Melon Eating Cannon Fodder, On Air!-Chapter 59 - Fifty-Nine: Village Chores Begin(2)

Sun Qiaolian was paired with Zhou Zhenyu, which pleased her more than she wished to admit. Not due to affection, of course. Her relief had nothing to do with feelings and everything to do with the comforting reliability of a competent partner.

In this dating show, the one person she would genuinely consider dating in real life was Shen Xiyu. But even then, she absolutely would not want to be paired with him on the show.

Not because of shyness.

Not because of fear.

Not because she could not handle him.

But because she knew, with painful clarity, that if she were partnered with Shen Xiyu, she would never get first place in any mission. Which meant not-so-good rooms, not-so-good food, and the kind of exhaustion she refused to endure in the name of televised romance.

Reality was harsh.

Comfort was important.

Winning was essential.

Affection could wait.

So when the villager approached with a kindly smile and said, "Ah, you two look sturdy. Please help me harvest corn," Sun Qiaolian felt her optimism slide off a cliff.

Corn.

Rows of towering corn.

Under ruthless sunlight.

Zhou Zhenyu surveyed the field with quiet acceptance. "This is manageable."

Sun Qiaolian stared at the endless sea of greenery rustling ominously. Manageable was a very subjective word.

She smoothed her expression, nodded politely and said, "Of course. We are happy to help."

The villager handed them woven baskets.

Sun Qiaolian accepted hers with an expression one might wear while receiving a cursed artifact. She took two steps into the field. A leaf brushed her arm.

She flinched.

Another leaf brushed her cheek.

She flinched again.

Corn, she realised, had sharp edges. Sharp. Edges. Why did no one tell her this? Why did agricultural documentaries never mention the part where the plants actively tried to slice you?

Zhou Zhenyu moved ahead, calm as always. He reached up, twisted a cob cleanly off the stalk and dropped it into his basket with the efficiency of someone who had secretly trained for farm missions since birth.

Sun Qiaolian reached for a cob.

Her fingers slipped.

The corn resisted.

She pulled again.

It refused with dignity.

Finally, with a determined exhale, she yanked it off.

She felt victorious for exactly half a second before the villager cheerfully added, "After harvesting, please remove the husks too."

Sun Qiaolian froze.

Remove. The husks.

She stared at the cob in her hand, layers of tightly wrapped leaves covered in fine silk threads that clung to her fingers.

Corn silk.

Sticky.

Determined.

Emotionally hostile.

She began peeling.

The silk stuck to her hands.

She peeled harder.

The silk stuck worse.

From beside her, Zhou Zhenyu was already on his fifth cob, his movements steady and almost elegant.

"Do not rush," he said helpfully.

"I am not rushing," she replied through gritted teeth, peeling with the intensity of someone battling haute couture embroidery.

The livestream comments practically vibrated:

[Zhenyu working like a model employee]

[Qiaolian fighting for her life against corn silk]

[She looks so elegant but so defeated at the same time]

[PLEASE someone give her gloves]

Finally, Sun Qiaolian managed one clean husk.

She exhaled, triumphant.

And then she looked at the mountain of unpeeled corn left.

Her soul wavered.

But she lifted her chin, straightened her back and reminded herself that she was Sun Qiaolian. She had dealt with many things in life. She would not be defeated by vegetables.

Even if the vegetables fought back.

Zhou Zhenyu glanced at her basket and offered lightly, "Do you want me to take a few?"

She hesitated.

Then her pride straightened its metaphorical spine. After all, she knew perfectly well that audiences no longer loved damsels being rescued. What they adored these days were women rescuing themselves with style and composure.

"No," she said, voice soft but firm. Even though, in her heart, she wanted nothing more than to hand every single corn in her basket to Zhou Zhenyu. "I can do this."

Zhou Zhenyu nodded calmly, accepting her answer without question.

The livestream, of course, had no such restraint.

[Shiyun’s pride is fighting for its life]

[She said "I can do this" but her soul said "please take them"]

[Girlhood is pretending you are strong while hoping someone carries your groceries]

[Zhenyu: respected her choice. Shiyun: instantly regretting her choice.]

*****

Compared to corn harvesting, rice work was supposed to be gentler.

That assumption lasted precisely three minutes.

An Ning and Shen Xiyu were assigned to harvest bundles of rice, then thresh them using the traditional method: grabbing the stalks and striking them forcefully against a wooden beam until the grains scattered free.

Simple in theory.

Murderous on the arms in reality.

An Ning lifted her first bundle, positioning it securely. She gave a clean, efficient swing.

The grains burst out like obedient students responding to roll call.

