In July, the sorghum in the fields had already turned an entire mu deep red, standing tall with heads raised to greet the scorching sun. In another plot nearby, the low-growing soybeans had ripened as well.
In an age when harvesting relied almost entirely on manual labor, with few tools to take shortcuts, there was nothing special about harvesting crops—just cutting and hoeing.
Soybeans grew low to the ground, no different from the earlier rapeseed harvest. Sorghum stalks were hard; they had to be cut down with sickles and carried home. Both crops then required secondary processing before the grain could be collected.
At daybreak, Du Heng and Qin Xiaoman went into the fields to cut the sorghum. By around the chen hour, the mu of sorghum that had looked like raised torches was completely laid flat.
Qin Xiaoman bundled the sorghum like firewood and hoisted it onto the yellow ox’s back.
In the countryside, carts were useless in the fields. Aside from the village’s main road, the rest were narrow paths barely wide enough for one or two people. A cart’s two large wheels simply couldn’t pass through.
If a cart could get in, they could have hauled all the sorghum back in just a few trips.
Relying only on the ox, however, meant at least a couple more runs.
So after cutting about half the sorghum, Qin Xiaoman began tying the bundles onto the ox and driving it home, leaving Du Heng alone in the field to continue cutting. By the time Du Heng finished, the transport was nearly done as well.
Having the ox to help was always better than carrying everything by hand. A shoulder could carry at most two bundles at once, which would mean countless trips back and forth.
July’s weather was blazing hot. By the chen hour it was already sweltering. If they didn’t hurry to finish before the sun rose in full force, the fields would roast the skin right off you.
At this time of year, people collapsing from heatstroke in the fields were common. Households kept marsh mallow on hand, brewing it into water to clear heat and relieve summer heat, or else drank bitter wild tea that made the tongue curl.
Qin Xiaoman handled the sorghum carefully. Once the crops were mature, even a little roughness would knock the grain loose. Losing even a single kernel was heartbreaking.
Du Heng wore clothes that covered him tightly, but they still couldn’t fully protect him from the cutting sorghum leaves. Like corn leaves, they were slightly sharp. There were also plenty of flying insects and grasshoppers. His hands and wrists were covered in red welts, itchy and painful.
Dust from the plants mixed with sweat soaking his body—altogether extremely uncomfortable.
He held in a breath of determination and didn’t dare rest, cutting all the sorghum in the field before finally relaxing.
Once farm work stopped, it was hard to make yourself start again. Compared to sitting peacefully at home reading, this kind of labor was truly exhausting.
For days now, he had maintained the habit of reading before bed and after waking. Qin Xiaoman had originally not wanted him to come to the fields today.
But thinking of the mu of sorghum, if Xiaoman worked alone it would take a long time. With the two of them together, they could finish before the sun became unbearable, which was far better than letting Xiaoman toil under the blazing heat.
Sorghum grain could be ground into flour to make steamed buns or noodles, but the taste wasn’t very good, and the price was lower than white flour or rice. It was food for filling the stomachs of poor families.
Though the grain itself wasn’t worth much, for farming households the whole plant was valuable. After the grain was removed, the sorghum heads could be bundled into useful brooms. The stalks, roots, and leaves could all be used as firewood.
Soybeans, though priced higher, left behind plants that could only be burned as fuel after the beans were removed.
This year’s yields for both the mu of sorghum and soybeans were quite good—over one dan, close to one and a half dan.
Rapeseed had been the highest-yielding of the three crops, but overall everything exceeded Qin Xiaoman’s expectations. He was happy, but having already seen the high rapeseed yield, he wasn’t shocked by the good harvest of the latter two crops. His mindset was much calmer.
“Your soybeans grew really well—nice and round, not many shriveled ones. Your older brother mentioned it to me, said he’s thinking of planting some soybeans next year too.”
In the hottest part of the afternoon, after the sorghum and soybeans were stripped from their plants, everything was spread out to dry in the inner courtyard—one patch red, one patch yellow. The colors weren’t glaring, but they were enough to make households that only grew corn and rice feel envious.
Sun Dongmei wore a straw hat. After finishing her household chores and with Qin Wei having gone out, she had no interest in taking a nap with the menfolk gone.
