Winter wheat longs for spring mud
Shen You, who was disgusted by his "get-rich-quick dream" of betting his entire family's winter clothes, was completely awakened by Ling Zhan's kick to the heart.
The atmosphere in the new house was like a swamp frozen by frost.
Oppressive, cold, and pervasive with the deathly stillness of someone who has survived a catastrophe.
The children silently took off their ill-fitting and cumbersome "new clothes" and removed their glaring silk flowers.
Tiger's little wooden sword was stuffed into the bottom of the woodpile.
The bag of bean sprouts, which had been bulging, deflated.
The girl vigorously scrubbed her face with the stream water until the red marks left by the cheap rouge completely disappeared.
They were like a flock of fledglings terrified by a thunderclap, walking on tiptoe, speaking in soft voices, their eyes filled with fear of their mother and bewilderment at the sudden turn of events.
Shen Yan, clutching his still sore and swollen buttocks, silently and almost self-destructively cleaned up the mess in front of the door.
He personally dismantled that foolish pergola and chopped up the broken tables and benches into firewood.
He carefully swept away each and every piece of the shards from the inferior wine jar.
He silently picked out the edible peanuts and melon seeds scattered all over the ground and gave them to the children who were watching eagerly.
Looking at the glaringly empty iron hooks on the meat-smoking rack.
Looking at the few remaining pitiful animal bones in the pile of materials.
Looking down at the red and green silk shirt she was wearing, stained with wine and mud, now resembling a clown costume...
He felt a burning pain on his face, body, and heart.
Ling Zhan's line, "I've forgotten who I am!"
Like a poisoned steel needle, it pierced his mind day and night, bringing him sharp shame.
Ling Zhan did not subject Shen Yan to any further verbal or physical punishment.
After that thunderous kick, the raging anger in her heart quickly cooled and solidified, transforming into a deeper, colder anxiety about survival.
The silence of zero hung over us like an eternal shadow!
The imminent disaster is the arrival of the bitter cold of deep winter and the more than twenty mouths that are crying for food!
Time has become the most luxurious thing.
Two acres of barren land, so infertile that even grass can't grow properly, could never possibly support so many people, let alone help them survive the long winter, even if every bit of its fertility was squeezed out! Hunting? The mountains and forests are not an inexhaustible granary.
Seasonal limitations, such as autumn hunting, winter storage, and spring fatigue, as well as sustainability, are all issues.
Moreover, the core survival supplies have been completely used up!
We'll just be living off our savings!
The money earned from selling the bear skin could have been a lifeline to get through the lean season, but now it has turned into the ridiculous silk shirt on Shen Yan's body and a pile of worthless junk! This debt weighed heavily on Ling Zhan's heart.
We must reclaim wasteland! We must grow grain!
Moreover, we must plant crops that can take root before the cold winter and bring a harvest the following spring!
For the first time, Ling Zhan's gaze, carrying a clear purpose, fell upon the villagers of Kaoshan Village, who were struggling to survive on the same barren land. This time, she suppressed all her outward murderous aura, striving to convey a stiff humility befitting a learner beneath her cold expression.
She found the oldest man in the village, who was said to be a skilled farmer known for miles around when he was young—Sun Laoshuan.
The old man lived at the westernmost end of the village, almost right next to the foot of the mountain.
His back was terribly hunched, like a taut old bow, and his face was deeply lined with wrinkles, etched with the marks of time. But when his cloudy eyes looked down at the land, they still shone with a light that was unique to farmers, almost devout.
At this moment, he was shakily using withered branches and thatch to repair his dilapidated fence that leaked air everywhere.
Ling Zhan walked over and, without any pleasantries, got straight to the point.
"Uncle Sun, may I ask what can be planted on the land in Kaoshan Village before winter? What crops can survive the winter and yield a harvest in the spring?"
Startled by the sudden appearance of this ominous star, Sun Laoshuan's hand trembled, and the withered branch fell to the ground.
