Yuanxi Village was a remote place, far from both the county town and the prefectural city.
Since people still needed to trade in daily life, several nearby villages formed a small marketplace.
Common fabrics, grains, oil, and flour could all be bought at the junction of several villages to the east—just half an hour’s walk from Caojia’ao.
If one needed to buy something rare, they’d have to cross the town and head east toward the closest city, Yi’an.
Most commoners could get what they needed from the town and rarely had to leave their area.
On the way out of Caojia’ao, he passed a few farm households.
Women were happily wrapping zongzi (sticky rice dumplings) in their courtyards.
The freshly washed green bamboo leaves glistened.
In the women’s hands, they were folded into cone shapes, two spoonfuls of glutinous rice pressed in, then tied tightly with strips of leaf.
In just a few moves, a plump and angular zongzi was ready.
This joyful, lively scene contrasted starkly with the gloomy atmosphere in Caojia’ao, where tenant farmers toiled in the fields, unsure if there was even enough grain in the pantry to cook a bowl of porridge.
By the time Cao Wen reached the town, it was bustling.
Most stalls were selling zongzi, and people who made their own were still debating whether to add sugar or salted egg yolk.
Whether it was a festival or just naturally lively, the street was packed with people.
Cao Wen strolled a bit, looking for a temporary job.
The town, after all, was just a town—with only a dozen streets.
It took him no more than two incense sticks’ worth of time to walk the whole thing.
There were plenty of general stores, but few were hiring.
“Is the restaurant hiring?”
Cao Wen stopped in front of a two-story restaurant and glanced at a simple notice on the door. He asked a waiter standing outside.
The waiter, with a rag over his shoulder, gave Cao Wen a once-over.
Seeing that he had a good build—likely strong—the waiter responded since it wasn’t busy.
“Yes, we are. The kitchen needs a general helper, and we need one runner outside. Which can you do?”
Cao Wen thought neither job required special skills and he wasn’t doing anything anyway.
“I can do both.”
The waiter looked at him again and asked,
“Are you from town?”
“Only locals can work here?”
“Our restaurant starts early. Before dawn, you have to go buy fresh meat and vegetables. Then start prep, and the day ends late. If you don’t live in town, how could you make it in time?”
The waiter was chatty: “Also, the manager said we want someone diligent and reliable, not someone who’ll quit in a few days because the work is tiring. First seven days, no pay. If both sides are satisfied, then we hire.”
Cao Wen paused: “If I’m not from town but can be on time, is that okay?”
The waiter shook his head: “The manager was clear—we only hire locals. Today you say you can come on time. Tomorrow, you’ll say household chores delayed you.”
Alright then.
Cao Wen furrowed his brows.
It wasn’t that he thought the job was beneath him—it was that they didn’t want him.
“Fine. Thanks.”
He asked around a few more places, but all had the same rule: only hire locals or nearby villagers.
Finally, he found a lumberyard that needed a temporary laborer to do heavy lifting.
Pay was settled daily—30 wen per day.
Not bad.
“As long as we can reach you when there’s work, locals or villagers are all fine.”
Cao Wen’s eyes lit up: “Is there work today?”
The lumberyard boss looked him over.
“You’re in a hurry, aren’t you? There is work. Are you a farmer? Which village?”
“Yuanxi Village, tenant farmer.”
“Tenant farmer?!”
Hearing that, the boss’s face changed instantly.
He refused to continue and directly said they weren’t hiring anymore.
Cao Wen was annoyed: “What, tenant farmers aren’t human? Can’t we work?”
“Tenant farmers have a million family problems.Always something urgent with their landlord. They can’t focus on outside work.”
Seeing Cao Wen looked a bit intimidating, the boss softened his tone: “It’s not that we look down on tenant farmers, but we’re just a small business. We pay laborers monthly, and if they can’t keep up, we’re in trouble.”
Cao Wen saw through it—businesses didn’t want tenant farmers because they were “trouble.”
In their eyes, tenant farmers were their landlord’s servants.
Who would hire someone who already has a master?
They were all in cahoots with the landlords—trying to make sure tenant farmers couldn’t survive.
The lumberyard boss glanced at Cao Wen.
Though he wore rough, patched-up linen clothes, he had a big frame—even if skinny, he’d be strong with some food in him.
The boss smirked and lowered his voice: “You must be in a tough spot if you’re out looking for work. It’s a shame, but rules are rules. If you want to stay, I’ll risk breaking them and pay you 15 wen a day—how’s that?”
Cao Wen swallowed his anger.