Having free time, she came over for a visit. Hearing that the couple’s sorghum and beans had harvested well, she came to take a look and chat with Xiaoman.
The sun was strong. After two days, the soybean plants and sorghum stalks were already dried crisp. There was no sign of rain, so Qin Xiaoman hadn’t moved them into the woodshed.
Mainly because he wanted to leave space in the woodshed. When he had time, he planned to go up the private mountain to bring back stored logs and branches. Crop stalks didn’t burn well and were bulky, taking up too much space.
The spring bamboo shoot skins and rapeseed harvested earlier had already taken up quite a bit of room.
Qin Xiaoman planned to pile the stalks under the eaves for now. After the autumn harvest, he would take them to the county to pay the land tax. The county needed firewood anyway.
When Sun Dongmei arrived, Du Heng and Qin Xiaoman hadn’t taken a nap either. After eating, the couple was sitting at the doorway of the main hall, using sorghum heads to weave brooms.
“Sister-in-law, come sit inside. The main room by the door is the coolest spot.”
“Exactly, this is always the coolest place in the house, with a breeze flowing through all the time.”
Sun Dongmei glanced at the soybeans and then at the sorghum. Farmers always enjoyed looking at these things.
After inspecting enough, she walked toward the house. Du Heng got up to pour her a cup of cool tea.
“You’ve bundled quite a few, haven’t you?”
Sun Dongmei looked at the ten or so tightly tied brooms lying on the ground, the sorghum heads neatly trimmed. “Are these going to the county town to sell?”
Qin Xiaoman offered her a small stool and tapped one of the brooms. “My husband made these. He’s handy—his work looks better than mine. There’s plenty of sorghum, more than we can use at home, so we might as well take them to the county town. We can sell them for ten wen a bundle.”
Sun Dongmei smiled warmly. “You two really know how to work.”
Du Heng glanced at the remaining sorghum, then excused himself from the chatter, saying he was going to rest indoors, though in truth, he was going to read.
The couple shared an understanding glance. Reading wasn’t something they needed to announce. If one passed the exams, it was fine; if not, there was no need to make a fuss for the neighbors to hear.
“Here, Sister-in-law, take a broom and try it. A freshly tied broom sweeps really clean.”
“I’m just walking through, no need to carry anything.”
Qin Xiaoman smiled and handed one over. “What are you saying? We’re family.”
Sun Dongmei chuckled and placed the broom aside. With no men under the eaves, the two began to chat leisurely.
“Autumn harvest is coming again. Every year, this time brings both excitement and anxiety. Harvest season is the most chaotic.”
With the mixture of people around, small-time thieves were restless during harvest, and in poorer areas, even bandits might descend to seize goods.
Fortunately, Luoxia County wasn’t wealthy, so there were no bandits, but petty thieves were enough to keep one cautious. Any loss would not only reduce the harvest but also make tax time worrisome.
“What’s there to fear? Even if there were thieves, they wouldn’t dare come to Second Uncle’s house. Besides, with Second Uncle and a few strong men at home, why be afraid of petty thieves?”
Sun Dongmei smiled. “But there are fewer people at home, so after the harvest, you’ll need to be extra careful.”
Qin Xiaoman wasn’t alone now, so he wasn’t worried.
“By the way, has Xiao Zhu’s family made their choice yet?”
Sun Dongmei sighed lightly. “Mother and Xiao Zhu insist on the family in the city. Father can’t persuade them otherwise. The Li family knows this too. Old Master Li didn’t say much, since he has some rapport with Father, so there’s no need to quarrel over a marriage. But Li Laowu is quite upset. I heard he’s planning to go out and continue business.”
Qin Xiaoman shook his head. “Choosing Li Laowu would’ve been better. At least he’s from the village, so you know him and it’s nearby.”
“Yes. Father said if Xiao Zhu goes to the Li family, he can step in if any grievance arises. The Li family is sincere and flexible about dowries, willing to match Du Heng’s arrangement. But Xiao Zhu is like she’s been cursed, insisting on the city family, refusing all else.”
“In the end, she refused the Li family. Father was furious, but even so, he still had to visit the city to check the family’s background.”