She blinked. "This is quite effective."

Beside her, Shen Xiyu grabbed his own bundle of rice. He swung it downward with the strength of a man who played piano for exercise and was now questioning every life decision that led him here.

The stalks bounced off the beam with the enthusiasm of wet noodles.

Again.

And again.

His face grew steadily redder, his breaths louder, his posture collapsing under the weight of pure suffering. He lifted the bundle higher and swung with the desperation of a man trying to fight destiny itself.

A few grains trickled out.

Very few.

An Ning studied the result in silence.

Then she politely turned away and resumed her own work.

Her swings were precise, powerful and shockingly efficient. Grains flew in elegant arcs each time she struck the beam. If this had been a competition, she would have been clearing entire acres by noon.

Shen Xiyu was... not.

The livestream exploded instantly.

[Is Ningning secretly built different???]

[That rice bundle got THRASHED]

[Shen Xiyu looks like he is fighting for custody of his dignity]

[He is such a city boy please someone save him]

[He said he was good at light exercise but this is not light exercise]

Even the cameraman could not resist zooming in on Shen Xiyu’s increasingly devastated expression.

After another minute of ineffective threshing, he paused, panting like an overheated puppy.

An Ning, meanwhile, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and lifted another bundle without looking remotely winded.

"Are you alright?" she asked mildly.

Shen Xiyu tried to respond, but what came out was a quiet, hopeless wheeze.

She nodded sympathetically. "Feel free to take a short break."

He attempted dignity. "I am fine. Truly. Completely fine."

His voice cracked halfway through.

The audience howled.

[I have never seen a man break so fast]

[Ningning is the reaper and the rice knows it]

[Shen Xiyu is discovering agriculture in real time]

[Ningning is harvesting rice and souls]

An Ning lifted her next bundle.

Another crisp swing.

Another neat shower of grains.

Shen Xiyu watched the grains fall with the expression of someone witnessing a miracle he knew he could not recreate.

Finally, he leaned against his bundle, chest rising and falling. "This job requires... considerable strength."

An Ning nodded. "The villagers make it look easy."

He gave a faint, self-aware laugh. "I was raised in air-conditioning. My ancestors will understand."

The livestream erupted.

[At least he is honest]

[Xiyu refusing to pretend he is good at this is so funny]

[Rich boy suffers but with elegance]

[He is not losing to rice, he is surrendering peacefully]

An Ning resumed her work, efficient as ever. Shen Xiyu made another attempt at swinging the bundle, but the moment the stalks bounced harmlessly off the beam again, he accepted his fate.

He straightened, dusted off his sleeves with quiet dignity and said, "I believe my strength is better used carrying the finished bundles."

An Ning hid a smile. "That is also important."

The audience loved it.

[King of knowing his limits]

[He may not farm but he has manners]

[Look at him choosing logistics over labour]

[This is the most realistic man on the show]

In the end, Shen Xiyu stood beside her, carefully stacking the rice she finished threshing, doing his best to contribute in the only way he could.

And for once, the viewers agreed.

He was not pretending.

He was not posturing.

He was simply Shen Xiyu... a refined prince who had no business doing agricultural work, but was doing it anyway, with polite suffering and surprising grace.

*****

From a distance, under the shade of a wide straw hat, the director observed the monitors with the quiet satisfaction of a man whose ratings were about to skyrocket.

First, the corn field.

Zhou Zhenyu worked with calm precision.

Sun Qiaolian worked with elegance and stubborn pride.

They made a surprisingly balanced pair: capable, polite, and almost photogenic in their cooperation. The villagers liked them. The tasks were completed smoothly. The footage was clean.

Too clean.

The director sighed, making a small mental note.

Edit lightly. Add soft background music. Push CP angle only slightly. Keep them charming, not dramatic.

Then he switched to the rice field feed.

The difference was immediate.

On one side of the screen, An Ning swung her bundle with the efficiency of a seasoned warrior, grains scattering like golden rain.

On the other, Shen Xiyu resembled a man in the midst of a spiritual crisis.

His arms shook.

His pride collapsed.

His image... fractured beautifully.

The director placed a hand reverently over his heart.

"This," he murmured, "is television magic."

The cameraman beside him tried not to laugh.

He zoomed in as Shen Xiyu missed the beam entirely for the third time.

The director nodded approvingly. "Keep that. Slow-motion it, even."

He leaned back, delight settling in his bones.

Two pairs, two completely different flavors. One harmonious and competent. One chaotic and unintentionally explosive. Both excellent for ratings.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the director closed his clipboard with a satisfied snap.