Chapter Seventy: The Jujube Ding Takes Up Residence

The shop owner’s mouth twitched slightly—how was it that even young people were difficult to bluff these days? Still, with the amount the young man was buying, this transaction would be quite profitable.

“All right, I’ll give you twenty-two pigeons in total. That’ll be six hundred,” the shopkeeper decided after a moment. Throwing in two extra pigeons was no big deal. With this sale, he could close up early and avoid working until nightfall.

Zhong Di quickly paid, then loaded the cage of pigeons onto his electric tricycle. He thought to himself that he’d be able to enjoy some braised pigeon whenever he liked—a delicious prospect.

Before he could leave the open market, an old lady called out to him. To say she called out wasn’t quite right—Zhong Di had intended to buy something anyway.

“Young man, I see you’ve bought pigeons. Planning to stew them at home? Come take a look—we’ve got all kinds of seasonings: goji berries, codonopsis, cinnamon, bay leaves... Want some?”

There are mainly two popular ways to eat pigeon: for nourishment, people stew them, often with goji berries and dates—very healthy. The other common way is to roast them.

Zhong Di got off his tricycle and bought a round of every seasoning and ingredient that the little shop offered. There were even things like dried shiitake mushrooms, kelp, and wood ear fungus—a whole assortment. He spent a full two thousand on these.

“Young man, how about some tofu? Stewing pigeon with tofu is great!” Another lady, eyeing the first vendor’s business with envy, tried to get in on the action. After all, that initial burst of sales had brought in a tidy profit.

Tofu with pigeon stew? Zhong Di nearly laughed. He’d heard of pigeon stewed with dates and goji berries, but never with tofu.

He waved her off. “No, thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t be so quick! I also have tofu skin, dried tofu, smoked tofu, and if those don’t suit you, I’ve got konjac and bean sprouts,” the tofu vendor pressed enthusiastically. It was hard for Zhong Di to resist her zeal, especially since she looked so envious of her neighbor’s earnings.

Wait—bean products?

A thought struck Zhong Di. The raw material for bean products was soybeans. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? All he needed to do was find a bean product factory and ask where they sourced their soybeans.

“All right then, I’ll take some of everything you’ve got,” he said, buying a bit of each product. When it came time to weigh and pay, he asked the vendor about her raw material supplier.

At first, the tofu lady was reluctant to say, worried he might be a competitor. Only when she was sure he wasn’t did she give him the soybean supplier’s contact number. Clearly, she’d seen him as a potential rival—such was the cautious nature of the older generation in business.

Zhong Di wasted no time. He called the soybean supplier and ordered five tons of soybeans.

Earlier, his brother-in-law had told him that the payment had come through and operations were running, so he transferred the hundred thousand over. As soon as the money arrived, Zhong Di put the amount into the orchard’s account, easing any concerns over funding for the time being.

Soybeans weren’t expensive—just over five per kilo, cheaper even than most fertilizers. With soybeans in hand, all he needed was a soymilk grinder, which he promptly ordered online, choosing a medium-sized model.

With all these tasks done, Zhong Di returned to the orchard in high spirits.

“Zhong Di, where did you buy those pigeons?” he was greeted at the entrance by his elder sister, Zhong Hui.

“The open market—I thought they looked good, so I bought a few. Where’s Shao Hong?”

“He’s working in the fields.”

“Alright, Sis, I’ll go call him. You carry on. In a few days, a batch of soybeans will arrive—please settle the payment. I also bought some other things—I’ll send you the details, so you can add them to the books.”

With that, Zhong Di headed into the orchard, where Shao Hong was busy inspecting and fixing things—addressing problems as soon as he found them.

For instance, if he noticed some dates that hadn’t been thoroughly dried, he’d fetch a long-handled pruner to trim them. If he saw any gaps in the chicken or rabbit pens, he’d patch them up.

Zhong Di spotted Shao Hong busy in the westernmost plot—the one formerly known as the Hundred Herbs Garden.

“Shao Hong, I bought pigeons. Lend a hand carrying them,” he called out.

“Just a minute—come over here and take a look at these jujube clusters. Do you think they’ve set properly?” Shao Hong was examining a large jujube tree closely.

This particular tree stood out among its neighbors for its age and vigor—it seemed to have a spirit of its own.

“Let me see.”

In the next moment, Zhong Di immersed himself in his own world, the scenery around him shifting. There was a chorus of cheerful sounds, as if the jujube tree were taking charge of the orchard. Yes, it was clear—the fruit had set well.

