Chapter 25

In fact, Wu shi looked down on her brother-in-law's wife, Zhu shi, not only did she not like this sister-in-law, she also didn't think much of her mother-in-law.

Mother-in-law, Gao shi, was someone who liked to take advantage of others and had a short-sighted outlook, always only looking at her own feet and unable to see beyond three steps.

Her two married sisters-in-law, like this mother-in-law, never returned empty-handed from visiting others, even if they just grabbed a handful of melon seeds or brought a few strands of hemp thread, they felt greatly satisfied.

Sister-in-law Zhu Shi had two sons and three daughters, with the eldest son now married and the three daughters all married off, the youngest son was still young, about the same age as Song Jiaoxing, a simple-minded type who loved eating and sleeping.

Wu Shi had four sons and a daughter herself, the eldest and second sons both married, with four grandchildren. The only daughter, Nuhong, was good at cooking and embroidery, originally she was very proud, thinking she was one step above Zhu shi.

But who knew that Zhu Shi's oldest daughter, Song Taohong, somehow caught the eye of Song Dingxiang's fiancé, then the two ended up together, and now they were married, transforming into a scholarly lady. That was a scholarly lady, much stronger than those who toiled in the fields!

This made Wu shi very resentful, looking at her husband's careless appearance, she was so angry that she felt pain in her heart, liver, spleen, and kidneys.

As Wu Shi carefully poured the steaming broth into the clay pot, he asked casually but with a sharp edge, “Did that person mention anything about Taohong?”

Song Jiaoxing pressed her lips together before responding, her tone carrying a trace of something between amusement and exasperation. “They said she wasn’t feeling well—something about an upset stomach. The moment Grandmother heard, she didn’t think twice. She just grabbed half a basket of eggs and left in a hurry.”

Half a basket. That wasn’t just any small gesture. Since the hens had started laying in spring, they had been saving those eggs meticulously, not touching them, not indulging—not even once. And yet, just like that, all of them were gone, handed over without a second thought.

Those eggs still belonged to their family!

Wu shi also realized this. Although they had divided the household, the chickens were raised together, as per Gao's instruction, meaning that they were too busy to take care of them daily, so they divided the eggs equally among the families after the hens laid them.

But now, they were all taken away, trying to get them back?

Difficult...

After packing the pancakes and pickled vegetable soup made by Jiaoxing, Wu shi let her daughter stay home and she went to the fields with a carrying pole.

Song Xingren's patience was running thin as he scolded, his voice tight with frustration. "What's going on here? Why are you so late? You don’t want to work, do you?"

Wu Shi, already feeling the tension in the air, struggled to keep her composure. She could feel the anger building inside, but her face showed confusion, masking her irritation as she replied, "Dad, don’t be so angry. The moment I got back, I saw Jiaoxing in the kitchen, cooking. Mom... went over to Taohong’s in-laws’ place. She said Taohong wasn’t feeling well, so she took all the eggs with her. I was just going to add a couple to the soup..."

Even though the Third Song family wasn't exactly the picture of harmony, they shared a bond over their work and their meals. Song Xingren usually made his sons do the hard labor, the fields a place where they worked together, even if they couldn’t stand each other otherwise. The work was hard, relentless—but there was no room for laziness. They all knew that if they didn’t pull their weight, hunger would be the only thing left for them to share.

“What? Taohong’s sick?” Zhu Shi, alarmed, dropped her hoe, completely distracted. "Dad, I’ll go check on her, too."

Song Xingren shot her a look, frustration rising to the surface. "What’s there to check? Your mother’s already gone. Isn't it better for her to handle it?" His eyes flicked to the Fourth Uncle's family, where everyone was working together in harmony, and the contrast made his irritation even worse. He glanced back at his own family—how could he not feel a pang of bitterness?

He turned to his daughter-in-law, who stood there, looking lost in thought. "If your mother isn’t back by the time we finish this afternoon, then you can go check. But for now, let's get to work."

