The godlike life that Wen Qing enjoyed, being admired by everyone, did not last long.
Soon, the food in her space could no longer meet the school’s daily needs. She hadn’t lied about the size or growth time of her space, but she hadn’t expected the school’s consumption to be so massive.
Vegetables matured in half a month, wheat in a month, and the farmland was not small.
In Wen Qing’s mind, there wasn’t a concrete number—she just assumed it was inexhaustible.
What she didn’t realize was that, while she alone might never use it all, for a school of over 500 people, it wasn’t enough.
With each person needing two meals a day, that meant preparing 1,000 individual meals daily, every day.
After only a month, Wen Qing could no longer sustain such output. Even after harvesting another wave, it still wasn’t enough. In desperation, she started picking vegetables before they fully matured.
But the consequences were huge. She noticed that after harvesting immature vegetables, the growth cycles slowed: vegetables now matured once a month, wheat once every one and a half months.
Wen Qing was terrified. Unable to bear the pressure, she told Anyang everything.
For the school, food was the biggest issue.
An emergency meeting was quickly called. After lengthy discussion and planning, they made a decision: one meal per day.
The students were furious. They knew Wen Qing had a farming space and had become accustomed to two meals a day. Reducing it to one was hard to accept.
Most assumed Wen Qing didn’t want to share, so publicly they showed no offense, but privately they cursed her.
They called her hypocritical, selfish, a liar.
Although Tang Mo didn’t like Wen Qing, she couldn’t understand why others hated her so much. Everyone had eaten from her supplies before, yet still cursed her.
She wondered how Wen Qing would feel if she knew what people were saying behind her back. Times were tough; being a good person was hard.
In the fourth and a half month of the famine, officials announced that continuous exploration had confirmed the dangers in the mist were unknown creatures.
These creatures existed only within the mist, and would attack humans on sight. Extremely dangerous.
The officials called them **“strange beasts.”**
Alongside this bad news came some good news.
Research showed that some strange beasts contained **crystal cores**. Different colors corresponded to different attribute points. Consuming a crystal core could increase a person’s attribute value—one core = one point.
Just **one point**. Tang Mo was the only one who knew how hard it was to increase an attribute by even one point in this world—every point earned through sweat and time, nothing fake.
Officials also advised against entering the mist to hunt strange beasts, recommending caution.
But for the smart ones, this was meaningless. Publishing the information guaranteed interest. If the lure was enough, people would risk anything.
Crystal cores were precious; even if one didn’t use them, they could be sold to the wealthy for food. Who wouldn’t be tempted?
Soon, Wen Qing’s space could no longer supply even one meal per day for the 500+ students.
Everyone survived on previously stored supplies, but after months of hunger, their bodies had long run out of fat and energy.
Deaths from starvation occurred, but no one was shocked anymore.
The school held multiple meetings, trying to ensure the survival of most students, but could not reach a conclusion.
All food depended on Wen Qing, but overharvesting had worsened her farm’s condition.
The future of the trapped school was uncertain. They couldn’t just let things deteriorate.
Eventually, they made a bold decision: organize students to enter the mist.
However, their goal was not to hunt strange beasts for crystal cores—they aimed to leave the mist and break through the crisis.
Helicopters overhead showed the mist’s range clearly. Leaders used various methods to survey it.
Feedback from the helicopter revealed the thinnest mist was at the school gate. Entering there, walking straight, one could exit after only 500 meters—five minutes if lucky and unharmed.
Though no one had succeeded before, this time they could form a small team to tackle strange beasts together.
With everyone now possessing attribute points and improved physical abilities, they felt somewhat confident about leaving the mist.
The school’s plan made sense: staying meant death, so it was better to take a risk. Organizing those who wanted out meant strength in numbers.
Even if they failed, it wasn’t meaningless. Those who died in the mist would save food for the others.
Everyone understood this unspoken truth.
Once the decision was made, it was quickly announced to all students.
“Mo Mo, you won’t go, right…”
Li Lanlan still remembered the scene when Tang Mo kicked open a dorm door. She was the only girl brave enough to catch fish alone—there was little she couldn’t do.
Song Qing also looked at Tang Mo, waiting for her answer.
“Why are you all looking at me?” Tang Mo smiled wryly.
Even though her Life and Strength attributes had increased, her foundation was poor. Even at her peak, she was only stronger than the average girl—comparable to the physically weakest boys. What could she do against a strange beast?
Even though the current beasts were only level-one, most students had no proper weapons or combat experience. Three young men, even strong ones, struggled against a single beast, let alone the clustered beasts in the mist.
Others didn’t understand the mist, but she did. The beasts were clustered; surviving 500 meters was far harder than imagined.
Thinking of the last life, where this school decision led to a bloodbath, Tang Mo’s heart darkened.
Entering the mist was the wrong choice. Tang Mo knew it.
But in this situation, every choice was wrong. The school had weighed the options and chosen the best possible solution. All she could do was adapt and survive—nothing more.