He looked at Ling Zhan with some trepidation. Although her attitude was cold and hard, she was indeed asking about farming. His cloudy eyes first showed surprise and doubt, but were then replaced by an instinctive focus on the land: "Winter...winter wheat, girl." His voice was hoarse and had a strong rural accent.
The old man shakily raised his withered hand, pointing to a small, sparse patch of fields in the distant valley, barely showing a sickly greenish-yellow hue. He said, "Sow...sow at this time of year, before winter arrives, so the wheat seedlings can take root and survive the winter. When spring warms up, they'll turn green again, grow rapidly, and we can harvest the wheat in May or June. Cold-resistant, frost-resistant...it's one of the few hopes we have in this harsh, cold land..."
He paused, his calloused hands bending laboriously to scoop up a handful of dry, hard soil from beneath his feet. The soil, mixed with gravel and pebbles, slipped through his fingers. "...This is...this is our land..."
Old Sun sighed deeply, full of helplessness and resignation: "Too thin! Too weak! Like a consumptive, it has no fertility! If we plant it, the harvest... will only be enough to fill a gap between our teeth, and it's such a waste of effort! Heaven doesn't favor us, it's tough!"
“Fertilizer?” Ling Zhan accurately grasped this key point.
"Yes! Fertilizer! The lifeblood of crops!" Old Sun's cloudy eyes seemed to brighten a little when he mentioned this. "Manure! Wood ash! Fertilizer made from rotten grass and leaves! We need all of that! Relying solely on the soil's own strength won't be enough! It won't feed the seedlings! We also need water!"
He pointed to the sky, "We depend on the heavens for our livelihood! Even rainfall is a blessing, but when it dries up, the ground cracks so badly it could swallow a person, and when it floods, the seedlings rot... It's tough!"
Ling Zhan listened silently, his brain working at high speed.
The scattered fragments of knowledge from the "Interstellar Colony Basic Agriculture Manual" that remained deep in her consciousness—about soil structure, fertility elements, and water management—were painstakingly corroborated and integrated with the farming proverbs described by Sun Laoshuan in the simplest language.
"How do you fertilize newly reclaimed land?" she asked directly and urgently.
"Alas...it's getting harder than ever!" Old Sun shook his head repeatedly. "The raw rehmannia root is as hard as an iron plate! It needs to be deeply tilled, thoroughly dried in the sun to kill off the insects, and then we need to figure out how to compost it...but where can we get so much manure? Even human excrement and horse urine aren't enough to fill a tooth gap! Wood ash is precious too...every family relies on it for cooking and heating..."
He hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret, "...Unless you can find the deepest, most shady spot in that old forest, where the leaves have been falling for who knows how many years, and underneath lies a rotten, black, soft, and oily layer of decaying leaf litter! Digging that up would be a treasure! Better for the soil than gold! But...that would be incredibly exhausting! Deep in the mountains, the paths are difficult, there are snakes and insects everywhere, and a basket of soil would be terribly heavy..."
After saying goodbye to Sun Laoshuan, Ling Zhan's blueprint for self-salvation gradually became clearer.
She returned to her new house at the foot of the mountain, her gaze sharp as a knife, sweeping over the barren, whitish wasteland that she and her children had brute forcely cultivated and loosened, yet which remained barren and pale, before turning her gaze to the distant, rolling, lush, and dense mountain forest.
"Tiger, Bean Sprout," Ling Zhan called out, his voice leaving no room for argument.
The two boys immediately straightened up and stood at attention, looking at her nervously. Their previous timidity had disappeared, replaced by a focused look as they awaited her command.
"Bring all the baskets you can fit in the soil, and your sturdiest shovels and pickaxes. Come with me into the mountains."
Ling Zhan's instructions were clear: "Target: the densest, shadiest part of the forest, where the fallen leaves are thickest. Dig! Dig up the black, rotten, oily, stagnant mud at the bottom! Dig up as much as you can!"
“Da Ya.” She turned to the girl.
"Yes, Mother," Daya replied quickly, her little face tense.
