"Yeah, village chief, I've watched Feng Xuxu grow up, and I know exactly what she's capable of. She's hardly ever worked the fields—could count the times on one hand. It's Feng Xi who often toils the soil. But we've been farming for most of our lives and haven't managed to breed any high-yield seeds. So how could that youngster have more experience than us?" Feng Santian said disdainfully, curling his lip.
"Village chief, this is no child's play. Our family won't be trying it. A whole family's grain supply isn't a small matter," Feng Eryu had no faith in this new rice variety. He knew all too well what Feng Xi was like—a lad who couldn't knock a fart out of himself with a stick.
Some villagers, seeing that Feng Xi's second uncle and third uncle didn't believe their nephew and niece could come up with anything, were even more skeptical themselves. They unanimously refused to plant the new rice variety.