How To Make Money Fast In Farming Simulator 23 Mobile?

When applying for colleges, I give up a prestigious university for Priscilla Reed's sake. But in the fifth year of our relationship, I break up with her. I see her outside the dorms, diving into Jeremy Stark's arms and tilting her face up to kiss him as no one else matters. Priscilla sneers at me. "You're just some farmer. What kind of life can you possibly give me?" She seems to forget that the Chanel dress she wears and the Hermès bag she carries are things I bought for her. That's the moment I end things with her. Let someone else play the doormat. I'm done. After that, I focus on farming, even managing to grow crops on the moon. Then, the press reveals who I really am—the son of Javonbury's richest man. Jeremy's father comes to me, bowing and scraping. He even forces Jeremy to kneel in front of me so that he can beg me for a partnership. Priscilla's eyes are red and swollen as she tugs on my sleeve and tells me she regrets everything.

After the team-building trip is over, I get complimented by my boss and colleague for organizing it because it's been a fun experience for everyone, not to mention the money they've paid is worth the experience. But the next day, I get publicly shamed by Marilyn Ross, a finance executive, in the company's group chat. She has posted a few ambiguous transaction screenshots and accused me of receiving 50 thousand dollars' worth of under-the-table commissions from the farm. All of my colleagues instantly take Marilyn's side. They begin berating me for acting all pretentious when in reality, I'm despicable enough to do all those underhanded things behind their backs. But that's when my boss, Ethan Keller, leaves a question mark in the group chat. The smug Marilyn begins coercing me into writing a resignation report and returning the money. But what she doesn't know is that the farm is Ethan's private business. How on earth can I receive such commissions, in the first place?

Just how rich can a person be? My husband, Don Leonardo Bianchi, is incredibly wealthy. Every time he abandons me for his childhood sweetheart, Sofia Rossi, he gives me a building. The first time, it was a luxury apartment building with a sea view. The tenth time, it was a commercial property in the prime downtown area. By the 50th time, the general managers of several real estate companies had started calling me "Boss". Five years into our marriage, my real estate spreads across the entire country. When the deed to the 97th building is delivered to me, Sofia sends me a taunting voice message. "You might have the property deeds, but I have Leonardo. Aurora Esposito, tell me, which one of us is the real winner?" After listening to it, I don't cry or make a scene. Instead, this time I take the initiative to draft an agreement and wait for Leonardo to sign it. Once Leonardo comes back, he signs it and praises me for being magnanimous. He then takes me to a party as his date. At the party, Sofia loses game after game and is stripped down to only her underwear. When she loses once more, she turns to me—who is wearing only a dress—with a meaningful smile and says, "What's the fun in just me taking things off? I think Aurora, the perfect Donna, should join in too." Amid the clamor of cheering, I quietly look at Leonardo. "You just have to take off one piece of clothing. Don't spoil everyone's fun. When we get back, I'll give you another building," he whispered to me coaxingly. I calmly acquiesce. Little does he know that he won't have another chance to give me anything, because what he blindly signed earlier is our divorce papers.

At seven in the evening, Summit Highway is fully closed in both directions. I'm working through the night to move my flock when a pink Mercedes G-Wagon plows straight through the barricade at the temporary roadblock. As a result, 29 Suffon breeding sheep, each wearing a specially assigned identification tag, are crushed to death on the spot. Cecilia Shaw holds her nose as she gets out of her car. She kicks aside a sheep that is still twitching and says, "Ugh, this sucks! How dare these worthless sheep block my way? Get rid of them now!" I stare at the pool of blood on the ground as I speak. "You plow through a barricade during a road closure and run over my sheep, killing them. Not only are you not offering to compensate me, but you also tell me to get rid of them?" Cecilia sizes me up with a look of annoyance. "Are you out of your mind? You dare try to extort me? I'm the heiress of Eastport's Shaw Group. "My family controls half of the entire country's fresh produce market. Piss me off, and I'll tell my dad to ensure that not a single pound of lamb from this backwater town ever sells again!" I observe her smug, arrogant expression, then pull out my satellite phone. "In that case, let's have the highway patrol come and determine who's at fault."

Ever since I was a kid, I could see the bank balance floating above people's heads. After I took a summer job at an electronics factory, this ability helped me dodge plenty of workplace scams and shady coworkers. But everything changed on a Friday afternoon when Hailey Marin, the factory beauty, slammed her phone down in front of me. "I thought my online date was a rich heir with sports cars," she complained, rolling her eyes. "Turns out, he's just a broke guy tightening screws in the next workshop. He keeps begging to meet up, and it's driving me crazy. Go meet him and pretend you're me." I looked at where she pointed. A young man in a faded uniform was squatting by the gate, trying to fix a peeling scooter. Nearby workers were openly mocking him. Hailey wrinkled her nose. "Letting a guy like that carry my purse in public would be an embarrassment." I didn't hear a word she said. My full attention was on the numbers hovering above his head. Tens. Hundreds. Thousands. Tens of thousands... Hundreds of millions. I nearly choked on my boba. It was a staggering eight-figure balance. And the numbers were still ticking upward in real-time. I grabbed Hailey's arm. "Quick. Tell me every detail you two talked about online." She froze. "Are you crazy? You really want to meet that broke loser?" I nodded, looking at the hidden billionaire outside. "Yep."

One day, billions woke up on an endless highway. One vehicle each. One life each. No exits. Others got scooters, bicycles, or tractors. Jake Maddox got a beat-up motorhome. Level-one zombies have 20 strength. Humans have 5. And Cthulhu monsters lurk in the mist. This isn't a game—it's a slaughter. But Jake has a cheat: Gold Mods. He glances at his status screen and smirks. "Not enough stats? Gold mods to the rescue." [Fuel Tank] + [Infinite] = unlimited fuel. Floor it and leave everyone choking on dust. [Tires] + [Indestructible] = unbreakable, unshakable, unstoppable. No attack gets through. [Motorhome] + [Spatial Folding] = a mobile fortress that fits it all — storage, pool, villa, armory, and more. [Windows] + [One-Way Transparent] = armored steel to the outside, panoramic views from within. Total safety, zero claustrophobia. While others shiver and barter their souls for half a bottle of gas, Jake sits in his climate-controlled motorhome, eating a steaming-hot chicken pie, watching a Cthulhu boss try to break in. His calm response? "That tentacle would taste pretty good grilled." … From Lv.1 Beater Motorhome to Lv.100 Ark of the Old Ages—as long as Jake can imagine it, no mod is off the table. Gold mods. Show me your limits.