The next day, Kang He and Fan Jing went up the mountain a bit late.
As they left the house, a woman stopped them at the foot of the mountain, blocking their path.
The woman was of a certain age, but from the corners of her eyes and brows, one could still see traces of her youthful charm—she was quite a beauty in her day.
“Jing, have you seen my boy?”
Kang He didn’t know the woman and was usually mild-mannered, but hearing her question, his expression shifted instantly.
“Haven’t seen him.”
Fan Jing, as always, maintained his cool, detached demeanor.
He didn’t show extra disdain because she was Sun Xiao Sheng’s mother, nor was he particularly warm.
He answered her plainly.
“It’s been days since I last saw him. I don’t know what he’s up to. You’re going up the mountain, so call him down for me.”
Kang He’s brows furrowed at her words.
What kind of tone was that?
When asking for help, people usually speak politely, but she sounded like she was giving orders.
Even setting aside how disliked her son was, her words alone were enough to make anyone uncomfortable.
“Ma’am, if even you don’t know what he’s doing, how are we supposed to find him in the deep mountains and wild forests that stretch for miles?”
The woman, hearing Kang He’s response, said, “You’re always in the mountains. How can you not find him? We’re neighbors—helping out shouldn’t be a big deal.”
“I’ve got two bundles of firewood halfway up the mountain I haven’t brought home yet. Since you’re free, ma’am, why don’t you help me carry them back? We’re neighbors, after all. Lend us a hand.”
The woman caught the sarcasm in Kang He’s words.
“You little punk, talking so snidely.”
“My words don’t carry much weight as a widow, so if you won’t agree, shall I ask his cousin, the village head, to talk to you?”
Kang He’s anger flared at this.
“Don’t try to pressure me with the village head. If you’re so worried about him, go up the mountain yourself. He’s a grown man—how can you not trust him? Why not tie him to your belt if you’re so concerned? What’s he doing up there anyway?”
With that, he ignored her and pulled Fan Jing along to leave.
The woman cursed and stomped behind them for a while, but seeing they paid her no mind and were getting farther away, she finally stopped.
“Why’s she so arrogant? Just because she’s got the village head backing her? Just how much does that headman love meddling? He treats a distant cousin like his own nephew.”
Kang He was fuming.
He already disliked Sun Xiao Sheng, and meeting his mother only made it worse.
People like that, especially after how Sun Xiao Sheng had pestered Fan Jing before, only deepened his disgust.
Fan Jing said, “There’s been some gossip in the village.”
“What gossip?” Kang He asked.
“It’s just gossip. They say the village head wanted to marry his cousin back in the day, but he was just a poor boy then, and her family wouldn’t agree. They each married someone else.”
Fan Jing only shared such hearsay with Kang He.
Hearing this, Kang He’s confusion cleared up.
With that kind of connection, it wasn’t surprising that Chen Yushun doted on his cousin’s son.
The two didn’t dwell on the Sun family.
They were already so unlikeable—why let them weigh on their minds and ruin their mood?
In mid-February, the weather was clear for seven or eight days straight.
The warmth of the sun coaxed the fruit trees’ blossoms to open halfway.
Standing under the trees, you could smell the crisp, tender scent of flowers and grass in the breeze.
Watching bees dart between the flowering trees to gather nectar for their hives, Kang He felt an extra sense of contentment, eagerly awaiting the end of the bloom to harvest honey.
In spring, the mountain forests were brimming with wild vegetables.
Every time Kang He went out, he’d bring back a basketful—fresh shepherd’s purse, prickly nettles, crisp toon sprouts, malan, and purslane.
The variety was endless.
Fan Jing usually wasn’t fond of the earthy taste of wild greens, but Kang He’s cooking gave each one its own unique flavor.
Toon omelets, nettle-boiled fish—every day brought something new to the table.
One rainy day, Kang He invited Zhang Shili over for a meal.
He woke early to knead dough and let it rest, then minced a perfect blend of fatty and lean pork, mixing it with fresh shepherd’s purse to make dumplings.
For a home-cooked meal, they didn’t skimp on filling.
Each dumpling was stuffed to bursting, and when boiled, they floated up like little ingots.
Kang He served each person a big bowl, leaving some uncooked on the board in case they wanted more.
Dipped in fragrant vinegar, the dumplings were juicy and flavorful—absolutely delicious.
Zhang Shili ate eight in one go.
“At your wedding feast, why didn’t you come over for a drink, Brother Zhang? If you’d been there, Jing’s cousins wouldn’t have ganged up to get me drunk.”
Zhang Shili slapped the table.
“Who’d dare get my brother drunk? Next time, I’ll deal with them.”
“All talk and no action makes a fake hero,” Kang He teased.
