”
“No need. Park the car at the gate and let her walk in on her own. We’ll get more footage of her reactions that way.” Director Song waved his hand, then turned his attention to the other livestream screens. “How much longer until the others arrive?”
“Soon, soon—maybe half an hour. The one from the Qiao family threw a bit of a tantrum before leaving, but it’s all been resolved.”
Director Song nodded without further questions, his focus returning to the monitor in front of him.
Meanwhile, the car came to a stop in front of an iron gate.
“Teacher Zhao, we’ve arrived,” the cameraman reminded her.
“Oh, right!” Zhao Biezhi said, grabbing her suitcase and stepping out of the car.
Dragging her suitcase along, she walked forward on the flat concrete path, flanked by lush little hills that appeared to be planted with fruit trees. However, they seemed neglected, with many of the trees looking sickly and wilted.
After walking for a while, the view opened up, and Zhao Biezhi realized the area was actually basin-shaped, featuring a pond and a large stretch of undeveloped wasteland.
But what caught her eye the most were the two farmhouses beside the field ridges.
Zhao Biezhi halted in front of the farmhouses, turning around with a trembling hand pointing at the buildings. “This isn’t where we’re going to be staying, is it…”
Old, dilapidated—such words were more than fitting to describe the two houses before her.
Moss covered the courtyard walls, and several roof tiles were already on the verge of falling, swaying with a gentle breeze.
“Bang—”
A heavy thud echoed from behind the house.
“Oh my god…” Zhao Biezhi couldn’t help but mutter, “At this point, who can even tell the difference between farming and wilderness survival.”