Days had passed without rain, and the land was parched. Watering took more effort, but the cotton plants suffered far less damage from insects. Their green bolls, still wrapped in leaves, were large, round and plump. They felt pleasantly heavy when gently lifted, a promising sign.
The rice paddies were not faring so well. Whenever the weather turned dry, the water level kept falling, and He Yi had to adjust the irrigation channels frequently. If the fields dried out, the seedlings would suffer. At least there was no need to do much about the sunlight, unlike before transplanting, when rice straw had been spread over the seedlings to shield them from the fiercest rays.
Growing two crops of rice a year demanded fertile soil. He Yi had not had time to prepare a complicated base fertilizer, so he was counting on topdressing later. While the weather was hot, he mixed pig and chicken manure with rotting leaves, rice husks, rice-washing water and dishwater, and began composting it.
He selected a spot at the edge of the field, dug a deep pit with a shovel, and piled the ingredients inside, making sure the dirty liquid covered the mixture. This was shallow-water composting.
He knew nothing of advanced methods, so he experimented according to what experience the original owner had left him. Later he asked how villagers made their fertilizer. Their practices sounded much the same, which put him at ease.
Now he could only hope the compost matured in time to fertilize the rice.
The piglets were thriving too. He Yi had never realized how intelligent pigs were. Originally he had the big goose herd them every day, taking them to the wild enclosure at the foot of the mountain to graze and bask in the sunshine, and bringing them home to their pen around three or four in the afternoon.
It was a lovely arrangement, and the goose performed its duties admirably. But one day heavy rain began to fall. Worried that the animals might not come back and could become ill from being drenched, He Yi hurried out to look for them.
To his surprise, he spotted the two spotted piglets in the rain, jostling each other as they bounded toward him through the downpour.
He Yi quickly stepped aside. The little ones kept going, heading straight for home.
Almost too astonished to move, he suddenly remembered to follow them. Before he knew it, he was back at his own house, watching the piglets push open the half-closed pen gate with their snouts and dart inside.
“…Incredible,” He Yi murmured.
The two piglets shook their pink-and-black bodies, scattering water everywhere, then plunged their snouts into the trough for a little bran to settle their nerves.
Oddly enough, the big goose had been nowhere in sight during the entire journey.
He Yi went out again and finally found it splashing happily in an especially deep puddle. The rain was coming down harder, but with its water-repellent feathers, the goose was thoroughly enjoying itself.
He Yi figured the goose knew its limits and left it to play.
Back home, he was still astonished. Apparently his piglets did not need the goose to herd them at all. They could find their own way from the enclosure, even though it was quite a distance. They were exceptionally clever.
*
Another ten days flew past in a whirl of work, and the chili peppers ripened.
The green Sichuan pepper trees beside them were still immature, but the short chili plants were already bearing fruit. Some peppers were long and slender, others shorter but just as narrow, rather like bird’s-eye chilies.
He Yi was no expert at distinguishing varieties, but that did not stop him from picking some, spreading them out to dry, and trying his hand at making dried chilies.
Once they were ready, he wanted to cook with them, but found himself oddly short of ideas. Fresh or dried chilies could accompany vegetables, bean sprouts, or potatoes, though potatoes did not seem to have reached this region. Dried tofu would be suitable, but could only be bought in another village. Meat would be wonderful, yet it was rarely available.
He could hardly ask Xue Ci to return and catch a wild chicken for him. Setting and checking traps was troublesome too. He had chickens at home, but could not bear to eat them, particularly if an experimental chili dish turned out badly.
By coincidence, the very next day an opportunity presented itself.
Someone in the village was hosting a return-to-the-bride’s-home banquet and had invited Auntie Liu to help cook. He Yi went along to join the festivities for a little while, but somehow ended up being ordered to carry things for the hosts.
He did not want to spoil a wedding celebration, so he did the work without arguing, though their imperious manner made him uncomfortable.
Auntie Liu was indignant on his behalf. “They made you carry everything and couldn’t even say thank you? What dreadful manners!”