The boss’s scheming could probably be heard from miles away.
Without a word, he turned and walked off.
He hadn’t found a single job, but he’d learned just how hard life was for tenant farmers.
Falling into tenant status was easy—climbing back out was as hard as reaching the heavens.
Back in the interstellar world, he had been so powerful.
Yet now, in this era, even with all his skills, there was no place to use them.
Cao Wen sighed, but he wasn’t discouraged.
He knew despair was useless.
His family didn’t even have food, and they were in debt—how could he rest easy?
He didn’t return home.
Instead, he headed toward the communal mountain near the village to try his luck again.
In May, wild vegetables had already matured.
But in a village full of tenant farmers, wild greens never got a chance to grow old—they were picked clean in spring when the leaves were still tender.
They say “live off the mountain if you live near it; live off the water if you live by it.”
The common folk knew this well.
Cao Wen followed the mountain trail up, but couldn’t find a single edible plant.
The deeper he went, the colder it got.
Wind blew up his pant legs, raising goosebumps.
Near the mountain entrance, a few people were gathering firewood.
They glanced at him, saw he was empty-handed, and went back to chopping.
This area had the most people.
The farther in he went, the fewer people he saw.
“Cao Wen?”
A voice called out.
He turned to see an old man with graying hair standing behind some shrubs.
“It really is you.”
The old man exhaled.
“I thought someone had come into the woods.”
Cao Wen recognized him—one of the tenant farmers from Caojia’ao.
“Uncle, why are you gathering firewood so deep in the woods?”
This spot was a good quarter-hour walk from the mountain entrance—farther than most would bother going.
“It’s Dragon Boat Festival today. I figured not many people would be up here, so I came deeper in. On normal days, if I run into regular farmers, they always have something to say.”
Cao Wen said,
“It’s not private land. If farmers can chop wood, why can’t tenant farmers? Why should we have to care about their attitude?”
The old man shook his head: “Well, the landlord often sends tenant farmers up Mount Gong to chop firewood for his use, and every time they demand ten, fifteen bundles. But the firewood in the mountains is limited—if too much gets taken, the farmers won’t have anything to burn, and naturally, they get upset.”
“Nowadays, just seeing a tenant farmer on the mountain is enough for them to start mouthing off.”
“Ah, no use talking about this anymore. I’d best hurry and fill up this back basket with firewood before heading down.”
He looked at Cao Wen.
“Why’d you come up empty-handed? What are you doing on the mountain?”
“Just wandering around,”
Cao Wen replied casually.
The old man didn’t press further.
There were always people trying their luck in the mountains, hoping to scavenge something to eat.
But most came back empty-handed.
If everyone could find food up here, there wouldn’t be only a handful of full-time hunters.
“Be careful then—don’t go too deep into the forest. We don’t have knives or clubs, and we don’t know the mountain like hunters do. If you run into a bear, that’s bad news.”
Cao Wen agreed with a quiet sound.
Everyone knew the outer woods were the safest, which is why so many searched in this area.
But with so many before him, there was almost nothing left.
If he really wanted to get something to eat, he’d have to take some risks.
Cao Wen kept walking, heading deeper into the mountain.
The further in he went, the taller and thicker the trees became.
Underbrush and vines tangled the ground, and some even had sharp thorns.
He got scratched a few times but managed to pick two unripe wild oranges.
The peels were thick, and just a squeeze sent pungent citrus oil spraying.
The orange tree was small and easy to transplant.
He bent down, ready to dig it up to take home, when suddenly he heard two heavy breaths carried by the wind.
Cao Wen’s ears were sharp.
The deep, rough sound didn’t seem right—it sounded like the panting of a wild beast.
Instantly alert, he moved lightly, crouching as he followed the sound.
What he saw was shocking.
Under a tall chestnut tree, the ground was scattered with chicken feathers, and two pheasants with twisted necks lay among them, feathers still fluttering.
Nearby, a burly, bearded man was fighting a black bear.
A full-grown black bear could easily slap a man into a bloody pulp.
Fortunately, this one was not fully mature—its size wasn’t enormous.
Still, even a young bear was a dangerous opponent.
The man was tall and held a long chopping blade, but even so, he was being forced back again and again by the roaring bear.
That the bear hadn’t immediately crushed him meant it was still struggling—and clearly frustrated.
It pounded the ground with a roar.
It spread its front paws, lowered its haunches slightly, preparing to lunge at the man for the kill.
Just as the hunter, drenched in sweat, looked about to be overpowered, a piercing scream rang out from the forest—startling a flock of birds into flight.