LAVW – Chapter 117 Final Exams – Era of Niu Niu

However, Wang Anlei couldn’t understand Shi Qian’s cow-like chatter, and he was also entertaining some strange thoughts of his own.

He let out a hiccup and, feeling a bit aggrieved, held up the large piece of watermelon he had received. “Qian Niuhua, it’s all for you.”

Shi Qian: ???

Even Shi Qian couldn’t help but reflect a little.

Had he been too harsh toward this old fellow who was always thinking about making him work, and then work some more, and then work even more?

Clearly, during meals, he even wanted to hug him in gratitude, and now this was what he got.

He also heard Wang Anlei mutter softly, “Tomorrow, I’ll be counting on you for plowing the fields.”

Shi Qian’s small sense of conscience shattered briefly, so he stepped forward and gulped down the watermelon Wang Anlei had offered.

And in his mind, he made a silent promise: tomorrow, he’d have two extra fat cucumbers.

As for the watermelon he had “promised,” who had actually heard him?

No one.

No one heard it, which meant it was as if he had never said anything at all.

Later in the afternoon, after their nap, everyone went out again under the still blazing sun.

The ground beneath their feet was scorching, and Shi Qian made a point of walking only in shaded spots, even feeling like there was nowhere safe to step.

Looking up, he saw that those who had gone out first were already hard at work—harvesting golden waves of rice, planting fresh green seedlings—fearlessly pushing forward, as if the heat of the world was nothing to the laborers.

Chen Niu saw him taking a detour while walking, took off his straw hat, placed it on Shi Qian’s head, and said, “I’ll get you a bigger one later.”

The hat couldn’t stay on Shi Qian’s head properly—it was unstable and kept being pushed up by his two horns.

Chen Niu looked at it and then untied the straps, tying them separately to Shi Qian’s horns.

Shi Qian shook his head and tilted the hat toward Chen Niu: “Moo moo.”

“You wear it yourself.”

The weather was too hot; Chen Niu also needed sun protection. Don’t get sunburned.

Chen Niu adjusted the hat properly: “It’s fine. You head to the field first; I’ll grab another one on my way back.”

Shi Qian didn’t mind and followed him back.

The back-and-forth of one person and one ox took a few minutes, and then they finally started working in the fields.

Older folks just smiled at such little evasions from young people.

After all, everyone has done it at some point.

No one is born to be hardworking. Everyone prefers a more comfortable, easier life.

By evening, the temperature dropped, finally bringing some comfort.

The croaking of frogs—“ribbit, ribbit, ribbit”—echoed across the fields, as if exploding right next to one’s ears.

But night didn’t mean inactivity. Someone had to get up to check the irrigation ditches, making sure water was flowing properly into the fields. If the water ran low, the seedlings would be in trouble.

Night watch rotated among the workers. One person walking around and checking was enough, but they swapped halfway through the night so each could rest and be ready to work the next day.

When Chen Niu was on watch, Shi Qian eagerly nudged him: “Moo moo.”

“I’ll do it, I’ll do it.”

Shi Qian didn’t sleep much at night anyway.

Since reaching full maturity, Shi Qian needed even less sleep. A short nap would refresh him, and roaming around during the day made him familiar with every ditch and field, even the far end of the water source where he had played many times.

Seeing his bright eyes, Chen Niu asked, “You want to keep watch? This isn’t playtime—you have to take it seriously.”

Shi Qian, knowing it was a proper task, nodded earnestly.

Chen Niu was impressed. After a full day of work, he was exhausted, but Shi Qian looked energetic, lively, almost bursting with excess energy.

It made sense—daytime labor wasn’t tiring for him, though the scorching sun did make him a bit droopy during the day.

Shi Qian nudged him again. Chen Niu thought about the times Shi Qian had been reliable before, then finally said with reassurance, “Alright, but if anything happens, call me, understand?”

Shi Qian kept nodding.

Having secured the night watch, once everyone else was asleep, Shi Qian trotted along the ridges between the fields, wandering about.

Soft water murmured by his ears, accompanied by ceaseless frog croaks. A gentle breeze stirred the heavy rice stalks, forming a rhythmic melody.