“When the time comes, I don’t even see your shadow.”
Zhang Shili replied, “It’s not that I didn’t want to come. My reputation around the village isn’t great. If I showed up at your place, people would say you’re hanging out with a thug who’s been to jail. It was your big day—I didn’t want to ruin the mood.”
Hearing that Zhang Shili stayed away for this reason, Kang He felt a surge of loyalty.
“If anyone talks nonsense about me hanging out with you, let them.”
Zhang Shili patted Kang He’s shoulder.
“I know you’re not into empty talk. This meal of dumplings at your place today…”
He trailed off, turning to Fan Jing.
“I gave you that knife, and you don’t say a word to Kang about it. I’m not pressing you, but I figured a good blade would suit you, and he’d be pleased.”
Fan Jing, focused on eating, gave a hum in response.
“Since the new year, he’s been using that knife you gave him when we go up the mountain,” Kang He said.
The three chatted for a while, eating more dumplings.
It had been a while since they’d caught up, so they couldn’t resist lingering over idle talk.
“That Sun Xiao Sheng from your village—has he been up the mountain too? Lately, stuff’s been disappearing from my traps. I didn’t think much of it at first, but a while back, I spotted unfamiliar footprints. Someone’s probably been pilfering.”
Kang He said, “That guy’s no good. His mother even asked Jing to go find him the other day. Who’s got the time to babysit her son? She acts all high and mighty just because she’s related to the village head.”
Zhang Shili snorted.
“He’s turned into such a disgrace, yet he still struts around. You don’t know, but he used to run with some shady official in the city, working as his lackey, lending money at cutthroat rates, living it up for a while. Then his backer crossed the wrong person and got taken down, and he became a pariah—no food, no mercy, just beatings. Back when he was collecting debts, he did all sorts of vile things—extortion, assaulting decent folks. Once his patron fell, plenty of people wanted revenge. With nowhere else to go, he hid in the mountains.”
Zhang Shili, a loyal and straightforward man, had connections with some unsavory types in the city and had heard about Sun Xiao Sheng’s past.
Even this year, people were still asking where Sun Xiao Sheng was hiding, but since Zhang had no real ties to him, he kept quiet.
“If he bothers you two, don’t hold back just because of Chen Yushun’s connection. Tell me, and I’ll handle him. You should’ve told me about this sooner!”
Kang He hadn’t known about this.
He exchanged a glance with Fan Jing.
Not wanting to dwell on the earlier incident, he simply said, “We haven’t seen much of him lately. It’s been a year since we last ran into him. If anything comes up, I’ll let you know, Brother.”
Hearing Kang He agree to reach out if there was trouble, Zhang Shili was satisfied.
They talked a bit more, and Zhang mentioned seeing beehives in the mountains, figuring Kang He had set them up.
“Who else around here is as industrious as you?”
He added, “There are a few locust trees in a hollow on my mountain. If you’ve got time, you could set up a hive there. I’m no good at managing them, but I can keep an eye out when I’m passing through to make sure no one messes with them.”
Kang He was thrilled.
Locust trees bloom in dense, lush clusters—a prime honey source.
When Zhang Shili left, Kang He packed up the uncooked dumplings for him to take home.
A couple of days later, Kang He brought three hives to Zhang’s place.
The locust trees weren’t blooming yet that month, so it was a good time to set up the hives and see if bees would settle in.
If not, he planned to move some hives with bees over.
A new swarm had settled in a patch of wild rape flowers, and once their bloom ended, it’d be about time for the locust trees to flower.
Honey harvesting relied on these abundant blooms.
A few days later, when Fan Jing returned from a mountain trip, he carried a robust adult deer on his shoulder.
Kang He’s eyes lit up, and he hurried to help take the deer down.
Touching the deer’s body, he found it still warm, with a fresh arrow wound on its leg.
“You hunted this?!” Kang He asked.
Fan Jing nodded.
They moved the deer into the courtyard, closed the gate, and let it lie there, whether it was still twitching or not.
In all the time Kang He had gone up the mountain with Fan Jing, this was the first time he’d seen him hunt a deer.
It was both novel and exciting.
“This deer’s gotta be worth a lot.”
Fan Jing, who’d carried the deer all the way from the boundary, was sweating through his shirt.
He drank a bowl of warm tea and said to Kang He, “Worth more than a mountain goat.”
A black goat hunted last year had fetched over a string of cash.
Deer were even harder to come by, and wealthy city folk loved deer meat, often buying whole deer for banquets.
A deer could fetch double the price of a goat.
To get a good price, Kang He and Fan Jing took advantage of the timing and brought the deer to the city the next day.
Taking turns carrying it, they reached the city before dark and delivered it straight to a familiar restaurant.
