Chapter 89

Chapter 89

Autumn rushed by, and early winter arrived without warning.

This year's winter didn't seem as cold as last year's. By this time last year, young children were already wearing padded jackets, and those who feared the cold needed two thick quilts at night. This year, however, there was an illusion that winter had come, but the weather lingered in autumn, as if the conscription had just happened yesterday.

How many people were conscripted? No one knew for sure. The authorities didn't say, and the common folk only knew the villages had quieted down, the towns had grown desolate. In ten households, three were left with only women and children; the able-bodied men who were the pillars of their households had been taken clean away. In contrast, the wealthy and influential families seemed unaffected by the conscription. No one heard of any masters or mistresses making a fuss. Even households with only one son still saw their young masters going out daily with their servants to drink wine and visit brothels.

As for which of their men were taken? No one knew, and no one dared to ask.

After the conscription matter had completely passed, the people's lives seemed to return to how they were before. Old Man Zhao took his daughter to Shilin Town to exchange the remaining grain.

Shilin Town was pretty quiet too. There was none of the queuing, the crowding, the seven or eight grain shop assistants too busy to cope that Lao San and his crew had described... None of it. Apart from the shops still being as grand as they said, there weren't seven or eight assistants inside, and there were no queues. He and his daughter spent two days going in and out of Shilin Town. What they saw and heard were mostly women. Even the old men carrying firewood to sell were so frail they swayed as they walked. It was hard to spot a single grown man.

It was unclear whether they had all been conscripted or were hiding at home, afraid to venture out.

Perhaps a bit of both.

Wanxia Village was too remote. Hiding in the village, one couldn't hear much news. Only by coming out did they learn that the prefectural city had fought a battle against the refugees on its outskirts. Because they had conscripted who knows how many militiamen this time, Qingzhou Prefecture didn't lose ground, but they didn't gain any advantage either.

During those two days in Shilin Town, the father and daughter squatted by the entrance of a tea house and happened to overhear a few middle-aged men in silk robes idly chatting. Nowadays, the city gates were all paid for with human lives. Who knew how many had died in this battle? The women hoping for their husbands and sons to return home were likely to have their hopes dashed.

There was another matter.

"The Wang family, the Qi family, the Lin family... those households are making significant private moves. It looks like they intend to relocate their entire clans."

"They have well-informed sources. Who knows what inside information they've learned? Earlier, I went to find Third Master Li, but he's a tight-lipped gourd. Couldn't get a single word out of him."

"I wonder what your views are on this matter?"

Relocating the entire clan... Overhearing this news, Old Man Zhao felt somewhat dazed. He hadn't realized the situation had become so severe.

People are devalued when they leave their hometowns. This was true for rootless peasants, and it was also true for wealthy families.

Why do people place such importance on ancestral graves, ancestral homes, and ancestral fields? A family is like a big tree. The fields, houses, and even the small hillocks in the back mountain left by the ancestors are all roots and stems buried in the soil. Their descendants are the branches and leaves. Whether they can survive away from the tree is one thing; at heart, no one wants to leave.

And they usually cannot leave easily.

This is even more true for powerful and noble families. That's an entire clan, a big tree with intertwined roots. Unless forced to choose at a life-and-death juncture, who would choose to relocate the entire clan?

Old Man Zhao, however, didn't think of these things; after all, he was just a country old man. He simply felt that if he couldn't think of something, others surely could. So, he would just follow what others did. He hadn't yet considered taking to the road as refugees. Unless life truly became unbearable, there was another conscription, Qingzhou Prefecture really collapsed, or refugees came to their village again... Only under such unavoidable circumstances would he take his whole family and flee for their lives.

Why run now? They could still get by. With so many militiamen, maybe they would win?

His newly built house, his six and a half mu of paddy fields—these were things he had toiled for a lifetime, risking his life to obtain. Unless the knife was at the back of his neck, he absolutely could not abandon them.