The moon hung in the sky, and the night air carried the sweet scent of rice, lifting Shi Qian’s spirits in a way he couldn’t explain.

He made a round to inspect, occasionally practiced a bit, and, when hungry, detoured to nibble on freshly cut grass.

On the second round, he noticed someone had secretly blocked a ditch, trying to redirect the water.

After checking nearby, he found several other blocked spots.

Shi Qian pawed at the clogged ditches to clear them and decided to lie in wait nearby.

About half an hour later, the culprit appeared.

From a distance, Shi Qian heard faint footsteps—bare feet on the mud, sticky yet being pulled apart, as if the soil itself clung to the person’s heels, resisting their movement.

Shi Qian crouched, forming a large shadow and using a small, unharvested patch of field as cover.

Standing would have exposed him—he was too tall.

The figure gradually came into view. Shi Qian recognized him as a villager from a nearby village.

But the field belonged to the production team, not their own. What was a person doing sneaking water in the middle of the night?

When the villager reached the diverted ditch and sensed something wrong, he became alert and scanned his surroundings.

Shi Qian realized he was slightly flushed, probably drunk.

Remaining silent, Shi Qian watched until the villager hurriedly blocked the ditch again and left. Then he stood up, cleared the ditch, and went to wake Chen Niu.

Before he could call for help, more footsteps sounded.

Shi Qian ran back, waking several others.

Chen Niu, startled awake, asked, “Shi Qian, what’s wrong? Something happened at the ditch?”

“Moo moo.”

Shi Qian nodded and tapped the ground a few times.

Chen Niu: “Five or six people?”

The others were used to this seamless communication between a person and a cow. Seeing it was normal, so instead of being surprised, they focused on the fields.

“What happened? The ground’s not even dry yet. Why mess with our irrigation?”

“They never leave things alone. Each team is stealing water from the other. Get up and check! We’re counting on this harvest—it can’t be ruined.”

Those awake got up—some threw on clothes, some went shirtless, yawning as they rushed outside.

They followed Shi Qian into the fields.

Across the fields, the two groups stared at each other, the air thick with tension.

Chen Niu stayed close to Shi Qian at the front, frowning as he asked, “Hey, what are you doing out here at this hour?”

The other group muttered amongst themselves, and one stepped forward to reply.

“It’s hot, can’t sleep, just taking a walk. You’re so domineering, don’t even let people go out?”

“Fine, take your walk, but why come into our fields? You’re keeping everyone up at this hour.”

“Hey! What’s wrong with seeing the fields?”

“Yeah, we heard your rice is doing well. We just wanted to check it out and maybe learn a thing or two. Isn’t that being stingy?”

With the moon above, Shi Qian indicated to Chen Niu the ditch he had cleared: “Moo moo.”

See? My footprints are here.

Unable to write, Shi Qian’s gesture informed Chen Niu the ditch had been tampered with.

With this realized, things got lively.

Voices rose, and a scuffle nearly broke out.

Wang Anlei was also awakened and came out to bring the local production team leader, managing to calm the situation.

In the end, it turned out the other villagers had drunk a little, and being lazy as usual, tried to get more water ready for tomorrow’s rice planting, so they came to “steal water.”

But watching Wang Anlei’s forced smile, Shi Qian sensed it wasn’t that simple.

The next day, after finishing morning work, Wang Anlei rode his clattering bicycle out at noon.

When he returned, not only was he sweating, his face flushed dark-red, but he also brought back an old camera.

He categorized and photographed each pile of harvested grain.

Finally, noticing the curious Shi Qian approaching, he called out: “Shi Qian, you’ve been a big help too. Come here—I’ll secretly take a photo of you.”

“Others didn’t have this. A single negative for this thing is expensive. I begged my friend for a long time before he taught me how to use it and lent it to me.”

Shi Qian: “Moo moo.”

I’ve taken quite a few photos already!

From the five-pointed star to the college entrance exams, delivering public grain, even riding the train—every unique experience along the way had been captured by young reporters. One day, these photos would be looked back on as historical records.