"Take the little one and thoroughly turn over that compost pit behind the house! Everything in there—wood ash, rotten vegetable leaves, and the little bit we'd saved up before…" She paused, "…human and animal excrement, turn it all out, spread it out to dry! Dry it thoroughly, then crush it! Crush it into powder! There can't be a single clump!"
Finally, her gaze fell on the corner—
Shen Yan was like a quail soaked by the rain, huddled in the shadows, wearing patched old clothes, but the deep-seated despondency and shame almost materialized and enveloped him.
"you."
Ling Zhan's voice remained devoid of emotion, as if he were assigning a tool.
Her finger pointed to a pile of stones of various sizes and sharp edges that had been picked up during the clearing of the wasteland at the edge of the wasteland.
“Move them all to the stream. Use these stones to build a dam where the stream bends and the water level is. Then,” she drew a rough line in the air with her finger, “dig a trench along this path to the fields. Make sure the water flows into the fields.”
Shen Yan suddenly raised her head, her eyes filled with disbelief and bewilderment—
She... still assigns him work? Or is she just throwing him away like trash?
"Don't you understand?" Ling Zhan raised an eyebrow, a hint of coldness flashing across his face.
"I understand! I understand!"
As if branded with a hot iron, Shen Yan sprang up from the ground with a start. Ignoring the sharp pain in his buttocks and cheeks, he grabbed a broken basket from the corner and rushed towards the pile of stones, his voice hoarse with urgency: "Move the stones! Build a dam! Dig a ditch! Drain the water! I promise... I promise to bring the water to the fields!"
He roared, as if to encourage himself, or perhaps to prove something to Ling Zhan.
Seeing Shen Yan's desperate attempt to atone for her sins, bordering on clumsy and self-destructive, a barely perceptible ripple flickered in Ling Zhan's icy eyes. She said nothing, turned, and, with Hu Zi and Dou Ya carrying their tools, strode into the depths of the forest.
In the days that followed, the new house at the foot of the mountain was completely transformed into a "pioneer camp" full of primal energy and sweat.
Ling Zhan: Like a tireless pioneering machine. She led the children deep into the darkest old forest, wielding heavy stone pickaxes hastily made from tough animal bones and hardwoods, wielding the terrifying power of a Shura warrior at the Great Perfection of the Meridian Opening Realm. The sharp pickaxe tips dug deep into the ground, lifting up the thick layer of dead branches and fallen leaves, digging into the dark humus soil beneath, which exuded a strong smell of decay yet contained astonishing vitality.
The heavy baskets bent the carrying pole, and basket after basket of dark, fertile "forest gold" was continuously transported back to the barren land that craved nutrients. Her movements were precise and efficient; each swing of the pickaxe reached deep into the humus layer, and each dig removed as much fertile soil as possible.
Shen Yan: Despite his physical disability, he was determined and became a true "Foolish Old Man".
He was shirtless, without any visible injuries, and sweating profusely.
He carried the huge stones on his back in baskets; the smaller ones he lifted with his hands or shoulder; and the heavy ones he even dragged with thick ropes. His palms were quickly worn raw by the rough edges of the stones, and blood mixed with dirt stuck to the rocks; his shoulders were rubbed raw and swollen from the weight, burning with pain.
He gritted his teeth, remaining silent, as if pouring all his regret, shame, and pent-up energy onto the cold, heavy stone. By the stream, following the rough waterline drawn by Ling Zhan and combining it with the "water diversion" method mentioned by Sun Laoshuan, he clumsily but tenaciously built a small dam with stones, and then, with simple shovels and stone hoes, dug the irrigation canal leading to the wasteland, shovel by shovel.
Sweat streamed down his back like a small river...
The children: through division of labor and cooperation, they became indispensable little helpers.
The older children followed Ling Zhan through the mountains and wastelands, carrying heavy humus; or they followed Chen Yan to move large stones they could manage by the stream, while the younger children helped clear the loose soil from the ditches with their little hands.
Led by Daya, the younger children carefully crushed and sifted the dried mixture from the compost pit with wooden mallets, as if it were a precious treasure, and then gently and evenly spread it on the ridges that had already been covered with a layer of precious humus.