Besides, even if the wealthy families wanted to flee, they couldn't do so in a short time; there were too many entanglements. Even selling houses, shops, and fields required time. But knowing this piece of news was also important information for Old Man Zhao, living in a remote mountain corner.

It was also from this trip back that their family began taking turns to reclaim land in the Divine Land.

The three Zhao brothers and the five boys took turns day and night to work. In between, they also had to raise seedlings, level three mu of seedling fields, and transplant the seedlings after they grew. This time, the grain seeds used for raising seedlings were from the harvest of the Divine Land. This was Old Man Zhao's requirement. Even a three-year-old child knows the importance of grain seeds. He just wanted to test whether using the grain harvested from the Divine Land as seeds would yield more per mu.

Back then, the grain seeds for the three mu of land were taken from the portion reserved for their own six and a half mu of fields. At the time, he hadn't thought much about it, and didn't even dare to hope for a bountiful harvest. For the months from reclaiming the land and raising seedlings to transplanting and growth, his heart had been in his throat, fearing a complete crop failure and a waste of the precious seeds. Yet, in the end, each mu yielded over 460 jin of grain!

The previous great success puffed up Old Man Zhao with ambition. He couldn't help but have a bold idea: if they used the grain harvested from the Divine Land as seeds this time, was it possible the yield per mu would be even higher? Could it reach 500 jin? Or even 600 jin?

Because of this conjecture, he was so excited he couldn't sleep for several nights. If they could really achieve a yield of five or six hundred jin per mu, that would mean one mu in the Divine Land could yield more than two mu outside. How could he not be thrilled?

But thinking was one thing; they would only know the outcome after this field's harvest.

The seedlings for the three mu of land had been transplanted, but their growth was just like the first time. For two months, not a single change could be seen, as if ripening happened in an instant. Old Man Zhao's decades of farming experience were utterly useless in the Divine Land.

Amidst the busy hustle and bustle, time flew by. By the time another four mu of wasteland had been cleared in the Divine Land, it was already deep winter, and the New Year was approaching.

In previous years, by this time, the village would be making arrangements to go to Zhou Family Village to ask Butcher Zhou about the price of pigs. This step was skipped this year. Firstly, there were no pigs in the village to sell. Secondly, Butcher Zhou and his son had been conscripted as able-bodied men, and their fate was now unknown.

Speaking of which, it was quite lamentable. Who in the surrounding villages didn't envy Butcher Zhou? He started as a pig castrator, later became familiar with the villagers around, learned some skills from an old pig butcher, and began working as a butcher. Initially, he raised and slaughtered his own pigs. Later, business was good, so he set up a small stall in town. As it grew, he started buying pigs from the surrounding villages. After so many years of operation, he not only bought a shop in town but also built several large houses in the village. Usually, he operated stalls both in town and the countryside. Fellow villagers wanting fresh pork didn't need to specially go to town; they could buy it in Zhou Family Village, and it was even one copper coin cheaper than in town. The Zhou family knew how to do business, and the villagers benefited, so they were more willing to sell their pigs to them.

At year's end, it should have been the busiest time for the Zhou family. Butcher Zhou and his son not only had to help others slaughter pigs but also go around to look at pigs, buy pigs, set dates, and negotiate prices. But this year was different. Because the Zhou family had bought a shop in town, to save time, Butcher Zhou and his son didn't return to the village at night. Thus, when the conscription happened earlier, they were caught right there. Father and son were taken in one fell swoop.

Butchers, with their daily abundance of oily food, ate well and were strong-bodied—exactly the type of able-bodied men the soldiers liked most. They paid no heed to Butcher Zhou's pleas and wails, directly arresting both father and son together.

Therefore, this year's New Year was very quiet. It was quiet before, during, and after the New Year. There were no desperate squeals and cries of domestic pigs being dragged out of their pens by a crowd, no setting up of tables for lively pig-slaughtering feasts. Putting up Spring Festival couplets, frying pastries, inviting the Kitchen God—the New Year was still festive, but the joy belonged only to the families that had escaped disaster.