And now, one more photo couldn’t hurt.

Shi Qian picked a good background himself and had Wang Anlei take the picture.

Two days later, the first batch of grain was completely dried.

Wang Anlei called over people from the neighboring production team and distributed the new grain to them.

The experimental fields were tended by staff from the agricultural institute, plus people like Chen Niu who came to learn and contribute labor. The plots assigned were next to the production team, some even rented by Wang Anlei, with the agreement that grain would be given in return.

But as the harvest exceeded expectations, the other side wanted to raise the price.

They had privately negotiated with Wang Anlei once or twice, and then an unexpected nighttime incident happened. Wang Anlei compromised, paying in “blood.” Taking photos was meant to preserve some true visual records and was also Wang Anlei’s way of holding himself accountable.

After that small mishap, everything went smoothly.

Only Chen Niu had to return to school early to take his final exams.

On the day Chen Niu left, Shi Qian shook his head at him: “Moo moo.”

Go back on your own; I’ll stay here to farm!

He was a hardworking cow who saw things through to the end—plant the fields first, then return.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of those teachers who liked him and might suddenly decide to test him, forcing him to pick A, B, or C—he simply preferred to stay behind.

Chen Niu returned to Nannong alone, thinking: Shi Qian really is too sensible, too considerate.

It wasn’t until he was seated in the exam hall that he heard a mischievous, granny-like professor muttering about how he had arrived but Shi Qian hadn’t come to take the exam.

Chen Niu suddenly realized: …

Ah, so that’s how it was.

Shi Qian worked at the agricultural institute, doing chores, eating casually, and only strolled back to Nannong once the exams were over.

Wang Anlei, worried, personally escorted the cow back, afraid he might go missing halfway and cause Chen Niu to panic for his sake.

After half a year together, Chen Niu had become, in a sense, his half-apprentice, just like the other subordinates.

Perhaps because of his university experience, Wang Anlei felt Chen Niu was smarter than his other staff, more eager to dig into things—from seeds to fertilizers and pesticides, he was interested in everything. He constantly asked questions and applied his mind, so he progressed the most.

As for Shi Qian, he was the tyrant of the institute. Anyone who dared to bully him, even Chen Niu—the “rebellious apprentice”—just smiled.

After sending Shi Qian into school and checking him in with the security office, Wang Anlei returned the camera.

Shi Qian played around a bit at the security office, earning some goodwill from future colleagues, before heading into the school.

At the same time, the teachers Shi Qian had been thinking about were grading exams, tallying scores, and reviewing attendance and performance.

They were thinking of him too.

“No wonder he did so poorly. He missed more classes than Shi Qian!”

“How many classes did Shi Qian miss?”

“One. I heard it conflicted with Mr. Wang’s class, so he went there instead. Mr. Wang really went all out to attract students.” The speaker glanced teasingly at Wang Si’an.

Wang Si’an, who had been preparing little cow treats every day, pushed up his round glasses and smiled silently.

The human? You know better than me.

But the cow? I know him better than you!

Others showed off: “In my class, Shi Qian attended every session. Looks like my teaching is good—haha, Shi Qian likes it.”

Those teachers who had only been audited and then “abandoned” looked a bit disgruntled.

The homeroom teacher in charge of Chen Niu’s class frowned, wondering if Chen Niu had reported wrong information.

He taught mathematics—the very course Shi Qian liked.

Some teachers had their students stop attending halfway through. But in his class, Shi Qian had never been seen at all.

After breezing through the exam period, Shi Qian found some teachers particularly warm toward him, patting his head and smiling: “Shi Qian, come back to my class next semester.”

Shi Qian opened his eyes wide and replied guiltily: “Moo moo.”

Teachers noticed his evasive gaze and tapped his head with a curved finger: “Sneaky, you don’t even dare to nod at me.”

Shi Qian explained: “Moo moo.”

Don’t make a fuss—I don’t even know what class you’re attending.

Shi Qian only wanted to attend classes that interested him. The teachers, though, were genuinely impressive—knowledgeable, solidly grounded, combining theory with practice. Many were excellent lecturers.

