Chapter 77 Planting Vegetables in the Space, Preparing for the Unexpected

After clearing the snow from the roof, as well as tidying the courtyard and the small path outside, Mingdai brought the gifts from Zhou Sinian and Aunt Huang into her space.

After changing her clothes, she entered the kitchen to check on the venison soaking in the sink. The meat had turned a rosy pink, and most of the gamey smell had been purged. Satisfied, Mingdai nodded, took out the meat, squeezed out the excess water, and set it aside for later use.

On the sofa, Zhou Sinian was happily eating the yogurt Mingdai had prepared for him, crunching noisily on the nuts mixed in. Mingdai sliced a piece of mature ginger and a stalk of scallion, then added salt and cooking wine to the meat strips, mixing everything together to marinate for fifteen minutes.

She poured some refined soybean oil into a bowl, added sweet potato starch and flour in equal parts, and finally stirred in two spoonfuls of Sichuan pepper powder. To achieve a crispy coating that wouldn’t go soggy, she didn’t add water to the batter. Instead, she poured in a little beer and two egg yolks, ensuring the fried meat would have the ideal texture.

Once the batter was ready, she fetched a large barrel of soybean oil from the storeroom, poured half of it into a pot, and heated it. When the oil was sufficiently hot, she picked out the ginger and scallion from the marinated meat, dipped the meat strips in batter, and coated them evenly.

A familiar sizzle filled the air, drawing Zhou Sinian over. He watched curiously as Mingdai lowered the battered meat strips into the hot oil, which immediately blossomed with tiny golden bubbles.

As she turned the strips with long chopsticks, they transformed from pale yellow to a rich golden hue, and the fragrance of frying meat filled the kitchen, slowly wafting through the entire room.

Zhou Sinian’s chewing slowed as he watched the golden strips being fished out and set in a colander to drain. Growing impatient, he reached out to grab one.

Mingdai rapped his hand with her chopsticks without hesitation and, meeting his aggrieved gaze, admonished him, “They’re hot! Wait a bit longer. I need to fry them again. Go play for a while.”

Yet Zhou Sinian was reluctant to leave. He stood nearby, bowl in hand, eyes fixed on Mingdai’s chopsticks, following the movement of the meat strips as he shoveled yogurt into his mouth.

By the time the first batch was finished, the basin was piled high with golden meat. Mingdai double-fried them, deepening their color and intensifying the aroma.

She placed the first plateful on a small dish and passed it to Zhou Sinian, whose eyes had been fixed upon it the whole time. “Take this to the table and use your chopsticks. Careful not to burn yourself.”

Zhou Sinian nodded vigorously, lips pursed, carrying the plate lightly away.

Ever since the incident on the snowy day, Mingdai had come to understand Zhou Sinian’s food-guarding habits, yet she had also begun to gently help him adjust some of his little routines so he wouldn’t overeat and upset his stomach.

Once all the meat was fried, Mingdai tasted a piece. The crust was crisp, the meat inside tender and springy—different from pork, with a toothsome bite. The fragrance of Sichuan pepper on the outside made it delicious without being greasy.

At noon, the two enjoyed fried venison with pickled radish—a meal both satisfying and refreshing. Zhou Sinian was so pleased he asked if they could have the same dish for dinner, to which Mingdai agreed readily. There was still a large basin left in the storeroom—plenty for several more meals.

After eating, they rested for a while and then stayed inside the space to work.

Mingdai first organized the gifts from Aunt Huang, planning to start seedlings inside the space. Chives were the easiest to plant; she just needed to prepare the roots. She asked Zhou Sinian to fetch half a basin of water, dissolved a bit of sugar in it, and soaked the chive roots for a while.

Then, taking Zhou Sinian with her, she collected a good deal of plant ash from the kitchen to bring inside. Plant ash made excellent fertilizer: rich in potassium and able to boost both growth and yield. It could even serve as a pesticide, making it the most accessible fertilizer and insecticide.

While the chive roots were soaking, she and Zhou Sinian picked out sprouting potatoes. She taught him to cut each potato into chunks, making sure each had a bud, then rolled them in the plant ash for an even coating.

Sweet potatoes were even simpler. She picked out the biggest, healthiest ones to plant directly in the soil; later, they could propagate more with cuttings from the vines.

As for the other seeds, she planned to start them in seed beds first. She didn’t recognize any of them, and the small paper packets Aunt Huang had given her bore no labels. She would have to plant them and see what sprouted.

To be safe, she also fetched some labeled seeds from the storeroom: tomatoes, cucumbers, tender greens, spinach, and so on—common vegetables she was sure to plant. She also grabbed watermelon, strawberry, muskmelon, and Hami melon seeds, intending to plant them all so she would never have to worry about fresh fruits and vegetables again.

Once the fruit trees she had transplanted outside the villa grew strong, she’d have a constant supply of fruit as well.

Having a planting space was wonderful!

After painting a rosy picture of the future for Zhou Sinian, his eyes sparkled as he dashed to the storeroom and lugged out a heap of farm tools.

Unfortunately, there was no agricultural machinery in the storeroom, so everything had to be done by hand. Still, Mingdai’s inspiring vision spurred Zhou Sinian to work with great enthusiasm, digging with broad strokes at a pace Mingdai, delicate as she was, could only envy.

In the end, Mingdai gave up on digging and instead scattered plant ash with a shovel over the ground Zhou Sinian had turned, then shaped the soil into tidy beds according to the types of crops they planned to plant.

By the end of the afternoon, they had prepared all the plots they needed.

Mingdai took out the chive roots and arranged them neatly into the prepared holes. She supported each root while Zhou Sinian filled in the soil. One round, and Mingdai felt as if her back would break, while Zhou Sinian was none the worse for wear. She had to admit, the difference between people could be immense.

With the chives planted, the rest was straightforward. The potato chunks coated in plant ash were buried in pairs along the beds, while sweet potatoes required even less fuss—just a patch half a meter long and a meter wide, bury them, and wait for them to sprout.

All that remained was starting the seeds. Mingdai and Zhou Sinian divided a large plot into over thirty small sections, each separated by a ridge. They sprinkled the seeds evenly, wrote the names on slips of paper, and attached them to little sticks at the end of each row to avoid confusion later.

Finally, Mingdai fetched a hose and watered each bed according to the plants’ needs, finishing the task at last.

She and Zhou Sinian sat on the grass, gazing at the dark, freshly turned earth, smiling with happiness and anticipation as they imagined green shoots slowly carpeting the field.

That evening, as a reward for their hard work—and because she was too tired to cook—they had hotpot. Since Zhou Sinian was taking medicine, they chose a mushroom broth. With all the fresh ingredients from the storeroom, the meal was pure and delicious, filling them both with happiness.

If not for the bitter medicine Zhou Sinian had to take again that night, he would have called it a perfect day.

Exhausted, the two of them went outside to heat a pot of water, letting smoke curl from the chimney, then returned to their space for a soak before bed.

The next morning, Mingdai woke to aching muscles, her bones creaking, feeling both sore and oddly invigorated.

She really needed to exercise more!

In contrast, Zhou Sinian was perfectly fine. After breakfast, he began cleaning the little pasture, dumping the manure into the fermentation pit, then set about shearing the sheep with a military knife.

Watching the now-naked sheep, Mingdai touched her nose, remembering she had said something yesterday about knitting sweaters from their wool.

Observing Zhou Sinian’s deft movements and the sheep’s petrified stillness, Mingdai quietly turned up the temperature in the sheepfold.

Sorry, little ones—this is all I can do for you!

The silly deer, its white tail twitching, watched curiously from the side: Thank goodness our fur is short!