“It’s a happy day. No reason to get angry, and it wasn’t much to carry. Never mind.” He Yi soothed her instead, a smile settling over his face.
Auntie Liu had come out to throw away kitchen scraps. He Yi noticed that the winnowing basket in her hands contained a pile of chicken hearts, which she was about to tip into the slop bucket.
“Wait! You’re throwing those chicken hearts away?” he asked, hurrying to stop her.
“You want them? They’re filthy. Nobody eats those.” Otherwise a poor household would hardly waste them as pig feed.
“They’re edible, though you shouldn’t eat too many.” Chicken hearts were not inherently dirty, and He Yi had no idea why the people here thought they were.
Auntie Liu remained dubious. Still, He Yi’s pleading glance overcame her doubts. “Don’t make yourself sick. Wash them thoroughly, tear off the white bits, and boil them for a good while.”
“Thank you, Auntie!”
“Take them, but don’t let the hosts see. Some people will gossip even about something they were going to throw away.” She pursed her lips.
He Yi understood. As he left, he thought yellow rice wine would be useful. The hosts must have some for the feast, but given their attitude, he had no wish to ask. Instead he stopped by Tang Huai’s house and borrowed a little under half a bowl of rice wine.
Tang Huai looked up at the sky, then at him. “Drinking in broad daylight already?” he teased. Of all the habits to pick up, why imitate him?
Speaking of Tang Huai, he had changed. He no longer drank nearly as much as before they became acquainted and was sober most of the time. By day he was either still asleep or tending and preparing medicinal herbs, and far less often wandered around raving with a wine gourd in hand.
He Yi laughed. “I need the wine for cooking. If it tastes good, next time…”
“Cook some for me,” Tang Huai interrupted.
He Yi had intended to joke that he would simply come borrow more wine, giving nothing back. Since its owner had made a different suggestion, he changed course. “All right. Next time I’ll make you a plate.”
Satisfied, Tang Huai waved him away and went indoors first.
Back home, He Yi immediately prepared the hearts. In such hot weather, offal spoiled quickly, and with Xue Ci absent he had no way to conjure ice for freezing. He had to deal with them straightaway.
First he drew a bucket of water from the well beside his vegetable garden. He had recently received his first share of the oil mill’s profits, a little over one tael and three hundred wen, right in line with his expectations. He had used the money to hire someone to dig a well here. Fetching water was far more convenient now. Instead of carrying shoulder-pole loads from the banyan tree, he could walk a few steps with a bucket. Watering the garden was easier too.
There were ten chicken hearts. Cut in half and washed, they filled a respectable plate.
He Yi had little practical cooking experience and usually made only simple dishes. But the yao dew allowed him to recall not just his sister’s notes, but sauces from cooking games he had played in his previous life. Unlike most simulation games, that one had emphasized realistic procedures, and he had played it in virtual reality, making the steps easier to reproduce. He Yi followed the memories. The hearts had been free, so failure would hardly hurt.
Ginger and garlic were easy to obtain. He had salt and oil, borrowed cooking wine, and bought soy sauce and sugar. There were fresh and dried chilies too. He lacked red Sichuan peppercorns and expensive white sesame seeds, but nothing more essential.
That was enough. Remembering Auntie Liu’s warning, he decided the hearts should be cooked thoroughly, so he blanched them first. He did not blanch them too long, however, lest they become tough when stir-fried afterward.
Strictly speaking, the game recipe he remembered was not for stir-fried chicken hearts. But he was certain that sauce would make even a strip of cloth delicious. Relying on his own interpretation of ‘an appropriate amount,’ sharp observation, and quick decisions, he produced an appetizing, fragrant plate of spicy stir-fried hearts.
It lacked sesame and green peppers for added flavor and decoration, but a taste convinced him that it was excellent. Could he really have a talent for cooking?
