Happy Little Farmer
Chapter 742

Chapter 742: Chapter 742

The man in workwear was rendered speechless by Mr. Fan’s remark, feigning calmness as he lit a cigarette.

Yang Fan watched in astonishment as the man barely took a light puff, and the cigarette instantly shortened by a third, as if someone had pressed a fast-forward button.

Was this some kind of special ability?

"Mr. Fan, there’s no need to get so worked up. It’s really just that we’re short of manpower and forced into this situation. You’re not stepping in yourself, but this matter needs resolving, so we had no choice but to take such drastic measures," the man in workwear said earnestly.

"Drastic measures? So you don’t care about my or my disciple’s safety and directly resort to using artillery to raze the ground?" Mr. Fan snorted coldly. "Besides, am I really not stepping in? Are you out of your mind or have you lost your memory?"

"No, no, that’s not what I meant at all," the man said hurriedly. "Without your investigation, we wouldn’t have been able to deal with that thing. What I meant was, you didn’t plan to completely solve that menace, so we had no choice but to do this. We truly had no other options. If there were, would I dare to toss artillery shells toward your head, Mr. Fan?"

"Cut the nonsense. Do I look like someone capable of completely solving that menace?" Mr. Fan shouted.

"Well, for you it’s not..." The man glanced at Yang Fan and silently changed the subject. "Although it might indeed be somewhat difficult, it’s not entirely hopeless either."

Yang Fan pretended he hadn’t heard anything.

Anyway, even if they weren’t beating around the bush, he already knew Mr. Fan’s abilities were unquestionably powerful.

All these situations hinted at numerous unanswered mysteries.

Mr. Fan lowered his eyelids and glared at the man in workwear with visible annoyance, saying, "Alright, what do you want me to do this time?"

The man hurriedly extinguished his cigarette butt forcefully in the ashtray and said seriously, "Although the Old Locust Tree is dead, the small temple formed from its Lifebound Essence has survived our artillery bombardment completely unscathed. After inspecting it, our people couldn’t figure out what’s going on, so we need you to study it, Mr. Fan."

"Completely intact?" Mr. Fan frowned slightly.

"Yes, completely intact. Precision strikes landed directly on it, and the shells left a string of burnt marks. But after a while, even those blackened marks disappeared without a trace. No damage whatsoever," the man replied.

"I’ll go with you to take a look," Mr. Fan said.

"Leave the locust tree branches and roots you’re carrying," Mr. Fan added.

The man froze momentarily, then broke into a mournful smile. "Mr. Fan, you truly don’t miss a thing. Even a passing goose would have all its feathers plucked. After that big fight, this is all the good stuff I managed to gather."

"If you don’t want to hand it over, that’s fine," Mr. Fan said casually as he took a sip of his drink.

The man surrendered instantly. "Alright, alright, of course I’ll give them to you."

Only then did Mr. Fan nod in satisfaction.

Like a magician performing a trick, the man gently rubbed his palm against his wrist, and suddenly, a pile of branches and trunks appeared on the ground. These were noticeably different from the ones Mr. Fan had carried before; they were pitch-black, akin to charcoal.

Mr. Fan glanced disdainfully at the man. "You couldn’t have just gone outside to get them?"

"Mr. Fan, isn’t that unnecessary? It’s just a small trick, really," the man replied, casting a meaningful glance at Yang Fan.

Yang Fan silently turned his head away.

Initially, he had planned to ask out of curiosity, but upon hearing this exchange, he changed his mind.

It was clear Mr. Fan didn’t want him delving too deeply into certain matters for now.

Curiosity killed the cat—better not be overly curious.

Mr. Fan, visibly displeased, glared at the man, then said to Yang Fan, "I’m heading up the mountain to check things out. If you’re free these next two days, deal with these pieces of wood. Carve them into wooden maces or swords; whatever suits your preference. As for the dimensions, follow your own ideas, but don’t make them too small or delicate."

"Master, can’t I come up with you?" Yang Fan asked.

He wanted to observe and gain more experience.

"You’ll have plenty of opportunities for that in the future. No need to get involved this time," Mr. Fan responded.

"...Alright."

Yang Fan consented readily and cheerfully agreed.

No curiosity, then.

Leaving behind the pile of wood, Mr. Fan and the man departed from the farm restaurant together.

"Mr. Fan, your disciple is remarkably talented. Why suppress his pace now? Gaining experience early on is actually a good thing," the man asked, puzzled, as they got into the car.

"Are you saying I don’t know how to train a disciple?" Mr. Fan raised an eyebrow.

"No, not at all. I’m just a bit baffled," the man admitted.

Mr. Fan replied casually, "His growth is too rapid. His foundation isn’t solid enough yet. There’s no need to rush into gaining experience just now. What’s more important is for him to settle down and build a firm base. If he grows too fast but his foundation is weak, it’ll all collapse sooner or later."

The man nodded in agreement, then suddenly laughed. "You’ve finally found yourself a disciple. Naturally, you have to nurture this precious seedling carefully. If he withers, where will you find another one? At your age, finding a disciple is practically the same as having a child late in life."

"That foul mouth of yours—maybe it’s time to get rid of it," Mr. Fan grumbled displeased.

"Sorry, sorry. My mouth sometimes really has a mind of its own, as if it’s developed a personality," the man said ruefully. "It’s been relatively more stable lately, though. Sometimes words just slip out without much thought. Not long ago, things were far worse..."

"Thinking back to those days, I nearly went crazy. I got beaten up daily. If it weren’t for my kind superiors, I’d probably already have been sent to some remote freezing zone to clean toilets," he added.

Suddenly, Mr. Fan chuckled. "That’s what you get for having a loose tongue. Not everything is meant to be ’consumed indiscriminately.’"

"Well, this time I’ve certainly learned my lesson," the man sighed with a bitter smile. "But that thing’s effects are undeniably powerful. After taking just one, all my old hidden injuries healed completely, and my strength even improved significantly."

"Compared to that outcome, dealing with the side effect of a loose tongue...I guess I can accept it," he admitted.

"After all, it’s a thing that only bears two fruits every hundred years. It’s practically a divine creation," Mr. Fan remarked. "In your case, the side effect is relatively mild—just a tendency to talk too much. The real danger of that thing lies in how it amplifies human flaws. If someone with excessive greed or an overwhelming desire to kill eats it, they’d be dead for sure."

The man nodded in agreement, then joked, "That fruit seems like it was tailor-made for kind-hearted people like me with minor shortcomings."

Mr. Fan: ...

"Take some time to fix your face. Stop acting so nonchalant about it," Mr. Fan said.

...

Borrowing a saw and chisel from the restaurant owner and purchasing a few woodworking knives from a hardware store, Yang Fan began his carving project. Sculpting wood was something he had loved doing as a child, and revisiting it felt surprisingly enjoyable.

In those impoverished times, there wasn’t a single teenage boy who could resist the allure of wooden knives and swords.

But as he started the actual work, Yang Fan suddenly realized he might have oversimplified the task in his mind.