They also worked like ants, gathering any combustible dry branches and fallen leaves from the nearby forest edges and behind houses to continuously provide new "raw materials" for the compost pit.
The process was arduous, primitive, and arduous.
Without mechanical assistance, it all depended on the struggle of flesh and blood.
Sweat soaked through countless times and dried again, leaving mottled salt stains on the coarse linen clothes; mud covered everyone's hands, feet, faces, and even hair. The air was filled with the acrid smell of earth, the smoky aroma of wood ash, the slightly acidic smell of humus, and the strong salty smell of sweat.
Only heavy breathing, the clanging of tools, and the occasional low sobs of children from exhaustion remained in front of the new house.
Ling Zhan's gaze occasionally swept over the stream.
The silhouette of Shen Yan, his back hunched over, struggling to lift a large stone, stretched long in the setting sun.
It exudes an unprecedented, almost tragic, sense of groundedness belonging to the land. Looking further into the fields, children's faces are covered in mud, their little hands carefully spreading fertilizer, their eyes focused, filled with a naive expectation that "there is hope as long as the seeds are planted."
When the last basket of dark humus was evenly spread on the deeply tilled and sun-dried wasteland, it was as gratifying as covering barren skin with a layer of nourishing balm.
When the rough but sturdy stone dam successfully blocked part of the stream, clear, flowing water gurgled along the newly dug ditches, finally quenching the thirsty fields and leaving dark, damp marks on the soft soil, so that the children could access water without having to run too far.
The finely ground fertilizer was carefully spread, like salt, over the prepared furrows in the fields awaiting planting...
Ling Zhan stood on the newly built ridge of the field, clutching a rough burlap sack tightly in her hand. Inside the sack were dozens of plump, golden winter wheat seeds. She had traded these seeds for the last few animal bones that hadn't been ruined by Shen Yan and were still in decent condition, with the village head Wang Fugui acting as guarantor, from the most honest and hardworking old farmer in the village who depended on the weather for his livelihood.
Each grain weighs as much as a thousand pounds.
"Mother," Tiger wiped the sweat and mud from his face, his little face full of pure expectation, his voice filled with cautious excitement, "Can...can we plant wheat now?"
Bean Sprout also came over, staring longingly at the small cloth bag in Ling Zhan's hand.
Daya struggled to carry a worn-out earthenware pot filled with clear, cool stream water, which she intended to use to moisten the soil after sowing.
Exhausted and nearly collapsed beside a pile of stones by the stream, Chen Yan struggled to lift his head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the figure bathed in golden light on the edge of the field. His gaze was incredibly complex: there was an inescapable weariness, a deep-seated anxiety, and a faint glimmer of intense longing for recognition and redemption that he himself was unaware of.
Ling Zhan lowered his head and opened his palm.
The plump wheat grains shimmered with a warm luster in the setting sun, as if they contained the power of the entire spring.
She crouched down and used her fingers to draw a straight, shallow furrow on the soft, moist ridge. Then, with almost precise spacing, she gently placed a few precious grains of wheat into the warm soil, and carefully covered them with a thin layer of fine soil with her fingertips.
His movements were slightly clumsy, yet they carried an almost devout seriousness.
She stood up and handed the seed bag to Hei Zi and Da Ya, who were already eager to try.
"Look carefully. The depth and spacing are just like this. Now you do it."
Tiger nodded vigorously, took a deep breath, and, imitating his mother, squatted down and carefully began his first planting. Bean Sprout, Er Ya, and the other slightly older children joined in, holding their breath and mimicking Tiger's movements. Chen Yan struggled to his feet, staggered to the edge of the field, reached out, and grabbed a handful of seeds from the bag. He clumsily bent down, dug a hole with his fingers, planted the seed, and covered it with soil…
Ling Zhan stood on the high point of the field ridge, his gaze fixed on the depths of the southwestern mountains.
There, lies the sleeping Zero.
"When the first harvest of new wheat is stored in the granary," she silently promised in her heart, "I will bring the best ears of wheat to see you."
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