He wanted to hug Lu Yang again. No matter what was happening at home, whether in front of him or not, Lu Yang remembered it all and had it arranged down to the smallest detail.
Xie Yan said, “You’ve never even met my father.”
Lu Yang replied, “To raise a son like you, your father must be a good man. If he’s a good man, I respect him. Besides, I’ve offered incense to him. I’ve never met him in life, but he has seen me in spirit. If I’m filial, he will watch over me.”
Xie Yan’s lips curved in a smile as they carried the dinner into the main hall together.
As a child, he hadn’t had big dreams. He still liked to play, liked reading, but didn’t want everything planned out for him—he had a streak of rebellion.
Growing up, he still didn’t have big dreams. The rigid formats of the imperial exams had even made him resent them for a while.
After the family’s misfortune, his sense of what it meant to be a good person remained vague. But if asked what kind of person he wanted to become, he measured himself against his father.
He hoped to be like his father: upright and dependable, caring for the household quietly at home, strong enough to support the family’s name outside. Now that he had seen many scholars, he realized just how far he fell short of his father.
Xie Yan glanced at Lu Yang. Years earlier, had they met in the county, his father’s nature would never have tolerated Lu Yang’s skinny frame—he would have bought him food on the spot.
Had he known Lu Yang wasn’t a biological Chen family child, he might even have taken him in.
His father liked helping those who tried hard to live. He called it “giving a hand.”
Sometimes, it was all it took to pull someone stuck in the mud back to life.
At that moment, Xie Yan felt a sudden awe of ghosts and gods.
Doing good deeds built good karma. His father had helped others; Lu Yang had helped him.
Xie Yan took two meat pancakes to offer incense to his father. Zhao Peilan, watching, was startled and asked Lu Yang, “Yang ge’er, what’s wrong with him?”
Lu Yang, eating pancakes and drinking soup, said, “The boy misses his father.”
Zhao Peilan laughed. “You can’t call him ‘the boy.’”
Lu Yang shrugged. “He’s my man.”
Zhao Peilan wasn’t used to such bluntness. Lu Yang didn’t mind, but her face turned red.
When Xie Yan returned, the three of them ate together, happy and harmonious.
It was the seventh day of the seventh lunar month—the wheat harvest.
Li Feng first drove a mule cart to Lujiatun.
Lu Song and Lu Bai were able to lend a hand; Lu Erbao could also work. In less than a morning, the task was done.
Since he was already there, Li Feng stayed the day. In the afternoon, they threshed the wheat and laid it out to dry.
He brought good news to the two fathers: Lu Liu was expecting twins. At this busy time, they couldn’t leave the fields, and drying wheat was tiring work. Wang Fengnian had said he would visit Lu Liu in the village later.
They also asked about the trip to the prefectural city and how Lu Yang was doing.
Li Feng answered honestly. Lu Yang was doing well—very capable. Traveling that far, among a group of men, he was neither intimidated nor careless. He spoke clearly, handled matters properly, and didn’t seem weak even before other big bosses.
As for his health, Li Feng had nothing bad to report.
Traveling was exhausting, worrying was draining. Being away in the field was nowhere near as comfortable as convalescing in the county.
Wang Fengnian listened silently. It was only midyear. Land was limited, grain production low. The pigs weren’t ready for market, so they couldn’t convert them to cash.
There were some vegetables in the garden, and the hens had started laying eggs. Their eldest brother sent vegetables to the county every few days. Lu Yang’s household didn’t lack these things. Lu Liu, living in the mountains, ate even better and lacked nothing.
They had little to offer the two children and were silent for a moment.
Li Feng spoke up: “The new wheat is fragrant. Take ten or twenty jin—eat it fresh. We didn’t plant fields this year, so we don’t have new wheat to eat. Lu Yang grew up in the county—probably hasn’t had much new wheat either. Let’s dry it at home for now. I’ll bring some when I head to the county in a few days.”
Only then did Lu Erbao and Wang Fengnian nod repeatedly in agreement.
