Chapter 437: Day 2 into the Farming Story

Chapter 437: The Second Day of Transmigrating into a Farming Story

An Yi casually absorbed the content of this novel titled "The Foodie Ge'er's Clever Household Management."

This world had three... genders—men, women, and ge'ers.

Ge'ers looked like men, but were more slender and delicate, with a small red mole between their brows to distinguish them from ordinary men.

They could marry, and even become pregnant and bear children.

An Yi raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. Three genders? Men getting pregnant? He wasn't surprised in the least—after all, he'd already been there, done that.

He'd once lived in a world with six genders, and five of them could get pregnant.

Compared to that world, this one was child's play.

The protagonist of this novel, Jiang Chiliu, had transmigrated into the body of a widowed ge'er—his husband dead, tormented by his in-laws until he threw himself into the river.

According to the original plot, the awakened Jiang Chiliu would first match wits with his in-laws, teach those spiteful relatives a lesson, and then leave the Li family.

Then, starting by selling malatang (spicy skewer soup) in the village, he would save up money bit by bit, expanding his business to the county, the prefectural city, and finally all the way to the capital.

And why would he go to the capital?

Naturally, because of his future husband, Fu Cong, who was still working as a village schoolteacher at the moment.

This man would later pass the imperial examinations, shoot up the ranks to become a capital official, and his true identity was that of the estranged legitimate son of the Prime Minister.

Jiang Chiliu followed him all the way to the capital, building his business along the way, and the two lived happily ever after, even having two children.

Eighty percent of the novel was Jiang Chiliu cooking and building his career; the remaining twenty percent was his tender, lovey-dovey romance with Fu Cong, interspersed with villains and romantic rivals to spice things up.

And the original owner of An Yi's current body was one of those "seasonings"—a village good-for-nothing who coveted the protagonist's beauty but didn't even rate as a romantic rival.

In the end, of course, he was given a good lesson by the protagonist couple and thrown into prison.

An Yi chuckled softly. This was truly his first time being a loafer.

Interesting.

He sifted through the original owner's memories. The original owner was eighteen this year. His parents had both died within a short time of each other five years ago, and his relatives couldn't be bothered to discipline him, so he gradually went down the wrong path.

His family's fields had all been rented out, and the rent was barely enough to keep him fed and clothed—but the original owner blew through it on drinking the moment it came in, wasting it all within days.

To survive, he turned to petty theft—stealing chickens, dogs, whatever he could get his hands on—and even picked up gambling. Just recently, he'd lost big, even putting up his fields as collateral, so now he couldn't even collect rent anymore.

An Yi: "..."

Alright, since I'm here, I'll make the best of it.

His gaze swept over Jiang Chiliu, who had already been helped to his feet by the river.

The protagonist was politely thanking people with downcast eyes. His delicate features were visible beneath the wet hair, and the red mole between his brows, soaked by the water, stood out vividly.

An Yi straightened up from under the old willow tree and tossed the crushed foxtail grass onto the muddy ground.

He turned and walked along the dirt path toward the other end of the village.

His pace was unhurried, his worn cloth shoes making soft squelching sounds on the mud.

An Yi looked down and saw a hole in the toe of his left shoe, his big toe poking through. He wiggled it gently.

An Yi smiled and greeted his big toe.

As he passed a few villagers still craning their necks to watch the commotion around Jiang Chiliu, a man glanced at him with obvious contempt, as if he'd seen something filthy, quickly averting his gaze and even stepping half a pace aside.

But An Yi stopped and smiled at him.

The smile was gentle, even friendly—his brows curved as he smiled, the corners of his eyes slightly upturned, carrying an indefinable something.

The man froze, clearly not expecting this usually cowering, chicken-stealing loafer to meet his gaze so calmly and smile—and, well... he was actually kind of good-looking!

His expression shifted, a bit awkward, and he finally just turned his head away, muttering a curse under his breath.

Beside him, an older woman tugged at the man's sleeve: "What are you looking at him for? Careful, he might steal from your house!"

Her voice was loud enough for An Yi to hear.

An Yi laughed out loud. He took a step forward and said warmly to the woman, "That's right, be careful. I'm a master thief."

The woman: "..."

The man: "..."

The surrounding villagers who had been eavesdropping all fell silent for a moment.

This guy's gone mad, right? What thief admits to being a master thief? And so confidently, too? Shameless!

The woman glared at An Yi with her brows knit in a scowl, as if trying to bore a hole through him with her eyes.

But as she stared, her face suddenly stiffened. Her gaze lingered on An Yi's face for a moment, and then a suspicious flush crept across her cheeks. She quickly looked away and spat, "You little rascal, you're actually kind of handsome... How did I never notice before?"

An Yi raised an eyebrow slightly, then settled back into his gentle smile, continuing on his way as if nothing had happened.

The original owner's face was indeed decent-looking—otherwise, how else would he have latched onto a widow in the book?

It was just that he used to hunch his back, avoid eye contact, and wear either a fawning smile or a look of guilty panic on his face. Even the best looks were wasted.

Now, with a new soul inside, the change in demeanor and bearing made all the difference.

"Young An, out for a stroll again?"

A woman carrying a basket emerged from a side path ahead. Seeing him from a distance, she paused mid-step, instinctively pulled the basket closer to her chest, and quickened her pace.

Her voice was loud, laced with obvious wariness: "No rice left at home, is there? Don't you dare eye my chickens again! I still haven't settled the score for the one that went missing last time!"

An Yi stopped.

He looked at the woman, his gaze landing on the basket she clutched tightly—a few green vegetable leaves poking out, along with some eggs.

He smiled and nodded at her: "Don't worry, Auntie. I'm not in the mood for chicken lately."

The woman shot him a look that clearly said "As if I'd believe that," but she pressed on: "Ducks are off the table too!"

An Yi burst out laughing.

The woman was taken aback for a moment, then frowned: "Lost your mind? What's so funny?"

An Yi stopped laughing and shook his head, his tone still carrying the lingering amusement: "Not in the mood for ducks either. You'd better head home, Auntie—the sun's harsh."

With that, he continued forward, his back straight, his stride unhurried. The shabby clothes he wore somehow didn't look pitiful on him, but instead carried a kind of carefree, rakish charm.

The woman stared at his back for a few seconds before muttering "He's possessed, I swear," and hurried home—though she couldn't help glancing back once more as she went.

An Yi clicked his tongue softly inwardly.

Being a loafer is pretty entertaining.