Chapter 83: Climbing the Mountain to Dig Soil, Planting Vegetables in Winter

At night, the two of them slept outside on a heated brick bed, piled high with soft, spongy bedding. Sinking into it, they were completely enveloped, warm and secure. Remembering Aunt Huang’s advice, Ming Dai had placed two extra basins of water in their rooms, and sure enough, when they woke the next morning, their noses were neither dry nor sore.

That morning, it was even colder outside; the water in the large vat had frozen solid. Zhou Sinian broke the ice, scooped some into a pot, set the grate on top, and fetched cornmeal cakes and vegetable dumplings from the cupboard. After a moment’s thought, he added a handful of candied chestnuts to the pot as well. Once the fire was lit, he went off to wash up. By the time Ming Dai came out, breakfast was ready and waiting. She gave him a big thumbs up, and Zhou Sinian beamed with delight. He mixed two bowls of fried flour, and with a side of pickled mustard greens, they quickly finished their meal.

Carefully, Zhou Sinian wrapped the warm candied chestnuts, tucked them into his chest, gave them a pat, and, satisfied, pulled Ming Dai outside as they headed for Wild Boar Ridge.

Winter mornings were bitterly cold. Apart from those up early to cook or fetch water, most people were still nestled in their quilts, savoring the rare ease of the season. Zhou Sinian wore a military greatcoat he’d received earlier and stubbornly tied his red scarf around his head, an odd combination that Ming Dai found too garish to look at. Yet he was quite pleased with himself, always checking his reflection before leaving, and even tried to persuade Ming Dai to bring out the half-length mirror from the bathroom, complaining the one outside was too small. Ming Dai could hardly imagine how he would face himself after he recovered—perhaps he’d wish to fall ill again.

Passing by the village well, they ran into a few villagers shouldering water in heavy cotton coats. Seeing the tall figure pulling a cart and the striking red scarf, one couldn’t help but sigh, “These days, even lunatics have brand-new army coats, while we’re still wearing our fathers’ patched ones. Who could we complain to?” Another chimed in with a sing-song, “Oh, my wretched fate!” Their laughter bounced along with the buckets, water sloshing and splashing onto the frozen well platform. An old lady, there to wash vegetables, scolded them loudly, her shouts waking the whole village.

At the foot of the mountain, the road became impassable, buried under snow. The two of them left the cart and continued on foot—at least, Zhou Sinian did; Ming Dai was carried along, bundled in his greatcoat against the wind. They brought four burlap sacks and found a sunlit patch of woods. Brushing away the snow, they uncovered the rock-hard humus beneath.

Thankfully, Aunt Huang had reminded them to bring a pickaxe; otherwise, a shovel would have been useless. Once the top was broken up, the soil below was easy to dig. Zhou Sinian shoveled while Ming Dai held the sacks—working in perfect harmony, they soon filled all four.

Ming Dai stored the sacks in her space. Afterwards, they roamed the hillside, gathering all the snow-laden broken branches into her space as well. She even discovered a pheasant frozen in a one-legged pose, like a golden rooster, and took it too. As they left, they dragged a large branch down the mountain. Once alone, they loaded the sacks onto the cart, secured the branch, and headed home.

On their way back, they ran into Uncle Liu Dazhu. Ming Dai quickly called out, “Uncle, where are you headed so early?” Liu Dazhu, hands tucked in his sleeves, was surprised to see them hauling such a load. “I just got back from your Uncle Dazheng’s, brought him breakfast and his medicine. What have you two been up to?” Ming Dai pointed at the sacks. “Went up the mountain to dig some soil, just got back.”

Liu Dazhu remembered his wife mentioning how little Ming, the educated youth, wanted to grow vegetables in winter. He hadn’t expected them to start so soon. Smiling, he encouraged, “Keep at it! If you actually get a harvest, I’ll put in an application for the whole village to plant. We could sell it at the county’s procurement station, earn some extra income, and pay off the village debts sooner.” Truly a leader—she hadn’t succeeded yet, and already the captain was assigning new tasks.

“We don’t know if it’ll work out, but if it does, Uncle, you’ll be the first to try,” Ming Dai promised. Liu Dazhu laughed heartily, in high spirits. “Good! I’ll be waiting!” Before Zhou Sinian’s patience wore thin, Ming Dai took her leave. Watching them go, Liu Dazhu sighed—his own three sons together couldn’t compare to this one educated youth. If only she were his daughter!

Back home, they broke the branches and stored them outside, then took the sacks into her space, emptied them into the yard, and spread the lumpy earth out to be crushed and sun-dried. Emerging from the space, Ming Dai had Zhou Sinian help dismantle the old kitchen racks, then rebuilt new ones with planks so baskets could be stored on top.

By afternoon, the soil was nearly dry. Ming Dai lined bamboo baskets with straw, filled them halfway with the sun-dried soil, dug small pits, and planted chive roots that had sprouted new shoots, watering them in place.

Altogether, she planted six baskets of chives—three to grow as green chives, three as yellow chives. She sowed baby greens, spinach, and garlic sprouts in the remaining baskets, and set out big baskets for soybean and mung bean sprouts as well. All the vegetables were stacked in the storeroom, while the baskets of sprouts were set on her brick bed.

After some thought, she took out several pounds of wheat, soaked them, spread them evenly in a large drying basket, covered them with a white cloth, and placed them on Zhou Sinian’s bed, telling him not to let them touch the floor.

The storage room was small, but now that it was cleared out, it was perfect for these projects, and easy to warm. Ming Dai brought out all the charcoal she’d saved since arriving in the countryside, set up a brazier in the center with unused basins, and soon, the whole room was toasty. For now, this would have to do—if it worked, they’d need to build a special heated wall next year to expand production.

Over the next two days, they gathered all the leftover corn cobs from shelling. Together, they spent a day smashing them into powder, then mixed in some potassium permanganate from Ming Dai’s medicine kit—a gift from Director Gao, who had given her plenty of disinfectants. They added wheat bran, stirred everything, and moistened the mixture to about sixty percent humidity, then shaped it into cylinders.

Previously, when gathering herbs on the mountain, they had collected decaying logs covered in mushrooms, storing them in the wooded area inside her space. Ming Dai selected a log covered in oyster mushrooms, scraped off the mycelium, and buried it in the moist corn-cob substrate. Once planted, she arranged it on the wooden shelves in the storage room, and regularly sprayed water. Within days, little mushrooms began to sprout from the substrate.

Zhou Sinian had a reverence for food that bordered on awe. Whether it was the garden inside the space or the vegetable baskets outside, he took care of most of it. Whenever he was around, he would go into the storage room to change the charcoal at the right times—Ming Dai never even needed to set an alarm. Even in the dead of night, he would get up to tend the fire or change the charcoal.

This did mean their firewood was consumed at a tremendous rate, but after several more heavy snowfalls, there were plenty of broken branches on the mountain. On clear days, the two of them would go for firewood, as did others in the village, mostly hoping to find pheasants frozen to death—but with little luck.

Seeing how obedient Zhou Sinian was, Ming Dai decided to make something delicious to reward him.