The rice he had cooked in advance was ready too. He tried a chicken heart. Though its color was dark, it was not tough; it was springy, tender and crisp to the bite. The chili sauce was even better. The heat was not just pain but a clear, distinctive, fragrant spiciness. His homegrown chilies were exceptionally fresh, perhaps further improved by yao dew. The thick sauce made him sweat, yet every mouthful only increased his appetite.
Unfortunately there was not enough food. He Yi had to mix extra sauce into his rice, and before long he had finished two large bowls.
He could have eaten more, but the dish was gone, and lunch was already an extra meal, so he restrained himself.
Delicious food could lift his spirits. Yet without his little glutton here to admire his cooking, or the possibility of watching that glutton turn into a teary-eyed cat from the heat of the chilies, he still felt an emptiness inside.
He Yi had no intention of wallowing in it. He was used to saving those thoughts for the night. For now he walked around to digest, sat in the main hall to enjoy the breeze and cool his sweat, and only then washed the pots and dishes.
*
Guluo Town, the He family residence.
In the past, whenever Zeng Qianqian saw He Jie at home, she was sour-faced. She had reason enough to be angry. Soon after they moved to town, her own son had forced her to seek employment outside. How could a woman of her standing work in public? What respectable job could she find? She had moved to town to enjoy a better life, not to serve other people tea as though she were a maid!
The atmosphere had grown even tenser when He Jie lost his position as a yamen runner.
She and He Yongxing had expected to live off their son. Instead He Jie had lost his livelihood and demanded that they pull strings to get it back. She had to accompany He Yongxing, bowing and scraping at the Chang residence to beg its master to restore He Jie’s post at the Patrol Inspector’s Office. Twice they were driven away.
She had always known the Chang family was a pack of ingrates. Years earlier they had enjoyed all the advantages offered by the imperial supplier and risen to their present position. What slipped through their fingers had been enough to make the He family prominent in the village. If her own family, instead of that ungrateful blockhead He Yongquan, had forged the connection with the imperial supplier, they would now possess unimaginable riches. What would the Chang family amount to then?
Afterward she refused to return to the Chang residence. When her son pointed at her face and berated her, telling him to go himself, she chose to go drinking rather than endure another humiliation.
There had been endless quarrels, and not a day of peace at home.
Then, for reasons she could not understand, the situation suddenly changed. He Jie was summoned back to the Patrol Inspector’s Office and even promoted to head yamen runner, supervising dozens of officers. Within the office, only the patrol inspector held more authority.
Thus Zeng Qianqian now brought He Jie a plate of sliced peaches with no complaints at all and an ingratiating smile.
“Some men under me are coming soon. Mother, keep out of the way and go back to your room.” He Jie bit into a peach, spraying juice over his face, and wiped it carelessly with his sleeve.
“Of course. I’ll collect the plate after you’re finished talking.” Zeng Qianqian paused, then left with a smile that never reached her eyes.
Before long, two yamen runners arrived. One wore a blue official robe; the other wore an ordinary cloth runner’s uniform.
He Jie clapped their shoulders and exchanged fist bumps, grinning crookedly. “Not bad. You really do look like that fellow Wu.”
“Tie this around your waist.” He handed his own saber to the blue-robed man.
The man accepted it and fastened it on.
The cloth-clad runner asked, “Does that He Yi really have anything worth squeezing out of him?”
“Whether he does or not, I’ll make up the difference myself. Even if there’s no profit, you’ll be rewarded for your trouble, right? What are brothers for? We’re brothers through thick and thin. Being head runner doesn’t change that. We’re still colleagues. I’ve never treated you as my subordinates.”
Both men enjoyed hearing this and laughed heartily.
After the pleasantries, He Jie’s face darkened. “The important thing is that the brat favored by the Xing family has gone off to the northwest. Now is the perfect chance to deal with He Yi. Those two bastards have made my life miserable. I can’t eat properly, can’t even enjoy sleeping with a woman! If I don’t settle this grudge, I’ll take his surname!”
The two men hesitated to answer. He Jie abruptly remembered that he and He Yi shared a surname, and corrected himself. “I’ll take my mother’s surname!”
“Good! Then let’s go!”
“Let’s go!”