By rights, this should have been lunchtime, but Qiao Ning was too curious to wait—he was itching to test his Golden Finger.
A dozen-odd pots filled his little balcony. Qiao Ning shifted a few around and moved the three strawberry pots onto his desk, giving them a quick numbering first.
The three pots were in similar condition. Qiao Ning placed Strawberry No. 1 in front of him and produced a drop of Spirit Spring water. He was about to drip it straight into the soil when, looking at that tiny drop, he reconsidered—one drop would vanish without a trace; it might not even wet the dirt.
He turned and went out to fill a cup—his personal drinking cup. The Spirit Spring water dissolved into it and instantly vanished.
Afraid the spring’s effect would fade once mixed into water, Qiao Ning didn’t dare waste a second, immediately pouring the whole cup into Strawberry No. 1’s pot.
Before the cup had even emptied, Qiao Ning was struck speechless by the scene before him, stumbling backward two steps in shock until his legs hit the bed frame.
Like a scene out of an anime playing out in real life—that little strawberry pot suddenly began growing at speed. Not only did the plant shoot up and out, the fruit multiplied.
The small strawberries already set ripened rapidly to the point of dropping off, then bloomed again and set new fruit just as fast.
In the time it took Qiao Ning to recover from his daze, the second wave of strawberries was nearly ripe. A fresh, rich strawberry fragrance filled the entire room.
Too many strawberries had rolled onto the desk. So ripe some had fallen from the stems and split, strawberry juice seeping out—the scent grew even stronger.
Seeing the second wave about to overripen and drop naturally, Qiao Ning forgot everything else and hurried to pick them.
No time to find a container—he just piled them on the desk. Even so, his picking speed couldn’t keep up with the ripening, and more than a dozen strawberries dropped on their own.
Ordinary potted strawberries don’t yield much—one plant bears only a handful of fruit. The shop owner had told Qiao Ning a dozen or so was already good.
But this second wave numbered a good fifty or sixty, far beyond what a normal potted strawberry could produce. Hanging on the stems, they were red and heavy, each one like a Ruby—beautiful beyond words.
And it wasn’t over. Qiao Ning had just caught one strawberry from rolling off the desk when Strawberry No. 1 bloomed again.
The owner had also said that a potted strawberry grown outdoors typically sets two harvests, three or four with careful management—but no guarantees.
Strawberry No. 1, though, before Qiao Ning’s very eyes, bloomed and fruited, bloomed and fruited, bloomed and fruited… fruiting like something possessed, repeating over and over. Numb with shock, Qiao Ning picked strawberries until the desk was heaped with them.
Until the ninth time. That wave bore unusually little—only twenty-odd berries in all.
Qiao Ning had already half-suspected it. Sure enough, once he picked that last wave, the Strawberry No. 1 plant withered at a visible speed, dying there in its pot.
Qiao Ning blinked and prodded the withered plant, heart still pounding.
His senses told him this strawberry plant was dead—its vitality entirely spent.
So a single drop of Spirit Spring water packed that much power.
Good thing he hadn’t drunk it himself. What if it ripened him into an old man? That would make his rebirth pointless.
Qiao Ning carried all three pots to the balcony and started sorting the strawberries.
So many.
Nine waves of fruit in all. The smallest was the first—originally already hung with half-ripened berries, thirteen or so.
The largest—who could remember which wave—had ripened faster than he could pick; he’d only gotten through half, and the unpicked remainder was probably sixty-plus.
A few hundred strawberries altogether. The fruit wasn’t especially large—this strawberry variety didn’t naturally produce big berries—but they were already two sizes bigger than they should have been, around thirty grams each.
They were all gorgeous: vividly colored, a deep true red, with perfect ripeness plain to see.
It’s just—so many.
Qiao Ning went to the kitchen and found a clean basin—it looked like a dough-kneading one. Aside from small bowls and chopsticks, everything in the kitchen had come with the landlord; it had been agreed at move-in that they could use it freely.
Qiao Ning carried the empty basin and his fish into the bedroom and locked the door again.
First, the strawberries. He sorted out the intact ones into the basin—they couldn’t keep sitting on the desk.
The ones that had fallen and split went to the side, to be dealt with today as soon as possible.
As he sorted, he swallowed again and again. These strawberries smelled so good.
He’d just stepped out and come back in—walking through the door, that rich strawberry fragrance hit him square on. Sweet-tart, intensely aromatic but not cloying in the least, refreshing and lovely.
He found one that had fallen badly—the tip completely smashed. Qiao Ning crushed it and dropped it into the basin holding the fish.
He’d bought an ordinary carp. He didn’t know if fish ate strawberries. Worth a try.