Qin Xiaoman sighed. “If only the family in the county were suitable… it’s a pity…”
Before he could finish, someone knocked at the courtyard gate. Qin Xiaoman raised an eyebrow. “Who’s that? The gate’s open; why knock?”
Just then, a sturdy figure stepped inside—it was Li Laowu.
Qin Xiaoman raised an eyebrow. Sun Dongmei accidentally dropped a sorghum ear she was holding. She felt a bit embarrassed; she had just been commenting on him, and now the man himself had arrived. She wondered if he had overheard.
“Brother Li, what brings you here?”
It was natural for Xiaoman to ask. The Li family was wealthy, landowners in the village. Villagers only hoped to stay in their favor. Although they had decent relations with the Qin family, not every Qin would greet them kindly. Only someone like Qin Xiong or Qin Zhiyan would be welcoming.
In the past, when Mr. Qin was alive, the families had some interactions, but since then, little connection had remained. A sudden visit today was therefore curious.
Li Laowu glanced at Qin Xiaoman and Sun Dongmei. “Is Mr. Du Heng home? I came to see him.”
Qin Xiaoman stood immediately. Du Heng, a frail scholar, hadn’t provoked Li Laowu, so why would he be sought out?
Before Xiaoman could ask, Li Laowu seemed slightly awkward. “I plan to study and practice writing, and wanted to consult Mr. Du.”
“Ah?”
Qin Xiaoman couldn’t hide his surprise. “Weren’t you heading out to continue business?”
“No, I’m going to study.”
Sun Dongmei gave an awkward chuckle. “Studying is good, studying is good.”
Then she nudged Xiaoman. “Go wake Du Heng.”
Just as Qin Xiaoman was about to call him, Du Heng appeared on his own.
He hadn’t napped and had already heard the commotion. Seeing Xiaoman, he gestured: “Brother Li, come in.”
Li Laowu stood a short distance away, hesitating. He appraised Du Heng with a complex expression, pressing his lips together. After a pause, he followed Du Heng into the house.
Qin Xiaoman and Sun Dongmei exchanged puzzled glances, but wisely did not follow to peek.
“I heard you’ve spent some years doing business outside. I assume you can read and write,” Li Laowu said.
Du Heng nodded. The Li family was well-off, so the children had received basic literacy education. Whether to continue studying further was entirely up to them.
Du Heng crouched by the bookshelf, rifling through the volumes. “Young men of eighteen or nineteen always have many ideas and often admire the precision of words and letters. It’s only natural—they’ve seen so little of scholarly life in the village, so everything is novel to them.”
Li Laowu furrowed his brows. When Du Heng said that, he crouched down beside him. Before he could speak, Du Heng pressed a copy of the Book of Songs into his hands.
“Pick two poems, memorize them, and recite them. When you’re done, remember to return the book. It’s not that I’m stingy or unwilling to lend it—these books were left by Mr. Qin when he was alive, and Xiaoman values them greatly.”
“You…” Li Laowu was going to say, “How do you know what’s in his heart?” but instead it turned into: “Could you help me pick two? I can read, but I really don’t know much about poetry. What if I choose the wrong ones and Xiao Zhu doesn’t like them?”
“Oh, you can at least read, unlike him who can’t even recognize the characters. You won’t pick wrong.”
Du Heng opened the book. “If you’re unsure, just take this one, Jian Jia. You can’t go wrong with it.”
Li Laowu quickly dog-eared the page. “Okay.”
Seeing the task was simple, he clutched the book, ready to go home and start memorizing. Then he paused, looking at Du Heng’s refined, upright figure. His own muscular frame hardly looked scholarly. “Should I go to the city and get a proper scholar’s robe?”
“No need. Cultivate yourself, not your outward appearance.”
Mainly, it would be too pretentious.
“Thanks. I’ll treat you to a drink sometime.”
Du Heng waved him off. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t really drink.”
Li Laowu frowned, a newfound respect forming. A true scholar—he didn’t even touch wine.
“I might as well give up drinking too,” Li Laowu said.
“No need. Marriage isn’t something one person alone can bear. It should be mutual and harmonious.”
Li Laowu replied, “Who’s ever perfectly suited? Even if it seems good, someone must take the initiative. Back when I wandered outside in my younger days, if I had proposed to the Qin family then, it might not have ended up like this.”
