Chapter 1 Plain Congee
The fifth spring after the collapse of society.
As usual, Zhao Xuan got up very early.
The sky was as dark as a piece of blue paint that had fallen into water, a thick, dark blue that seemed impossible to dissolve, except for a faint, soft, bright orange hue in the east.
This will probably be a good year, right?
She glanced at the daylight outside the window, lost in thought, but her hands didn't stop working. She tied a knot in the dry straw, lit it, and threw it into the stove, then added two pieces of firewood while the fire was still burning brightly.
Firewood that has been drying all winter makes a crisp cracking sound when it comes into contact with fire. By arranging the firewood in an alternating pattern and fanning the area under the stove a few times, the air carries the flames upwards, and the dry firewood will quickly catch fire.
She poured the rinsed rice into the pot, then scooped a few spoonfuls of water from the large vat, stirred the rice and water slightly, and finally covered the pot with the lid.
The kitchen was built right next to the living quarters, forming a separate room. In addition to the stove, there was a wooden cabinet for storing dishes and three earthenware jars. The jars were a common earthen yellow color in rural homes, thick and sturdy, and all covered with wooden lids. There was one small jar and two large ones.
Zhao Xuan placed the small vat next to the stove to store charcoal, while the two larger ones were placed side by side with the wooden cabinet to store water. One of the vats was already empty, and the other was more than half empty.
She decided to go down to the village to fetch some water while the rice was still cooking.
Carrying water wasn't her forte; the carrying pole always hurt the back of her neck. Her limit was filling each bucket halfway with water, which together made a full bucket, but it was still better than carrying it up from the bottom of the village by hand.
As long as you walk in rhythm with the swaying of the two buckets, carrying water with a shoulder pole is much less strenuous than carrying it by hand—this is the trick Lu An told her, but Zhao Xuan has yet to grasp it.
Some people are just not naturally good at farm work.
It's only a few minutes' walk from home to the well. Walking down the winding path, you soon come to a large open space. The space is paved with cement, flat and bright. This is probably where the villagers used to dry their grain. However, it hasn't been used for a long time, and there are many cracks. Tender yellow spring grass has even grown in some of the cracks.
Beyond the large open space lay the well—a square wellhead widened by stone slabs, with several stone steps leading down into the water for easy access. The water was crystal clear, and the walls were covered with many unknown plants, clustered together like ferns. As Zhao Xuan filled his bucket with water, the plants floated gently on the current, their vibrant green color reflecting off the well's surface with a shimmering glow.
It's okay if there are aquatic plants growing in the well water; it means the well water is clean.
Using the hook on the carrying pole to attach the handle of the water bucket, Zhao Xuan carried the two small buckets of water and swayed as he walked towards home.
She and Lu An stumbled upon this village last autumn. The village was surrounded by layers of mountains, like an onion. They had lost their way and wandered into it.
Perhaps it wasn't so much a matter of losing their way. She and Lu An didn't actually have a destination. After wandering around this mountainous area for dozens of days, the weather gradually turned cold. The thin cotton coat Lu An was wearing could no longer keep out the chill of late autumn. After one night, Zhao Xuan often saw that his fingernails were bluish.
She was wearing a thick cotton-padded coat, but Lu An refused to switch with her. So, after accidentally discovering this abandoned village, she looked around the village inside and out, and after thinking for a long time, she said to Lu An, "Why don't we stay here for now?"
They were huddled against a broken wall, warming themselves by a campfire. Lu An was huddled in a corner, gnawing on a charred sweet potato. Hearing Zhao Xuan's words, he was somewhat surprised and paused his chewing for a moment, but quickly replied, "Okay."
The bright firelight illuminated his face, and Zhao Xuan felt that he must have smiled at that moment.
Was she mocking this hasty decision? Or was she relieved to finally be able to settle down? Zhao Xuan didn't know what Lu An was thinking, but she was certain that five years after the outbreak of the serious illness, these two drifting duckweeds, who had been wandering for several years, had finally found themselves a home.
The village is an abandoned village that has been vacant for a long time.
Long before the outbreak of the major disease, many remote villages had already been abandoned. Young people went to big cities to make a living, leaving behind some elderly people who refused to leave their roots and stubbornly stayed behind, like big trees with hollowed-out hearts waiting to fall, living precariously in some small corners surrounded by mountains.