The words were sharp, almost dismissive, as if there was nothing else to do but push forward. The simmering tensions beneath the surface were undeniable.

Zhu shi had to agree, scooped up some soup in a big bowl, eating a piece of bread and a mouthful of soup, then stared longingly at her fourth uncle's family eating the sour cabbage stewed meat, the meat aroma wafting into her nose, but she couldn't have a bite.

Fang shi didn't stay for the meal either, this was meant for the workers in the fields, they could eat at home later.

"I had a quick look on my way here, and I can tell the wheat's doing pretty well," Fang Shi remarked, her farmer's instinct kicking in.

Of course, out here in the countryside, things were a lot different. There weren’t any rules like the ones in the city where women stayed shut in the house all day. No, here, when things got busy, everyone had to pitch in—men and women alike. The women worked just as hard, their hands just as rough, their resolve as solid as the men’s.

"You're right," Song Xingyi replied, his face lighting up as he spoke about the crops. "That heavy snow we got last winter did wonders. The frost killed off most of the pests, and with all the moisture in the soil, we're looking at a great wheat harvest this year. It's going to be one for the books."

Even though Song Dingxiang had a rough time when she was young, raising her younger siblings to become college students, she had never done farm work. But even though she didn't do farm work, she wasn't ignorant, later on, when things got better, their family bought a house with a big yard, and at least grew vegetables and fruit trees.

The saying "a snow year, a rich year" was absolutely true, in winter, if it's dry and there's not much snow, the old farmers would be worried. Fortunately, the weather had been good for several years now.

After they finished their meal, Fang Shi casually collected the empty bowls and chopsticks, but couldn't resist adding with a hint of intrigue, "Oh, by the way, this morning, while I was out fixing shoes in the yard, I happened to notice Third Uncle's wife rushing off towards Lower River Village."

The way the villages were named made it hard not to laugh—a river branch divided them into Upper River Village, Lower River Village, and East-West-North-South River Village. It was all so direct, like no one bothered with subtlety. Each village was tiny, only a few hundred people at most, and Lower River Village was no different, with the Xu family holding most of the sway there.

The Song family was one of the more prominent households in the region, standing shoulder to shoulder with the Li and Zhou families. As for the rest? They were just recent arrivals, scattered families that hadn’t really put down roots yet—more of a presence than a power, so to speak.

Now, if Third Old Lao San’s wife was headed to Lower River Village, where exactly could she be going?

It could only be one place: the Xu family.

Song Xingyi wasn’t one to meddle in such gossip or village politics. Instead, he gathered his sons and grandsons, urging them to work faster while giving the womenfolk a break.

Meanwhile, Fang Shi had already been exchanging whispers with the others, but she wasn’t quite satisfied. So, she made her way to the field to find her sister-in-law and daughter-in-law—more gossip, of course.

Grabbing a handful of dry grass, Zhang Shi adjusted her grass shoes and looked at Fang Shi. “What’s up with Tao Hong? Something happened?” she asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

Fang Shi gave a snort, her tone sharp. “Who knows? I saw the Xu boy, the one who looks about ten. He came running to ask for help, but the kid couldn’t even say a word when he saw people. I really wonder what they’re teaching him over there.”

Song Dingxiang was doing her best to stifle a laugh. Fang shi had never made such a remark before—not even back when they were engaged. Back then, she’d praised Xu Qiang's younger brother, calling him young, stable, and with a calm demeanor—just not one for talking much.

"Mom, honestly, their family has nothing to do with us. You should go back now. I can already tell Tudan and the others are hungry," Song Dingxiang said, a hint of urgency in her voice. She didn’t want Fang shi to say anything out of line out here in the field, so she pushed her toward the door.

Zhang shi, sensing the tension, quickly jumped in, "You're right, you should head back soon. It's not healthy for you to be out here walking around with such a big belly."

Fang shi wasn't ready to leave just yet. "I'm only trying to be nice, bringing you food, but... when I think about it, isn't Qiu'er due around the same time as Tao Hong?" She still had some gossip left to dish out.