By chance, Official Li was there checking the books.
Hearing someone had brought a deer, he set the ledger aside to come see the rarity.
The waiter told Kang He that Li’s father was celebrating a milestone birthday and wanted a deer for the feast.
Sure enough, Official Li was delighted with the sturdy deer.
The restaurant hadn’t received one in a while.
Kang He seized the moment, saying a few kind words to congratulate Li on his father’s longevity.
Pleased, Official Li generously handed Kang He a heavy piece of silver, worth about five taels.
The deer would’ve sold for three strings of cash at most, so five taels was nearly half again as much, including a generous tip.
Leaving the restaurant, Kang He pulled the waiter aside and gave him a string of cash as thanks.
The waiter hadn’t expected Kang He to share so much—nearly half a month’s wages—and was overjoyed.
“If you hadn’t told me about the Li family’s celebration, how would we have gotten such a bonus?” Kang He said.
The waiter replied, “I just mentioned it in passing. Your deer came at the perfect time, and you’re good with words—that’s what made the master so pleased.”
They exchanged a few pleasantries, but with night falling, the waiter grabbed a wrapped torch and a fire starter from the kitchen for Kang He to use on the dark road home.
Kang He was deeply grateful.
After parting, Kang He and Fan Jing hurried toward the city gate.
Though they were willing to spend a few coins for a cart ride, the livestock sheds outside the city were empty.
The wind rattled the rain curtains, and the cart drivers had long gone home.
With no choice, the two set off on foot, but darkness fell faster than they could walk.
Within the time it takes to burn an incense stick, the sky was pitch black.
Kang He lit the torch and stayed close to Fan Jing.
“I can see the road,” Fan Jing said, feeling Kang He stick so close it was hard to walk.
Kang He shrank his neck.
“Listen to that owl hooting—it’s creepy. This road’s so dark, I’ve gotta stick with you. If some mountain ghost or beast grabs me, where would you find me?”
He freed a hand and stretched it toward Fan Jing.
“Quick, hold my hand.”
Fan Jing glanced at him, thinking Kang He wasn’t this scared on mountain night treks, yet here on the main road, he was acting spooked.
His eyes stayed on the path ahead, but he still took Kang He’s hand.
Kang He, looking at Fan Jing’s calm profile, couldn’t help but smile.
Rubbing the calluses on Fan Jing’s palm, he said, “Hunting’s where the money’s at. Look at what we made today—enough to keep us going for a while. Like Brother Zhang said, why don’t you teach me archery?”
Fan Jing replied, “You need to start young.”
“I’m not that old,” Kang He said.
“Even if not for hunting, learning some skills for self-defense is good. If I knew how, I wouldn’t have to cling to you like this on night walks.”
Fan Jing glanced at him.
“Am I stopping you from clinging?”
“It’s not about clinging or not. If I learned some skills, I could protect someone.”
“Who do you want to protect?”
Kang He shook Fan Jing’s hand.
“Who else but you?”
Fan Jing said, “I don’t need your protection.”
Kang He wasn’t pleased.
“If you won’t teach me, I’ll go ask Brother Zhang. He’d be happy to.”
Fan Jing replied, “Running over there every day—you’re not afraid of the hassle?”
“Do I want to go through all that trouble? So, are you teaching me or not?”
“Hm.”
Kang He leaned toward Fan Jing’s cheek.
“You’re really agreeing?”
Fan Jing grabbed the swaying torch.
“Watch the fire.”
As they talked, the journey felt quick, and before long, they were home.
In the village, most households had turned off their lamps to save oil.
But the Fan household was still awake, the kitchen glowing brightly.
“Why’re you back so late, my boys? Have you eaten supper?” Chen Sanfang was in the kitchen with the two girls, preparing taro tofu, when she heard the dogs barking.
Thinking it was just passersby, she was surprised to see Kang He and Fan Jing.
Father Fan, washing his feet in the main room, heard the commotion and slipped his wet feet into straw sandals to check.
Seeing it was Kang He and Fan Jing, he breathed a sigh of relief, gave a quick greeting, and went back to soaking his feet.
Hearing the boys had sold game in the city and hadn’t eaten dinner, Chen Sanfang grabbed four duck eggs to fry up an omelet.
Kang He, seeing her take so many, told her not to make too much.
“We’ve got plenty of eggs—chicken and duck. The rice bin’s overflowing. Good thing Wang’s daughter-in-law had a baby recently and bought thirty eggs for her confinement.”
Chen said, “Plus, for the hundred-day banquet, they’ll need red eggs, and they’ve ordered from us. The chicken eggs have a market, but the duck eggs are piling up.”
