This was still just a small-time operation, as his product line was rather limited. If he could diversify, Adrian Hawthorne was confident he could earn ten thousand yuan in a single year. Unfortunately, the political climate was still uncertain, so he could only operate in secret, making caution his top priority.

"Kenneth, I’ll watch things here. You should head into town!"

Old Master Tate herded the cattle onto the hillside to graze. Adrian Hawthorne returned carrying a large basket of grass on his back. This was the third basket he had cut this morning. A little more in the evening, and it would be enough. The spring planting season was busy, and the cattle had to plow the fields every day, so they needed to be well-fed. The Thorne family had secured this cushy job for him, so he had to take excellent care of the cattle and not give anyone an excuse to find fault.

Plenty of people in the production brigade were eyeing his job, and the most eager of them all was Vernon Spann. If Byron Thorne hadn’t intervened, this cushy post would have surely been Vernon’s. Adrian had snatched the prize right from under his nose, so Vernon Spann likely hated his guts for it.

But Adrian Hawthorne didn’t care. He had leverage on Vernon Spann and wasn’t afraid of him trying to cause trouble.

"I’ll go cut one more basket. Grandpa Tate, you just need to watch the cattle. I’ll handle the grass."

Adrian Hawthorne put the grass back in the cowshed and went to cut more. His clothes were soaked with dew, yet steam rose from his head. Over the past few days, the quality of their food at home had taken a quantum leap. The entire family looked much healthier, and the change was most apparent in Adrian Hawthorne himself. He’d even grown a little taller, and his face had filled out.

The greatest change was in his aura. The look in his eyes was much softer than before, yet it still held a frosty edge that made him hard to approach.

"I’m not that fragile. You shouldn’t get up so early. A growing boy needs his sleep, or you’ll never grow tall." Old Master Tate’s tone grew sterner. He felt perfectly fine and had no need to be treated like a helpless invalid.

Adrian Hawthorne studied and developed photos at night, keeping him busy until the wee hours. Then he would wake up extremely early. He was getting five or six hours of sleep a day at most. At this rate, his health was going to collapse.

"I’m fine..."

Adrian Hawthorne waved it off. The current situation was a world of difference from before. He genuinely enjoyed the hustle and was also very grateful to the Thorne family.

"You have to listen to me on this. You must get a full eight hours of sleep—not a minute less. Kenneth, you can’t rush things. Your health is your most important asset. If your body collapses, what good is your ambition to start a business? Remember, slow and steady is what matters most. The one who laughs last is often the one who lives the longest."

Old Master Tate counseled him with painstaking patience. Talent and ability were important, of course, but living a long life was the most important thing of all. History was full of dazzlingly brilliant people who shone like fireworks for a brief moment, only to perish just as they began to make a name for themselves.

They might have left a bold stroke in the annals of history, but it was only a single stroke. Nothing more came of it.

But there were others who were unremarkable in their youth, whose talents only grew with age, and whose historical renown grew right along with it. And why was that?

Ability was one factor, to be sure, but the most crucial was simply living long enough. Had they also died young, they would have no place in history.

Seeing Adrian Hawthorne begin to yield, the old master smiled. "I need the physical labor to stay healthy, too. And then there’s your mother. She doesn’t have to report for work anymore, so she can help out quite a bit."

This year, Adrian Hawthorne had forbidden Rosalind Green from reporting to work. The points she earned weren’t much to begin with, and she’d had to endure harassment and humiliation. With the money he was earning now, they could live well without relying on Rosalind Green’s meager work points.

"Alright. I’ll go to bed earlier from now on."

Adrian Hawthorne agreed. He, too, wanted this to be a long-term endeavor. Besides, he also wanted to grow taller. He was too short right now; Jim Thorne, who was a year his junior, was already half a head taller than him. Whenever he stood next to Jim Thorne, Adrian couldn’t help but feel a pang of bitterness.