After Shi Qian “moo moo”ed his way through the interactions, he followed Chen Niu to collect the report cards.

Once they got the grades, the holidays started. The classroom was especially lively, with everyone imagining how to spend the break.

Shi Qian looked at Chen Niu, who remained calm.

Going back to the village hadn’t been mentioned by Chen Niu, nor any plans for staying at school.

From Shi Qian’s understanding, this guy had plans but simply hadn’t told him.

Shi Qian turned this over in his mind and felt he could guess most of it; the rest, he left to Chen Niu’s internal scheming.

Then the homeroom teacher brought a few printed report cards to the podium and summarized the semester.

A few minutes later, discussion returned to the grades.

“First place, Chen Niu.”

“This year’s exams included several extra questions to test whether students gained practical experience from weekend activities. Chen Niu missed only three of these extra questions, showing substantial practical gains. He must have been diligent and thoughtful throughout the process. Everyone should learn from Chen Niu!”

Applause broke out, awkwardly directed at Chen Niu, accompanied by envious glances from others.

Chen Niu could only force a stiff but polite smile and bent his usually upright back slightly.

Shi Qian, ever loyal, shielded him from half of the gaze.

But unexpectedly, the homeroom teacher shifted the topic: “And some students… they don’t attend much class, yet they pick and choose lessons.”

“Especially my math class—it’s a complete disaster.”

Some students couldn’t handle the pressure and looked downcast, clearly disappointed with their exam results.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, the teacher singled someone out: “Qian Niuhua, at least you’re one of our students. You’ve got to attend at least one of my classes and give me some face.”

Shi Qian: ?

Isn’t that a bit too chivalrous?

Realizing the point, Shi Qian immediately nodded: “Moo moo.”

Okay, okay.

Although a cow learning math isn’t very practical, since you said so, I’ll attend two classes.

Students who had done poorly in math secretly exhaled, but then the report cards arrived—a real blow.

Math was genuinely hard.

No kidding.

Even Chen Niu clenched his fist quietly when he saw his decent math score.

Not bad—it hadn’t wasted all those times Qian Niuhua had kicked him in frustration while teaching him math.

Perhaps because of the attention he drew, as he left the classroom, a female classmate approached him, asking about his plans for the holidays.

Chen Niu: “Busy with something.”

“What specifically… what are you busy with?” she asked quietly, looking a little shy.

Chen Niu frowned slightly: “Sorry, can’t tell you.”

Shi Qian felt as if he heard a heart shattering, but Chen Niu simply nodded and walked on.

Noticing Shi Qian lagging behind, he turned back and waved: “Qian Niuhua, come on, let’s go home.”

Shi Qian caught up, his earlier suspicions now confirmed to the fullest.

But Chen Niu still hadn’t said anything about holiday plans, and Shi Qian, not wanting to be awkward, didn’t ask.

Meanwhile, Wang Anlei approached again, looking a bit embarrassed: “Um, I got invited! To a meeting—I can meet Teacher Yuan—but there’s only one spot.”

Previously, Wang Anlei had bragged to Chen Niu, never expecting it to actually happen. Only it happened to him personally—he couldn’t bring anyone along.

Chen Niu looked pleased: “Congrats! When you see anything interesting, tell me about it.”

“I’m telling you, Expert Yuan even replied to me—he must be a really nice person.”

“Of course he is. The first seeds I planted came from him; he’s a selfless scientist.”

The two talked excitedly, while Shi Qian just grazed quietly, not daring to interrupt.

Sure enough, faking anything is impossible. Like lying, once the trap is there, it stays, making a cow feel guilty every time it comes to mind.

After Wang Anlei talked for a while, he awkwardly added: “I was worried you’d be upset.”

“I’m going to Beijing,” Chen Niu finally spoke, then cast a glance at Shi Qian.

Shi Qian: …

Why are you looking at me?

I’m fine with you going!

Wait—if Chen Niu goes to Beijing, he can’t bring me along.

Then… does that mean I’ll be the stay-behind cow?

Shi Qian finally understood why Chen Niu hadn’t said it aloud.

“Moo moo.”

Go to Beijing already!