“I’ve been telling the ladies in the city while selling taro tofu that we’ve got eggs. The girls take baskets to sell—sometimes they sell out, sometimes we bring leftovers home.”
Kang He, tending the fire under the stove, asked, “How’s the taro harvest these days, Ma?”
“Following your method, word spread fast. People with taro or who know where to find it are happy to bring it to us. Our price is better than the city’s, and it’s closer. Everyone who knows comes to us. A taro might only fetch a few coins, but farmers love the extra pocket money.”
Chen said, “There’s a dozen taros piled by the table in the main room. These past few days, I’ve been making and selling them. Your dad’s been planting the stems in the fields.”
Speaking of this, Chen was quite pleased. She lowered her voice to Kang He.
“These days, I’ve made over two hundred coins! Buying and selling taro really isn’t a loss.”
It wasn’t the season for high prices—three coins per catty, sometimes two for regular customers—but still worthwhile.
Chen didn’t know much about business but valued relationships.
She wasn’t afraid of much, just that the goods wouldn’t sell, so she treated people kindly.
Though it wasn’t as profitable as during festivals, making money in spring was already rare.
In the past, such earnings were unheard of.
With coins in her pocket, she felt secure and full of energy every day.
Hearing Chen was doing well, Kang He felt relieved.
He said, “Since we’ve got so many duck eggs and they don’t sell as well in the city, let’s try something new. The weather’s warming up, and porridge is more common at tables. Why not pickle the extra ducks into salted eggs or make preserved eggs? What do you think, Ma?”
Chen slapped her thigh.
“I think it’s great! More variety always draws more customers.”
“My friend Shen’s got great skills. His salted eggs are oily and perfectly seasoned. Even your picky aunt says they’re good. In summer, when I make salted eggs, I always ask him to help.”
Kang He knew how to make salted and preserved eggs but wasn’t confident in his skills.
Hearing Chen knew someone skilled was perfect.
Still, he said, “I just don’t know if Shen would be willing to help. Making stuff to sell isn’t like making a few eggs.”
Chen Sanfang replied, “I know what you mean. He’s a good man, not well-off himself, and doesn’t look down on us for being poor. We help each other out. If we ask him to help pickle salted eggs, it might take him a day or two. I’ll give him a basket of eggs and a catty of smoked meat. Sound good?”
Kang He nodded.
The next day, instead of going up the mountain, Chen brought Shen over.
Shen was younger than Chen but looked older, thin and dark, with patched hemp clothes.
“I’ve made plenty of salted eggs, so I’m practiced. Preserved eggs, though—I haven’t made them in a while, so I’m not sure about the flavor,” Shen said, happy to help since he loved the craft.
His family was poor, with few chickens or ducks, so eggs were scarce, and making salted eggs to eat was a rare treat.
Hearing Shen wasn’t sure about the flavor but didn’t say he couldn’t do it, Kang He figured he knew how to make preserved eggs and had some skill.
Preserved eggs, if done poorly, turn out shapeless, mushy, or smelly—inedible.
“You don’t know how good yours are yet. Make some for us. You know me—if it’s not right, I’ll still ask you to fix it,” Chen said to Shen.
“For salted eggs, I’ll pickle as many as you want. For preserved eggs, let’s start with a few to test the flavor. If they’re good, I’ll make more. No need to make too many at once—if the taste is off, it’s a waste,” Shen said, knowing Chen was selling taro tofu and had given him some before.
With their surplus of eggs, they were planning a business, and he didn’t want to mess it up.
Kang He, hearing Shen’s careful approach, appreciated his responsibility.
“Thanks for taking the time to help us out this season.”
Shen waved it off.
“No trouble. It’s just lending a hand. When I’ve got things to do, your ma always drops everything to help me.”
With that, they got to work.
“For salted eggs, soaking in brine is the usual way—simple. But for oily eggs, dry-salting is better,” Shen explained to the group.
With practiced hands, he washed and dried the duck eggs, soaked them in liquor to sterilize, then coated them evenly with salt.
The wet shells quickly clung to a thick layer of salt grains, and he wrapped each tightly to keep the salt in place.
Finally, the eggs were set in a cool place to cure for twenty-some days.
Kang He had always used brine, so dry-salting was a new experience.
Chen was generous.
With enough hands, they pickled sixty eggs at once, leaving few ducks left.
They gave Shen ten eggs to make preserved eggs, to be brought back for Kang He to check.
If the flavor was good, they’d make more.
Though they planned to sell salted and preserved eggs, they had to start small.
It wasn’t something to rush.
Crafting was one thing; selling it was another challenge.
If they got greedy and made hundreds at once, only to fail to sell them, it’d be a disaster.
Duck eggs came from poultry fed on grain, and salted eggs used plenty of salt.
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