Chapters One, Two, and Three: Pickled Radish Leaves

Before long, his parents and elder sister arrived as well. Zhong Di inquired of his father about the delivery; the materials would only start arriving in the afternoon. Uncle Qian was holding a fishing tournament tomorrow, so any planning was out of the question—he decided to postpone it until the day after. Once the planning phase ended, he could invite some uncles over to help build the greenhouse.

Perhaps because it was Monday, today’s visitors were unusually few—scattered groups, most just buying some vegetables and then leaving. Zhong Di first tended to the mint and mosquito-repellent herbs he was experimenting with, and then set about revising the technical article he’d written about jujubes.

The mosquito-repellent herbs that hadn’t been sprayed with the Sandstorm Immortal Bud for a while still retained their effectiveness, but their mosquito-repelling power had ceased. Those he continued to spray grew increasingly potent—the feeling was akin to someone cultivating supernatural abilities: at first, they could move objects within a meter, but with practice, they could control things three meters away, while those who did not cultivate remained at one meter. Such was the difference.

Zhong Di breathed a sigh of relief. In that case, there was no real problem. Aside from the membership system he was pondering, he had another immature idea: to manufacture nutrient solution.

This notion stemmed from Yang’s Noodle Shop. They had mentioned making seasoning from their free-range chickens, so why not add Sandstorm Immortal Bud to the nutrient solution? That would resolve the issue as well. However, this method would have to wait; as new projects kept piling up, the supply of Sandstorm Immortal Bud was becoming increasingly tight—he was practically counting leaves to get by.

“Shaohong, wait. What are you planning to do with all these radish leaves?” Zhong Di, lost in thought, suddenly noticed Shaohong had hauled a cartful of radish leaves, leftovers from customers’ orders.

“Feed them to the rabbits and chickens!” Shaohong replied, as he always had—a classic case of waste reutilization. Items from production that weren’t useful, like leaves or roots, were repurposed to feed chickens and rabbits. The rabbits grew, produced manure, which was then gathered and composted into organic fertilizer to return to the fields. A closed-loop system, exactly what Zhong Di had envisioned.

As he looked at the radish leaves, Zhong Di wondered why he’d overlooked such a great resource. Raw radish leaves weren’t pleasant to eat, but if pickled, their flavor was deeply memorable and perfect with rice.

He recalled that, as a child, winter meant only a handful of vegetables: radish, cabbage, potatoes, and pickles. Pickled radish leaves were a staple—his mother made them often.

“Don’t feed these today. Give them to me; I’ll make some pickles,” Zhong Di said decisively, taking the large pile of radish leaves from Shaohong. With that amount, he could make enough pickles to last one person for over half a month.

Zhong Di planned to make pickles every half month until the frost arrived—the batch after the frost would be the last. Frosted radish leaves tasted even better.

“Alright, I’ll leave it to you,” Shaohong said, dropping the leaves and moving on to other tasks.

Zhong Di loaded the radish leaves onto his electric tricycle and headed home to fetch a pickling jar. His family pickled vegetables year-round, so there were several jars available.

He thoroughly cleaned and disinfected the jars, then washed and chopped the radish leaves. You could pickle them whole or chopped, but Zhong Di preferred chopping—they absorbed flavor better and were easier to eat.

He packed the chopped leaves into three jars, each small enough for one person to carry. He filled them only two-thirds full; he always left some space when pickling.

Next, he added cool boiled water mixed with salt, which killed bacteria and aided the pickling process.

He then tossed in ginger, garlic, scallion segments, and small chili peppers. For Zhong Di, a lover of spicy food, chili was a must.

He covered the jars and poured a little water into the jar rims to seal them.

Normally, the pickles would be ready to eat in ten to fifteen days. Anything pickled for less than ten days wasn’t fully flavored, and—more importantly—the nitrite content was too high. By the seventh day, nitrite levels decreased; by the tenth, they reached a safe level and continued to drop.

Pickling wasn’t about length—the longer, the more harmful substances accumulated. So, the best time to eat was within half a month to a month after pickling.

When he was young, things weren’t so particular—pickles made at the beginning of winter would be eaten until New Year, and no one cared. Now, however, people paid much more attention.

With the radish leaves pickled, lunchtime was approaching. Zhong Di sniffed the air and guessed they’d be having noodles.

Zak made excellent hand-pulled noodles—chewy and delicious, perfect with stewed chicken, spicy chicken chunks, or egg and chive. Mixed together, it was a feast.

Especially the rich broth, simmered for hours, its deep red color and flavor could make one’s whole body shudder with delight.

This was a food lover’s paradise—instinctual and natural.

Zhong Di took a deep breath.

The aroma of stewed chicken filled the air, heightening his anticipation for the noon noodles. His mouth watered, eager for the meal.

He glanced toward the kitchen and decided to wait—it wasn’t time yet, so patience was required.

Zhong Di walked over to the Sandstorm Immortal Buds and examined them closely. Lately, he’d only been harvesting leaves every day, without proper observation.

After some time, the patch had grown even more lush. Without regular care, even the narrow path would vanish.

He gently parted a dense goji bush to look at the Sandstorm Immortal Buds.

Compared to the beginning, they’d grown much larger—the leaves were smooth and emerald, their vitality stronger than ever, no trace of their former wilted state.

In fact, Zhong Di could now pick more leaves if he wanted, but chose not to, as it would hamper their growth and damage the roots.

It would be like killing the goose that lays the golden eggs—absolutely not.

Curious about their current condition, Zhong Di began to observe their behavior.

Good heavens, now they were still absorbing manure?

The entire plant appeared before him as if printed onto his vision, down to the finest root hairs.

It was truly enjoyable.

“You’re here? Want more now?” the Sandstorm Immortal Bud greeted him. This collaborator had been well chosen—its life was comfortable these days.

“More? I water you so much every day—isn’t that enough? Aren’t you worried about root rot? Your neighbors are terrified!” Zhong Di teased. If it were any ordinary plant, such watering would have caused root rot long ago.

Curiously, even the nearby goji bushes hadn’t rotted; in fact, they were thriving. It was most peculiar.