Du Heng nodded. That reasoning made sense.
Watching Li Laowu leave, angered when he arrived and still in a rush when departing, his steps were purposeful, his movements those of a sturdy man. Forcing him to sit on a bench all day to read would have been torturous.
Sun Dongmei chatted a little more with Xiaoman, reminding him to take her along if he went to the county next time. She hadn’t been to the county since her marriage. Whenever Second Uncle went, he always carried goods, so she didn’t want to go alone with Father-in-law.
Xiaoman readily agreed. Since Du Heng was going to study, trips to the county would be few, and having his sister-in-law along would provide company on the road.
Once they left, Qin Xiaoman dashed inside. “What did you two talk about?”
“Nothing much. I just borrowed two books from him.”
Qin Xiaoman said, “That’s strange. Li Laowu is a scholar too, with the title of tongsheng. I don’t know if he earned it or bought it, but he’s still a scholar. Why travel so far just to have you teach him?”
Du Heng chuckled, pulling Xiaoman to sit. “Li Laowu’s family is based in the county. He’s rarely in the village, so visits are inconvenient. But if he’s determined to study, he doesn’t really need to come here for guidance.”
Xiaoman agreed.
Du Heng rubbed Xiaoman’s head. “Fool, he came here not just to study, but so your little cousin knows him. Asking his cousin for advice allows better connections.”
Xiaoman understood, frowning. “Li Laowu looks rough and quiet, but he really has a sharp mind!”
“After years of doing business and wandering, even small trades teach cunning. Li’s family stability didn’t come from lack of foresight.”
“That’s true.”
Two days later, the sky turned gray and rain fell, bringing a rare coolness.
Du Heng stored the dried soybeans and picked the sorghum, preparing for Xiaoman’s ongoing wish to brew wine.
Brewing, simply put, has three steps: steaming, fermenting, and finally distilling the fermented liquid.
Sorghum wine begins with preparing the grains—soaking them, discarding any empty or damaged grains, then grinding them to remove the husk.
The prepared grains go into a vessel for steaming. Once cooked, they are cooled and mixed with starter yeast (qu). Without good yeast, even hundreds of pounds of grains could be wasted.
Although yeast can be made at home, Du Heng opted to buy a few high-quality ones from the county to avoid spoilage. Only honest sellers could guarantee good yeast, for bad yeast would ruin the wine.
He purchased the yeast from a reputable old shop in the county that both sold wine and yeast. Their wine used their own yeast, and its quality was well-known.
Although more expensive than smaller vendors, it provided peace of mind.
As the sorghum steamed, the room filled with the fragrance of cooked grains. Once softened, the grains were cooled and layered into another container.
Since the quantity was large, Du Heng used a round water tub normally for carrying water. He layered the grains evenly, sprinkling crushed yeast between layers, then pressed and sealed the container.
The fermenting grains were kept in a cool, shaded place, for too much heat could spoil them.
After two months, they would be ready for distillation, producing the final sorghum wine.
Brewing seems simple, but every step—grain cooking, cooling, yeast quantity—requires careful attention. A small mistake could ruin the flavor or prevent fermentation altogether.
Du Heng’s family had a small wine shop before, supplying their own tavern. He had learned some from the master brewers, though he never specialized in it.
The plan to brew the wine had finally found its use. While it couldn’t be relied upon to support the household financially, it was more than enough to satisfy Du Heng’s craving for a good drink.
Because he wasn’t fully experienced, Du Heng had been cautious and only used fifty jin of sorghum. Every grain of it had been grown with his own labor, and he treated each stalk as precious. One jin of grain could produce just over three liang of wine, so fifty jin of sorghum would only yield a little over ten jin of wine.
By comparison, wine sold in taverns was expensive. Ordinary folks could buy cheap wine for a few wen per liang, though it was mostly watered down and tasteless. On their previous occasions, the wine they drank at the table cost thirty wen per jin, which was very cheap. Pure, undiluted grain wine, like what Du Heng was making, could sell for over a hundred wen per jin.
Xiaoman watched over the jar, his mind full of anticipation. He had never tasted wine worth a hundred wen per jin before.