Goodness! These weren’t just jujube clusters—they were like strings of firecrackers, packed tightly with fruit. But what was odd was that each fruit stem bore only one jujube; the other two flowers on each stem had withered away.

Normally, each stem would have three flowers, yielding one to three fruits, with the strongest one eventually squeezing out the others—this was the natural thinning process. Now, though, the two extra flowers simply faded away on their own. Was this an intentional sacrifice to ensure quality? It didn’t seem right.

Still, Zhong Di didn’t dwell on it for long and quickly adjusted his outlook.

Perhaps with only one fruit per stem, each could develop to its full potential. If nothing went wrong from here, the set rate was at least fifty percent—an astonishing figure.

What did this mean? If a cluster could bear three or four jujubes, that would already be impressive. Now, with nearly half of each cluster fruiting—over a dozen per branch—this was extraordinary.

“Let’s get the pigeons unloaded first,” Zhong Di said, quickly pushing aside his astonishment and masking his emotions.

He had to keep himself composed—otherwise, this matter would consume his thoughts day and night. He resolved to treat it as a novel experiment.

“Aren’t you surprised, Zhong Di? I may not be top of the class, but I know enough to realize what this means. If these jujubes really develop, yields of two tons per acre are within reach!” Shao Hong exclaimed, recalling that the main limiting factor for dried fruit was always yield.

Nowadays, the price of grey jujubes had fallen due to oversupply, but that was a matter of acreage, not yield per acre. In some regions, yields were just three or four hundred kilograms per acre. If you could really achieve high yields, even at three or four per kilo, it was still profitable.

“I know. Why do you think I manage things differently from everyone else? But don’t mention this yet—it’s still in the experimental phase, understand?”

Zhong Di gave a mysterious smile that left Shao Hong dazed.

“I get it, I get it. If this technique succeeds, your name will be recorded in the annals of Chinese agricultural history!” Shao Hong was genuinely excited. Even if he didn’t fully understand, just being part of the process was thrilling.

After collecting themselves, the two of them went to deal with the pigeons. With an available iron mesh and an empty chicken pen, a little modification would make a fine pigeon coop.

It was quite a spacious one, too.

After quickly securing it, they released the pigeons inside, leaving only minor improvements for later—like nests and other fixtures, which could be added gradually.

“Zhong Di, look how big the baby rabbits have grown!” Shao Hong said excitedly, noticing a few young rabbits nibbling grass. Even seeing them every day, it was amazing how much they changed overnight—there was always something new.

Zhong Di followed Shao Hong’s gaze and saw a veritable crowd of young rabbits—an impressive number. No wonder Australia had been overrun by just a few rabbits. With such rapid reproduction, if not for natural predators, they’d soon overrun the whole place.

As Zhong Di was watching the rabbits, his phone rang. It was his father.

“Dad, what’s wrong? Is it your leg again?” he asked as soon as he answered. At this hour, what else could it be but his father’s old injury?

“Zhong Di, your third uncle’s construction project has gone wrong—not only did he lose all the payment, but he’s now in debt as well.”

Though the details were vague, the gist was clear.

“So, what are you saying, Dad?” Zhong Di guessed that his father had more on his mind than simply informing him.

“I only gave your third uncle forty thousand of that eighty thousand you gave me—the other forty I kept, just in case. My meaning is, let’s forget about that money.”

“To put it plainly, your third uncle’s machines were directly taken by creditors,” his father continued, his voice tinged with regret. He was clearly second-guessing his decision to give the money to his brother.

Yet, Zhong Di sensed that beyond regret, his father was more worried than anything else.

“Dad...”

“Let me finish. I’m not going to ask your third uncle for that money back, or for the machines. After all, he’s my brother.”

Before Zhong Di could speak, his father hurried to explain, afraid his son might take things too far—like taking his uncle to court. No matter what kind of person his uncle was, family was family.

“Dad, I haven’t finished—I feel the same way. Handle it however you see fit. As for the money, what’s gone is gone.”

Zhong Di waited for his father’s emotions to settle before giving his own response. It was a pity about the machinery—he’d hoped to exchange a little money for some valuable equipment. Clearly, one shouldn’t always try to take advantage; it’s easy to get burned.

Zhong Di reckoned that to replace all those machines with brand new ones would cost at least four to five hundred thousand. A single large precision seeder alone cost over two hundred thousand.

But for his small orchard, he didn’t need anything so big yet. With ten-odd thousand, he could get by for now—and buy more when the need arose.

“All right, as long as you have no other thoughts. After all, your third uncle and I share the same mother. You get back to work—I’ll hang up now.”

After the call, Zhong Tian breathed a sigh of relief, glad that his son understood and had no further complaints.