Zhang shi did some quick mental math. "Yes, you're right. Qiu'er will give birth in about two months, while Tao Hong’s baby will come in three months. It's practically the same time."

Fang shi chuckled, an almost sly look crossing her face. "Well, even if some kids were born after the engagement, three months isn't a small difference. Let's see how round she gets by then, hmph!"

They lingered for a little longer, going back and forth about whether they should bring gifts when Tao Hong gave birth. Finally, with a touch of reluctance, Fang shi headed off, leaving behind a trail of unfinished gossip.

*

After a long, grueling day in the fields, Song Dingxiang’s body was aching from the strain, every muscle protesting as she made her way back home.

By the time she arrived, Li Shi had already set the scene for comfort—dinner was ready, and a pot of hot water was waiting for the family. It was the kind of thoughtful touch that spoke of experience and care: the hot water wasn’t just for washing up, but to warm them from the feet up, preventing the cold from creeping into their bones and causing the kind of joint pain that only worsens with age.

The meal was simple yet satisfying, each dish bursting with its own unique charm. Steamed vegetable dumplings, the kind that filled the air with a mouth-watering aroma of pork fat, inviting you to indulge in their tender, savory goodness. On the side, there were salted eggs, rich and savory, along with sticky porridge dotted with generous chunks of sweet potatoes. The sweetness of the potatoes contrasted perfectly with the saltiness of the eggs, making every bite a comforting balance of flavors. It wasn’t just food; it was home.

Even when Li Shi and the other women were at home, they were far from idle. Now was the time to plant rice, sorghum, and one particular crop that was absolutely crucial—sweet potatoes. These humble tubers were not just any crop; they were the backbone of survival. They yielded generously, the vines could be fed to pigs or enjoyed as a vegetable, and even dried sweet potatoes could help stave off hunger during lean times.

In years of good harvest, every household still made sure to plant plenty of sweet potatoes, as a safeguard against potential famine brought on by unforeseen disasters. This was the wisdom passed down from generations of seasoned farmers. These days, it seemed like there was always the threat of either natural or man-made disasters. In the face of nature’s fury, even the finest crops would produce a meager return, barely enough to cover taxes. And when it came to man-made disasters—wars, chaos, and exorbitant taxes—the sweet potato was the only thing that could truly fill the belly.

What made sweet potatoes even more valuable was their resilience. They weren’t picky about the soil, thriving even in wastelands. Plant them in barren fields for a few years, then follow up with a crop of beans, and before long, the land would be rich enough to yield all kinds of fine crops. It was a system that, in its simplicity, reflected the sharp adaptability needed to survive in a world where the next crisis could be just around the corner.

With fewer people and more land, the officials in the yamen were eager to get farmers to reclaim the vast stretches of wasteland. They made it irresistible by offering a three-year tax break on any crops grown, and the best part? Everything they harvested was theirs to keep. It was a golden opportunity, one that practically screamed success for anyone willing to take the plunge.

Back at home, the women were hard at work—digging out sweet potatoes from the cellar, carefully sorting through them. The rotten ones were dried out and set aside to be disposed of, while the good ones were sliced into pieces, making sure to leave the sprouting buds intact. These would be kept for replanting once the sweet potato vines started growing again.

Song Dingxiang sat there, her fingers absentmindedly counting the tasks ahead. The realization hit her hard—they had a lot to plant. The family needed to cultivate oilseed flowers on about one and a half mu of wasteland to produce enough oilseeds for their needs. They also needed three mu of soybeans, not just for oil but to make tofu as well. On top of that, they’d put in a mu of sesame, ensuring they’d have a steady supply of sesame oil.

But that wasn’t all. There was still the sorghum, corn, wheat, and rice—everything necessary for both food and income. It was a long list, and as she thought about it, the weight of the work ahead settled over her, but there was no turning back. They had no choice but to push forward, ready to make the most of the opportunity before them.