The moment the strawberry flesh hit the water, the carp lunged over as if seized by some irresistible temptation, tail whipping, and gulped down every bit of the flesh in the basin.
Then it went right on swishing its tail, hunting around for more. A whole strawberry—swallowed whole, not a speck of scraps left behind.
Qiao Ning’s mouth watered harder.
The air was thick with strawberry fragrance. If he weren’t so careful with his life, he’d have devoured everything on the spot.
Once all the strawberries were sorted, the big dough basin couldn’t hold them all—a small heap had to stay piled on the desk.
The damaged ones numbered around seventy or eighty. Quite a lot.
Qiao Ning looked at the carp in its basin—friskier than ever, tail whipping with real force, nothing like a dying fish.
In his senses, this fish’s vitality was strong too.
Qiao Ning crushed another strawberry and fed it to the fish. The carp got even more excited—chasing a piece of flesh, it leaped clean out of the basin, flopping wildly across the floor.
Qiao Ning scrambled to grab it back. The instant the carp hit the water, without even a second’s pause, it went right back to chasing strawberry flesh.
He hadn’t eaten lunch, and his stomach had been growling—now he was hungry and craving, that strawberry fragrance pulling the saliva right out of him. He’d never known he could be this gluttonous.
He waited a while longer. By the time the carp had eaten its first bite of strawberry, about half an hour had passed.
Qiao Ning reasoned: if strawberries were bad for it, the fish would have gone belly-up long ago.
He hesitated no more. He washed a bowl of the damaged strawberries—and the moment he finished washing, couldn’t help popping one in his mouth.
Delicious.
So delicious!
He’d never eaten a strawberry this good!
Fine—granted, Qiao Ning hadn’t eaten many strawberries in his life to begin with. But he’d tasted the pricier, tastier varieties at part-time jobs, bought by students’ parents and offered to him. “Have a taste.”
Truly good. Expensive for a reason.
But none of them could compare to his Spirit Spring strawberry.
The moment it hit his tongue, he bit down lightly, and strawberry juice flooded his whole mouth in an instant—that clear, sweet juice waking every dormant taste bud.
Not purely sweet—it carried the faintest touch of sourness, yet not sharp at all, not jarring. It only made the strawberry taste better, more harmonious.
Though it had ripened to the point of falling off on its own, the texture wasn’t mushy. The flesh still had a bit of a crispness? No—flakiness? Tenderness?
Qiao Ning didn’t know how to describe it. First time discovering how poor his vocabulary was.
Bottom line: delicious.
Explosively delicious.
Any thought of “just one to test” was long abandoned. Before he’d even finished swallowing, his fingers were already pinching up the next strawberry and stuffing it into his mouth.
Couldn’t stop. Absolutely could not stop.
His fingers hit the bottom of the bowl. Qiao Ning froze, staring down in disbelief.
He’d eaten one, two, three—four, five, six—seven, eight, tops—but he’d washed ten!
All gone!
Not good.
He’d eaten too many.
Even thinking it, it didn’t stop him from finishing the strawberry in his mouth.
Well, it was eaten. Couldn’t exactly spit it out—what a waste. A strawberry this delicious—wasting it would be a crime.
Holding down his cravings, he waited a while longer.
Besides being hungrier, stomach growling louder—no discomfort whatsoever.
He even felt fantastic.
Then just a bit more, then.
So many strawberries—wouldn’t it be a shame to let them spoil?
Qiao Ning washed another bowl. Didn’t count them this time—washed meant eaten. Finished that bowl too.
Heh. Fine.
Then a little more.
Round and round it went—that pile of seventy or eighty damaged strawberries, maybe three or four jin, all devoured by one person.
Qiao Ning: “…”
He hadn’t even eaten lunch!
Growing body, eating a bit more—what’s the harm? Perfectly normal.
Having eaten this many strawberries in one go with no cloying at all—his whole mouth full of sweet-tart strawberry flavor.
Qiao Ning cast a very covetous glance at the other heap on the desk.
Soon enough, he reasoned it out.
Why had he died of sudden death last life? Because he didn’t know how to care for himself.
Grinding was one thing—he didn’t know how to eat well and drink well, obsessed with saving money for a house.
The house would come eventually. Enjoy things a little first, and maybe the body wouldn’t hit its limit so soon.
So.
He was growing his own strawberries now. So many strawberries—he’d only eaten the broken ones. What’s wrong with eating a few whole ones?
Can’t mistreat yourself. One more bowl.
Having talked himself into it, Qiao Ning went and swapped in an even bigger bowl, washed a great heap of strawberries, and hugged the bowl to his chest, happily, gleefully inhaling the most delicious strawberries of his life.
