The only sounds were the dull thud of shovels piercing the frozen ground and the cracking of volcanic rock falling into shallow trenches.
And the entire process of him manually mixing and preparing the nutrient substrate in the soil.
And there's his narration.
A 45-minute long video.
According to the algorithm logic of short video platforms, content with this length and pace is almost tantamount to suicide.
But it reached 3.7 million views within 48 hours.
The comment section exploded.
The most upvoted comment came from a user who is verified as a PhD in landscape ecology.
"I spent eight years researching the construction of indoor miniature ecosystems."
"This person achieved an incredible result using a shovel and his bare hands in a bare-bones construction site."
"He's definitely a master landscaping artist, please tell me who he is."
The second post was shared by a prominent influencer on an outdoor channel.
"Friends, I don't think this is renovating a house."
"This is building a museum."
"A wilderness museum."
Su Wei then posted three more updates.
Moss transplantation, seawater preparation, and tidal pool closure and operation.
Each video has over two million views.
The number of followers doubled from 400,000.
Su Wei closed the main account's backend and opened another page.
YouTube creator revenue center.
Password input.
Double verification.
The page took three seconds to load.
Last month's advertising revenue came out: $61,200.
Su Wei didn't linger and immediately switched to the TikTok Creator Fund backend.
The settlement cycle here is different from that on YouTube; the data was delayed by two days.
However, the accumulated subscription fees, tips, and revenue sharing all contribute to a clear and substantial figure.
$37,550.
Su Wei placed the two windows side by side on the screen.
61,200 plus 37,550.
After deducting the service fees from both platforms and the pre-withheld taxes, the actual amount received is displayed in the center of the screen.
$98,750.
Ninety-eight thousand seven hundred and fifty US dollars.
One month.
Two accounts.
Personal income generated purely from content creation.
Su Wei stared at the number for five seconds.
The birchwood in the fireplace made a muffled sound, and sparks flew onto the wire mesh.
The Cotton Candy was woken up, glanced at the fireplace, and then buried her head back into the blanket.
Five seconds later, Su Wei clicked the withdrawal button.
The withdrawal process on YouTube requires you to fill in the bank's routing code and account number.
He entered the nine-digit routing code and twelve-digit account number from memory and clicked confirm.
Withdrawing money from TikTok is even simpler; if you've linked your PayPal account, the money arrives with a single click.
Both sums of money went to the same place.
His personal savings account.
This is not the public account of the Northern Throne Club.
In that public account lay the $500,000 in start-up capital that Charles had wired.
Every penny spent must correspond to purchase orders and engineering contracts, and must withstand a detailed audit by the IRS.
And that 98,000 was his own.
Money that doesn't need to be explained to anyone.
Su Wei closed the earnings backend and casually checked the bank's app.
The push notification for the balance change hasn't arrived yet.
Cross-platform settlements typically take one to three business days.
It doesn't matter.
The money will arrive.
He closed his laptop screen and leaned back in his chair.
The first floor of the wooden house became quiet.
The fireplace flames burned steadily in the cast-iron furnace, occasionally emitting the faint sound of wood fibers snapping.
The wind outside the window was weaker than it had been an hour ago, and the snowflakes were hitting the glass less frequently.
Su Wei did not get up to go to the bedroom on the second floor.
He stood up from his chair and walked to the window on the first floor directly opposite the door.
A thin layer of frost had formed on the inside of the windowpane.
Su Wei spread a small area with his palm and peered closer.
Emerald Lake is completely invisible in the darkness.
But on the opposite shore of the lake, the massive outline, just a few dozen meters away, was still clearly visible against the leaden-gray night sky.
Exhibition hall.
The main building, spanning 500 square meters, is covered with dark gray insulation panels.
There are no lights.
After the construction team finished their get off work, they cut off the temporary power, plunging the entire building into complete darkness.
But Su Wei could see it.
The two-story roof ridgeline cuts through the night sky.
The river valley exhibition area on the left and the tidal pool exhibition area on the right on the first floor are operating on their own in the darkness, where no one is around.
The water pump did not stop.
The chiller unit did not stop.
The circulatory system operates continuously for 24 hours.
Living water flows over the moss.
The tides rise and fall among the reefs.
tomorrow.
Su Wei's palm was pressed against the cold glass.
Five oval fingerprints were left on the frost by the fingertips.
Tomorrow, once the woodland and sky exhibition areas on the second floor are completed, this exhibition hall will no longer be a half-finished product still under construction.
It will become a complete, living miniature world.
That world is the toughest bone in the entire Northern Throne Club.
My phone vibrated on the table.
Su Wei turned around, walked back to the table, and picked up her phone.
A bank notification appeared on the screen.
Your account received a transfer of $61,200.00 at 23:47.
Current available balance...
Su Wei's thumb stopped on the screen.