Food was scarce. Li Feng worked quickly, finishing before sunset.
Back at home, he inspected the house. The roof was repaired, and one wall was reinforced with new mud—it looked very good.
The spring wheat planted there would be followed by a season of soybeans.
With the year drawing to a close, Li Feng helped them plan.
They wouldn’t sell grain. After drying, they’d measure and keep one bag for tax, eat the rest at home.
Both children were married, life was good—they could eat heartily. Once the soybeans were harvested, they could sell them for cash.
In winter, when the fields were quiet, they could take care of the chickens and pigs and let the cats hibernate.
This year had no urgent expenses. They could keep a few extra chickens for another year and continue collecting eggs. No need for extra roosters; after the busy season, slaughter one for eating, save another for the New Year.
When the pigs matured, they could try breeding. The first litter should be bred carefully. Later, the sows would continue producing piglets. Life at home would only get better.
They decided not to slaughter the New Year pigs. Anyone who tried to persuade them would be scolded.
The piglets had obligations to the butcher. Lu Yang had arranged to send eight pigs, six of which were likely to be sold to the butcher.
Even in the village, they couldn’t slaughter that many pigs themselves.
Other families’ arrangements aside, they and the eldest brother’s household could not let Lu Yang be undermined.
Wang Fengnian wanted to fry some flour to sell. They had tried this during the county exams. During wheat drying, he could spare time to fry the flour, then go out to harvest if it rained.
Flour frying was done over low heat in small batches. If it scorched, only a little would be wasted, enough for home. The rest could be sold.
Li Feng nodded. “Good. Then have Lu Song bring some along. Lu Yang’s shop will need this stock.”
With earnings, they could buy some cotton.
This year they sold vegetables and eggs, though eggs had just started selling, and the proceeds were small. With a little money left, two people’s winter cotton clothes would suffice.
Lu Liu had previously made two sets for them. Being frugal, she knew the fathers wouldn’t want to wear new summer clothes, so she sewed in layers. With some cotton, they’d be warm in winter. Buying a bit more cotton would be enough.
They didn’t stay for dinner. Li Feng hurried the mule cart back to the village.
Along the way, he greeted other villagers graciously.
Arriving at the new village, he stopped by Ertian’s place.
With the wheat harvest ongoing, Ertian hadn’t fetched fertilizer yet. He sent word—he needed fertilizer.
By the time Li Feng got home, Ertian had just returned, calling “big brother” weakly.
Wang Dongmei had prepared dinner.
In summer, hard labor left people too exhausted to eat dry rice. Eating dry rice left them weaker. Usually, they made the porridge thick, chewing and sipping, with two buns and a plate of pickles—enough to eat.
Now, they added some meat. Wang Dongmei stir-fried mushrooms with meat slices and made a vegetable soup.
The meal was good.
Li Feng saw enough and told Ertian, “I’ll help in the fields tomorrow. Don’t come to the house.”
At this time, few people were picking mushrooms—they were busy with the wheat harvest.
People from the mountain village came to the new village in groups, helping regardless of family divisions. Old grudges were set aside; harvesting wheat was priority.
Ertian didn’t argue and agreed, staying to eat.
Li Feng drank tea but didn’t eat, then left.
Afterwards, he had drunk a lot, so he went to the latrine. Coming out, he saw Lu Liu grinning at him.
Li Feng asked, puzzled, “Why are you grinning like that?”
Lu Liu said, “You must’ve drunk a lot of water.”
Li Feng laughed. “I drank water, not urine. What’s funny?”
Lu Liu snorted, telling him to wash up and eat.
He hadn’t been idle today either—he’d tried a new method for roasting mushrooms.
Too much heat, and the mushrooms burned.
The right heat, and they cooked perfectly.
What if it was slow heat?
He gave Li Feng the verdict: “Pretty good. The moisture slowly evaporates. But this method is slow—if we try a large batch, we’ll need to figure out another approach.”