The year turned. On the second day of the New Year, married women returned to their natal homes with their children.

The road to Wanxia Village was open. Visiting relatives and socializing, life seemed to have returned to how it was before. Everyone stopped hiding.

If someone asked about the conscription, the villagers would uniformly say: the weather turned cold, and the people hiding in the mountains had no choice but to come down. If asked how they survived in the mountains, they would say they encountered hunters and shamelessly followed them to eke out a living, managing to get some food.

Of course, some didn't believe it, but what could they do? Say they were lucky to have avoided conscription? But it was also a solid fact that they had been attacked by refugees, and so many people had died.

In the end, after all the talk, it just came down to the saying: fortune and misfortune are intertwined.

...

Winter was a slack farming season. Every household hid at home, hibernating through the cold.

Only the old Zhao family not only didn't rest but lived even busier than usual. Twenty-four hours a day, people took turns working in the Divine Land. As soon as Zhao Dashan stepped out, Zhao Ertian stepped in. During family meals, there was always one person missing at the table.

After the four mu of wasteland was reclaimed, diverting water for irrigation kept them busy for quite a while.

"Why can only one person enter! Ah, if only two could enter, it would be much better for working; they could help each other." Old Man Zhao couldn't help sighing again.

Perhaps people are just insatiably greedy. Wang Shi thought the same. If two people could enter at once, that would be fine too. It was hard to manage both tending the fire and cooking, having to wipe the ash off one's hands and then knead the clean dough—it was very inconvenient.

Qingzhou Prefecture seemed stable now, but the rumors circulating were enough to make one anxious.

Since learning that wealthy families outside wanted to relocate their entire clans, to prepare for possible crises, after the father and daughter returned from Shilin Town, Wang Shi began taking turns with her daughters-in-law to steam buns, bake flatbreads, and make stuffed buns in the wooden house kitchen.

Now the whole family was busy. The men reclaimed wasteland and cleared land. The women prepared food. The boys went into the mountains to chop firewood. Old Man Zhao and his three sons also found time to weave baskets, back baskets, and winnowing fans—the kind with lids. They didn't know why, but things wouldn't spoil in the Divine Land, yet there were mosquitoes. They didn't know where the mosquitoes came from, but thinking that Xiaobao attracted mosquitoes, the family suspected she had brought them in from outside.

Unlike with people, Xiaobao could bring many other things in if she wanted. Like Xiao Heizi at the beginning, then the two hens and eighteen chicks later, and then the hunting dog Blackie—all could stay in the Divine Land at the same time.

So, the steamed buns and stuffed buns had to be covered to avoid attracting mosquitoes.

Wang Shi was particularly particular about this. She firmly believed illnesses came from what one ate. Village children got stomachaches from drinking unclean water or eating unclean food, which caused diarrhea. Her family had many children. The grandsons were fine; they were rough boys with iron stomachs. Since birth, they had hardly ever been sick. Even in the lean years when life was tight, and they had runny noses from the cold in winter, they didn't get sick much.

But Xiaobao was different. This child wasn't spoiled in temperament, but her constitution was delicate. She couldn't stand cold wind or extreme heat. Drinking a mouthful of cold water would give her a stomachache and she couldn't eat. Things that were unclean but others ate without issue would make her suffer if she ate them, causing vomiting and diarrhea, which was very worrying.

Now, a patch of bamboo in the mountains had been cut down by their family. They wove day and night, and finally simply transplanted some bamboo into the Divine Land. If it grew, in the future they could not only cut bamboo nearby but also dig for bamboo shoots.

Adding up everything this year, they had transplanted quite a few things and expanded several rooms. The Divine Land had changed a lot.