This village was just like the ones Zhao Xuan remembered: old mud-brick houses and new cement-tiled houses were interspersed. The old houses were built by the village elders when they were young, while the new ones were probably built by dutiful younger generations for their parents. Building a house in the countryside didn't cost much. The whole village would come to help, and the cost was only for the materials. It was much less expensive than the millions of yuan spent on commercial housing in the city. The styles weren't particularly trendy, but they were sturdy. The village they lived in now was the same. Among the dilapidated old houses, there were occasionally a few small houses that looked relatively new, built with cement and steel bars, and even the tiles on the walls and the windows were intact.
The village has only one road, and all the houses are built along this narrow path, which is less than three meters wide. Occasionally, small side paths extend out from this narrow path, which is only wide enough for one person to pass at a time. The whole village is somewhat like a large, leafy tree, with the main road as its trunk and the paths as its branches. At the bottom of the trunk is a well, and above that is a threshing ground. Walking up the road, you will find the farmhouses huddled together. After a few minutes' walk, you will reach Zhao Xuan's house.
It was a simple three-story house, tiled with white ceramic tiles and fitted with sturdy security bars. A separate kitchen was located right next to it on the left. The first floor of the main building contained a living room and dining room, the second floor had bedrooms and storage rooms—five rooms in total—and the third floor had only two rooms plus a small platform with a glass roof. The house wasn't large, and it had a small yard in front.
The house was very sturdy; there was no water seepage, and every window had security bars welded on. Even the surrounding wall was high and thick, with many broken beer bottles stuck in it, pointed upwards, to prevent people from climbing over it.
After the outbreak of a serious illness, Zhao Xuan and Lu An spent a long time in uncertainty about their fate. Zhao Xuan became as easily frightened as a rabbit, so she had very high requirements for her nest.
It must be sturdy enough to be not easily damaged. And if it's situated on high ground, it won't be submerged during floods.
—It's just that carrying water is a bit tiring.
Zhao Xuan staggered home, poured two half-buckets of water into the water vat, stared at the surface for a while, and noticed that the water level didn't seem to rise much. She sighed and closed the wooden lid of the vat.
The two pieces of firewood were almost burned out, so she added a new one, then used the tongs to remove the still-burning charcoal and tossed it into a small jar next to her. The jar was covered with a heavy lid that kept out the air, so the burning charcoal would quickly go out—charcoal was needed for many things, and she couldn't let it go to waste here.
The rice in the pot was boiling, and the rising steam curled upwards, entering the chimney above, carrying a faint aroma of rice.
She lifted the lid of the pot, placed the washed earthenware pot aside, scooped up a spoonful of rice water with a slotted spoon, drained off the excess water, and poured the half-cooked rice into the earthenware pot. Most of the rice was put into the earthenware pot, while the remaining rice water continued to simmer on the stove.
The earthenware pot was transferred to a small stove. A few burning charcoal pieces were taken from the stove belly, and some black charcoal was added. The gentle heat of the charcoal fire would slowly steam the half-cooked rice in the pot into cooked rice, drying out the excess moisture. The rice was fluffy, with a pale yellow color, and it was easy to bite. It also had a very faint woody aroma.
The rice in this earthenware pot was her and Lu An's staple food for the day.
After finishing all that, Zhao Xuan finally had a free hand to prepare some side dishes. She lit another stove, lit the charcoal as before, took down the small frying pan hanging on the wall, put the pan on, and carefully put a little oil into it.
Crack open the last two wild eggs, add salt and whisk. Just then, the oil is hot, and the egg mixture slides into the pan, instantly spreading and solidifying into a golden omelet. Flip it over with a spatula to reveal the crispy side, which smells incredibly delicious.
She inverted the egg pancake onto a small plate, then turned off the stove, turned around, opened the dish cabinet, took out a large transparent glass jar of pickled radishes, wiped her chopsticks on the corner of her clothes, picked out a few translucent white radish strips, and arranged them into another small plate.
The porridge was now ready. The rice grains had popped open, and the starch had been cooked into the broth, making it thick and bubbling together with the popped rice.
Zhao Xuan glanced at the stove fire and saw that there was still some firewood left, and the fire was glowing red. He then casually tossed a few small taro into the fire.
