Chapter Eighteen: The Plan to Buy Sheep

At noon, when preparing lunch, Zhong Di cracked two double-yolk eggs into the flour, added a handful of chopped scallions and some seasonings, and fried them into golden egg pancakes.

That sensation—so delicious it made one want to swallow their own tongue—filled Zhong Di’s mind, as well as Little Yu Sheng’s.

After they finished eating, Zhong Di went to check on the isolated hen. She’d laid eggs too, but this time, only one was a double-yolk. Noticing this difference, Zhong Di did a small experiment: the remaining egg, though not double-yolked, was otherwise identical to the double-yolk eggs.

So, the Wild Sand Immortal Sprout doesn’t make every hen lay double-yolk eggs—there are still single-yolk ones.

Far from being disappointed by this revelation, Zhong Di felt quietly relieved. This was probably for the best. If, one day, people noticed every hen on his farm laid double-yolk eggs, wouldn’t they suspect he was using hormones? That would be awkward and impossible to explain.

He’d need to come up with a good story for that.

Zhong Di tucked this thought away for later, deciding to think up a solution another day.

After lunch, feeling the heat in the air, Zhong Di decisively chose to stay inside his little house. If he went out to work in this weather, he’d get heatstroke within two hours—no question.

Today was already July 14th, the middle of the month. In another week, the Great Heat would arrive, bringing the most stifling, sweltering days of summer.

If only… there were a swimming pool in the garden, he thought. That would be refreshing, and might even attract some customers. All it would take was a patch of open ground, digging down two meters, and lining it with tiles. The main cost would be cement and tiles—sand and stones were cheap here in the Northwest.

As for the size, that could be adjusted at will. The only hassle would be changing the water. Still, Zhong Di had an idea: he could dig a fish pond, or just pump the water out for irrigating the orchard.

But that would have to wait. With no funds on hand, it wasn’t possible now.

His mind wandered over these plans until, without realizing it, he drifted off to sleep. By the time he woke, it was afternoon. Wiping the sweat from his face, he poured himself some cool water and washed up.

The refreshing coolness spread through his body, lifting his spirits.

After washing, Zhong Di stepped outside. As soon as Little Yu Sheng saw his father come out, he stretched and followed.

The sun was already dipping westward; the midday heat had faded. Zhong Di picked up his nine-pronged rake and headed down to the fields.

The main task for the afternoon was to gather all the cut weeds into piles. Later, he’d get a secondhand plastic sheet, cover them up, and let them ferment.

“Zhong Di… open the gate,” came his father’s voice as he stepped into the fields. Why was his dad here now?

“Dad, what brings you over?”

“Couldn’t find any work this afternoon. I can’t just sit around, so I thought I’d come see if you needed a hand. With such a big orchard, you can’t manage it all alone,” his father replied in his usual calm tone.

“Dad, you went looking for hauling jobs again? At your age, shouldn’t you know your limits?”

Hearing his father had been looking for work reminded Zhong Di of something his mother had mentioned before; he guessed his dad had gone off to do some loading and unloading.

“Go on with you! Since when do you get to lecture me? I know what I’m doing—just picking up easy jobs. The family needs to eat and drink; if I don’t work, what then?”

As they spoke, father and son strolled into the orchard. Zhong Tian observed the changes with a practiced eye: half-grown chicks running everywhere, fenced-in hens and rabbits, jujube trees looking revitalized—all brimming with new life.

Zhong Tian nodded, approving. So much had changed in so short a time; clearly, his son wasn’t acting on a whim. He didn’t know if this would make money, but as long as his son worked hard, there was hope—even detours weren’t to be feared.

Who hasn’t stumbled in life? All experience is earned, bit by bit.

“You’re raking up grass?” Zhong Tian noted the cut grass lying around.

“Yes, gathering it up. I’d thought to make silage for the chickens, but money’s tight. So I’ll pile it up and let it ferment into green manure—organic fertilizer, basically,” Zhong Di said, raking weeds together with his nine-pronged tool.

“You don’t have to make silage. Buy a few sheep, feed them directly with the fresh grass. The rest, dry and store it—use it as winter feed when the grass is gone. That’s extra income. The sheep manure can be fermented into organic fertilizer too, so you get double the use.”

After listening to Zhong Di, Zhong Tian immediately understood his son’s plan and quickly offered his advice.

Of course! Zhong Di’s eyes lit up. The Northwest’s other great advantage was animal husbandry.

His father, an old farmer, really did have experience and insight.

Sheep farming was big in the Northwest, with large numbers sent inland every year to meet high demand. Of all the counties here, only Shache County’s lamb was famed for its flavor.

That was another advantage—recognition without needing to advertise.

“I’ll look around for you, see if there are any suitable sheep. These days, sheep are expensive—a grown one costs two thousand four or five hundred, even lambs are over a thousand each,” Zhong Tian said, perhaps more talkative with age.

“Then let’s buy lambs—more of them. I still have over thirty thousand; we can get a dozen or so to start with,” Zhong Di suggested, already devising his own plan.

“Alright.”

Though prone to rambling, Zhong Tian never hesitated when it came to action. Decision made, they set to work.

All afternoon, Zhong Di raked the grass, piling it at the eastern edge of the field, where there was plenty of space for it. His father, meanwhile, carried the weed cutter and helped mow. When it came to speed, his father was much faster—while Zhong Di was still raking one field, Zhong Tian had already cleared two.

Clearly, the older generation was still the more efficient at farm work.

“Do you know how to drive the tractor?” his father asked as dusk fell and they were ready to head home, glancing at the machine and evidently thinking ahead.

“Yes, I just bought some diesel and tried it out—no problem,” Zhong Di replied. He knew exactly what his father was getting at. That was family: a few words, and you knew what the other was thinking.

“Good. I’ll come help out when I have time. You need to do this well—don’t let people say the Zhong family can’t produce someone capable,” Zhong Tian said, then prepared to leave.

Judging by his father’s words, there’d been plenty of gossip lately. It was hardly a surprise—a college graduate coming home to farm. People could imagine what was being said.

Who knew why they bothered? Everyone makes their own choices. He just wanted a quieter life, a bit of peace in the countryside—was that so wrong?

“Dad, wait a moment,” Zhong Di called out, watching his father’s slightly hunched figure recede. He was reminded of a work by a great writer, simply titled “Back View.” That feeling was truly hard to put into words.