If before it was just a piece of wasteland where Zhao Xiaobao could only sleep lying on the grass, now a large courtyard had been built around the peach tree, with several sleeping rooms, a kitchen, storage rooms, an outhouse, and a chicken coop—all complete. Beside the courtyard, a vegetable plot had been reclaimed. Fertilized with chicken droppings, the vegetables inside grew much more vibrant than at the beginning. Not far from the vegetable plot was a large patch of raspberry bushes, red ground fruit vines, hill cherry trees, and a wild pear tree.

In this season, the branches, which should have been bare, were actually laden with fruit.

This area could be considered a small orchard, but the Zhao family didn't know how to tend it properly. It was planted haphazardly, but fortunately, it didn't hinder growth. The fruits grew well, sweet and large.

The chickens pecked at the ground beneath the fruit trees, clucking and bustling about.

Not far away lay a fierce hunting dog with long limbs. It occasionally rolled over, and when bored, it would dig up red ground fruits from the soil with its paws to eat. It also enjoyed raspberries, savoring the sweet and tangy fruit.

Only the mountain plum berries made it turn away. After trying them twice, it couldn't poop.

These days, it was living its best life. Aside from the occasional nuisance of a dog named Little Black competing for territory and the young master’s tendency to take sides—adding a bit of frustration—its life had never been more comfortable and carefree.

It was far more relaxed than guarding the granary. No more squeezing through the dog flap to patrol at night, and no more eating slop. Life was simply wonderful.

Near the stream by the small orchard, Zhao Xiaowu and the others had dug a small fishpond, already filled with water. Inside were a dozen or so fish caught from the pond in the hills behind them. They weren’t sure if the fish would reproduce on their own, but they decided to raise them anyway, hoping their numbers would grow over time.

This blessed place was becoming increasingly lively, and Old Man Zhao and the others were starting to sense something: the deity didn’t seem to mind mortals raising chickens and dogs there. If that was the case, then raising a couple of pigs should be fine too, right?

Old Man Zhao had already made up his mind to build a pigsty later and bring in two piglets to raise.

Winter passed, and spring arrived.

Amidst their busy lives, the Zhao family welcomed Zhao Xiaobao’s fifth birthday.

That day, Madam Wang rose early and took out the bag of fine flour and two eggs from the kitchen cupboard. For every family member’s birthday, they would have a bowl of longevity noodles. The only differences were whether the noodles were made from coarse or fine flour and whether an egg was added.

Just as she was kneading the dough, a loud wail suddenly came from Zhao Xiaobao’s room. Startled, Madam Wang dashed toward her daughter’s room.

Zhao Xiaobao had another dream.

In the dream, the sky seemed filled with suns, baking the earth. The heat seeped through her straw sandals, making her hop from foot to foot.

Townsfolk lined up by the well, waiting their turn. When it was finally her turn, the well ran dry! A woman carrying a bucket refused to accept it, clinging to the well and wailing and carrying on. There was no water left at home, they were dying of thirst, her child’s mouth was already parched—without water, the child would die!!

Those behind her in line were drenched in sweat and tears, their eyes stinging from the sunlight. Everyone was agitated by the woman’s words. They swallowed hard with dry throats, and their pent-up anger erupted in an instant. Someone threw a bucket at the well keeper’s head, followed by a second, then a third. In the blink of an eye, the order at the front collapsed, and chaos descended—

“You said there was water! You said it yourselves!!”

“You told us to wait in line, that there’d be water when it was our turn. Where is it? Where is it?! You’re liars, liars!!”

“I saw them secretly drawing water last night!”

“Aah! You damned well keepers! There were never any well keepers before. You’re not guarding the well—you’re guarding us!”

“If you won’t let us live, then you won’t live either!!”

In the countryside, farmland cracked, riverbeds dried up, wells ran dry, trees withered, and animals descended from the mountains…

An old man hunched over on the riverbank, his sun-dried skin as if it were oozing a layer of oil. He occasionally stuck out his tongue to lick his parched lips, bending down to drink sparingly from the muddy, murky puddle.

“The last bit, the last bit…”

He muttered as he drank, “Rain, please, heavens above, send some rain. There’s no water left, truly no water left!”