She ladled out every last drop of porridge, washed the pot, and then scooped two ladles of water into it—the remaining fire was enough to boil the small pot of water and cook the taro.
He poured a large bowl of steaming hot porridge into a large bamboo basket, then put the eggs and radishes into it. Zhao Xuan walked out of the kitchen and went into his living room.
The living room is a regular square shape, built in a very honest way without any design sense, but the quality is excellent and there is no sign of dilapidation.
The owner must have left in a hurry, leaving many things behind, preserving the place exactly as it was back then. This place must have originally been inhabited by an elderly couple, because Zhao Xuan saw a photo of the two elderly people in their seventies hanging on the wall when he first arrived.
Zhao Xuan did not find the elderly couple's bodies in the house, assuming they had been taken away by their children and grandchildren when the serious illness broke out.
The sofa, coffee table, and other furniture that were originally in the hall had long been gnawed by rats, so she threw them all away, leaving only three benches and a large leather chair in the empty hall.
The second floor was simply furnished. After clearing out the chewed-up furniture, Zhao Xuan chose a sunny room as his bedroom. In rural areas, people usually don't close their main doors during the day. Consequently, storage rooms or bedrooms containing important items are fitted with security iron doors. The doors aren't necessarily high-quality, but they can be locked.
Zhao Xuan's bedroom now has a thin iron door, which he can lock from the inside when he wants to sleep at night.
The bedroom was sparsely furnished: a bed, a wardrobe for storing seasonal clothes, and a table. On the table sat a candlestick, a pot of chilled water, and two glasses. The arrangement was extremely simple; there wasn't even a chair.
The dark yellow curtains were drawn tightly at the moment, and Zhao Xuan was not used to it. He could only barely make out that there was a person lying on the bed, wrapped tightly in the quilt, with half of his head showing.
She quietly went in, placed the basket on the table, then sat on the edge of the bed and gently pulled back the edge of the blanket.
She moved very carefully, reaching out to touch the person's forehead.
It's still a bit hot.
The man curled up under the blanket was very handsome, with delicate brow bones and a high nose, but his eyes were tightly closed and his brows were furrowed, as if he was having some kind of nightmare.
"Lu An," she whispered in his ear. Feverish patients rarely sleep soundly, and even with his eyes closed, Lu An should be able to hear her: "I've put breakfast here. Remember to eat it when you wake up. You'll get better if you eat well."
Yesterday's rain soaked them completely while they were planting rice seedlings. The spring rain still carried a heavy chill. She and Lu An ran back to boil water for a bath. Lu An gave her the first pot of hot water he had boiled, while he wrapped himself in a blanket and waited until the second pot of water was hot.
That evening, Lu An started to have a fever and became delirious. Zhao Xuan changed several cool towels for him and pulled out a thick quilt to cover him up tightly. She didn't dare to sleep too soundly all night, getting up every now and then to touch his forehead or change the towel, but his fever did not subside after a whole night.
Lu An didn't respond to her, but Zhao Xuan saw him slightly move his head.
Knowing that he had already heard, Zhao Xuan did not linger for long, and quietly left after closing the door.
Back in the kitchen, she picked up the remaining congee and a plate of radish, and sat alone on the steps by the front door to eat. Using her chopsticks, she pushed the slightly cooled congee forward along the rim of the bowl, took a sip, and swallowed the thick aroma of rice and the faint smell of charcoal, which turned into a feeling of fullness. Then she took a bite of the crisp radish, and the sour and spicy flavor diluted the rice aroma, creating another wonderful taste. But even though the food tasted so good, it made Zhao Xuan's nose tingle and her eyes redden.
If only there were a doctor, if only there were medicine.
But there's nothing in this apocalypse.
After gulping down the porridge, she hastily wiped away her tears with her sleeve. There was always a lot of farm work to do in the spring, and she didn't seem to have much time to be sentimental here.
The water in the pot, heated by the embers, had boiled and filled two thermos flasks. She put the remaining water into a tin kettle. She took the two taro out of the charcoal fire, squeezed them, and found them soft and hot; they should be cooked.
By this time, it was already broad daylight, and the insects and birds around were becoming active. Zhao Xuan took a basket, a straw hat, a sickle, and a hoe and went out.
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