Chapter 68: Kind Words Cannot Persuade the Undead

After their meal, the four of them took their sacks and shovels and set off again, finishing their search of the remaining half of the hillside. This time, they found only twelve rat holes, but unexpectedly came across two hibernating snakes. Mingdai checked and saw they were non-venomous, so Zhou Sinian chopped off their heads and brought them back.

When they returned, it was still early. Mingdai asked Sister Huang to stay home and sort the grains they had retrieved, while she led Zhou Sinian and Liu Guoqiang to the riverside to deal with the field rats while no one was around.

They had a total of 180 field rats in various sizes, along with the two slender snakes. Piled together, it made quite a spectacle.

This time, Zhou Sinian showed no sign of distaste. He picked up his military dagger and began skinning the rats, his speed increasing after the first few. Liu Guoqiang was in charge of chopping off the limbs, heads, and tails, while Mingdai did the washing.

Just as they were about to finish, Mingdai spotted people from Shangwan Village. They were carrying dead field rats, totaling over a dozen, but most had been bashed so badly they were nearly flattened.

Mingdai narrowed her eyes, recalling that they had headed in the direction Sister Huang had mentioned—the low-lying fields belonging to Xiawa Village.

She could only hope they were smart enough to refill the pits they had dug. After all, hunting field rats required deep holes.

She herself always made sure to refill the pits they dug on the hillside.

The Shangwan villagers squatted nearby to wash their catch. Mingdai noticed that they only washed and skinned the rats, leaving the tails, heads, and limbs intact.

After some thought, she called out a warning: “Field rats carry bacteria. Before eating, it’s best to chop off the heads, limbs, and tails, remove the innards, drain the blood, and boil them for at least an hour.”

Without waiting for their stunned reply, she turned and led her group away.

Only after they had left did the Shangwan villagers begin to mutter among themselves.

“Do we really need to take off the heads? There’s hardly any meat to begin with—removing the heads leaves even less.”

“Boil for an hour? Think how much firewood that’ll use!”

The man in the lead frowned. “It’s fine. Didn’t they eat these yesterday? They all look perfectly healthy today—if anything, even more energetic. It should be fine as long as we wash them clean. What bacteria could there be? I think they’re just afraid we’ll catch all the field rats ourselves.”

The others nodded in agreement, convinced that the Liujiawan people were only trying to keep the rats for themselves.

One clever fellow even picked up all the discarded field rat heads and tails Mingdai’s group had left by the riverbank, planning to cook them up in a stew.

Mingdai: Sometimes well-meant advice just can’t save those who are determined to perish.

Back at the hut, Mingdai and Zhou Sinian cut some fresh pine branches and built a smoking rack at the doorway, laying out the cleaned field rats in neat rows.

She lit the pine branches, letting the thick smoke cure the meat, which would not only preserve it longer but also give it more flavor.

While the pine burned, Liu Guoqiang attended to his bookkeeping, and Mingdai, with the help of Sister Huang and Zhou Sinian, began sorting through the grain they had gathered over the past two days.

Seeing the abundance of soybeans, Mingdai decided to sprout some to improve their meals.

That night, their group steamed dry rice and stir-fried radish slices. Though everyone regretted the lack of meat, the sight of the smoked rats hanging over the rack offered them reassurance.

Inside the hut of Shangwan Village, a large pot boiled away, filled with field rat meat and murky water. The sight of so many tiny rat heads bobbing in the broth was enough to give anyone goosebumps.

Pan Xiazi wrinkled his brow, sniffing the pungent odor. “Why does it smell so bad?”

The cook stirred the pot with his spatula. “I don’t know. I cooked it just like chicken! I heard from the Liujiawan folks that field rat tastes like chicken.”

Pan Xiazi nodded—he had confirmed as much himself.

Well, no matter how it smells, meat is meat. How bad could it be?

As it turned out, it could be very bad indeed.

When Pan Xiazi bit into a piece of field rat, an overpowering stench hit his throat like a punch, making him gag uncontrollably.

“This is disgusting!” he exclaimed, staring at the others in disbelief.

Their faces, too, showed the look of people who had just bitten into something foul.

These were his chosen confidants; since there weren’t many rats, not everyone could have a share, so he had only called his closest kin. The others, left outside, grumbled as they ate their stone-hard rice.

Refusing to admit defeat, Pan Xiazi tore off another piece and forced it down, but the stench remained. He swallowed with difficulty.

It truly was inedible.

They had spent the whole day digging in Xiawa Village’s fields, braving the wind, only to catch a dozen field rats—and now the result was this vile mess.

He was furious.

“What are you staring at? Eat!” he shouted at the others, then, out of stubbornness, forced himself to finish an entire rat.

The others, unable to stomach it, quietly tossed theirs into the fire. Only the four who had helped catch the rats, unwilling to waste their day’s labor, forced themselves to eat one each.

But none of them dared reach for a second, not even Pan Xiazi.

They sat in silence for a while, until Pan Xiazi finally waved his hand in defeat. “Dump it.”

At once, everyone stood up, took the pot outside, dug a hole, and buried the rest.

That night, no one in Shangwan Village slept well.

Pan Xiazi and his group wondered: Why was our rat meat so awful when it’s supposed to taste the same?

The other villagers fumed: Curse that Pan Xiazi, sneaking special meals for himself. May lightning strike him! What a disgrace—his food is nothing compared to Liujiawan’s. We want field rat too!

Perhaps their curses worked, for by midnight, chaos broke out in the Shangwan Village huts. Torches flared, cries echoed through the night, and only the intervention of the local militia restored order.

Early the next morning, Mingdai learned that five people from Shangwan Village had suffered severe vomiting and diarrhea, became dehydrated, and were rushed to the county hospital. Their fate was still unknown.

Mingdai knew they must have ignored her warning.

There was nothing to be done. They brought it on themselves.

It was a full week before they returned, all five visibly gaunt and listless, in no shape for work.

As expected, Pan Xiazi tried to have others take turns covering for the sick men, but not only did the Shangwan villagers refuse, the site supervisors disagreed as well. Liu Guoqiang outright refused to log any work hours for the five.

Pan Xiazi was furious, but helpless, so the five could only rest until they recovered enough to return to work.

Before they were fully recovered, the people of Xiawa Village came looking for them.

Their fields had been left full of deep, gaping holes—plain evidence of field rat hunting.

In truth, they would have been grateful for help in pest control, but to dig without refilling the holes was simply unconscionable.

They first approached Liujiawan’s group, their attitude aggressive, shovels in hand, demanding help filling the pits. But when they saw Zhou Sinian, they fell silent, politely asking if they would like to hunt rats in the eastern fields as well.

Mingdai, half amused and half exasperated, told them it wasn’t their group who had dug the holes and directed them to the Shangwan huts.

Soon after, the Xiawa villagers thanked her and marched off, shovels at the ready, toward Shangwan’s camp.

Thus, before they had time to recover, the five men were dragged out to refill the pits in the fields. They returned with colds and were completely unfit for work. All but Pan Xiazi were dismissed and received not a cent of wages.