Chapter Forty: Could It Be Theology?

Shao Hong arrived earlier than usual today. Even before dawn fully broke, the two of them had already finished the chores. It wasn’t until eight o’clock in the morning that Dad showed up at the orchard, bringing along two uncles. At the pace they’d set yesterday, the sheep pen would be complete by the end of the day.

“Zhong Di, are the chickens in your orchard for sale?” Zhong Tian asked, eyeing the birds in the coop.

Chickens raised at home naturally wouldn’t come cheap, but since someone had asked, it was only right to check.

“The big chickens aren’t for sale, but I can sell you some chicks. The price is steep, though—one hundred and fifty each.” Zhong Di considered for a moment before adding, “Or by weight—eighty per kilo.”

These days, each chick had grown to about a kilo and a half. With eggs selling for a hundred per kilo, the chicken itself couldn’t go for less than fifty. And that’s with using the wild immortelle sparingly; with more, the price would be even higher.

Once the chickens matured, they’d lay an egg every two days, so in a month, that’s about a kilo of eggs. No matter how you calculated it, the price wasn’t unreasonable.

“What, eighty a kilo?” Zhong Tian was startled. Regular chicken cost a little over ten per kilo; even the best free-range birds rarely fetched more than forty.

“That’s right. Our eggs go for a hundred per kilo. And these aren’t just any chickens—I’m targeting the high-end market,” Zhong Di explained. He’d chosen this path from the beginning. If he hadn’t discovered the wild immortelle, he might have gone for the mid-range market, but now, only the top tier would do.

“It’s just that your Uncle Li’s daughter-in-law just had a baby, and she’s low on milk. Somehow, she heard we raise free-range chickens and wants to buy two to try.”

“Uncle Li Lu’s father? The same uncle who used to buy me candy when I was little?” Zhong Di asked, recognizing the name—an old friend of the family, though they’d lost touch after his family moved to Lingjing Village.

“Yes, that’s him. Their family’s always done well for themselves and they’ve helped us out more than once.” If it were just his own son’s chickens, Zhong Tian would have given them away without thinking.

“Then there’s no need to talk about money. Dad, when you head back this afternoon, take two of the biggest ones with you,” Zhong Di said. A favor for a friend—and a good uncle at that.

“Alright, I’ll grab two this afternoon.”

With that settled, Zhong Tian, the two uncles, and Shao Hong got back to building the sheep pen, while Zhong Di busied himself with odd jobs until noon, when he finally took a break.

After lunch, Shao Hong rested for a bit, and Zhong Di began researching in earnest. The Baicao Garden project needed to pick up speed.

After studying various materials and combining them with the conditions of his own orchard, Zhong Di quickly formed a plan in his mind. The ground was mostly sandy with little clay, and there were patches of saline-alkali soil—typical traits of the northwestern plains. Of course, there was some clay and even a bit of black earth, but in small proportion.

He first considered medicinal herbs native to the region, like licorice and goji berry, but that alone wouldn’t impress anyone. The garden needed something rare and impressive-sounding, especially since his formula was a secret. Who could say what he’d added?

Most so-called medicinal-feed chickens were fed things like poria, ligusticum, and peony root. With that in mind, Zhong Di began to jot down a list of herbs to plant.

Licorice and goji berry were essentials—mild in nature, safe in almost any amount unless consumed excessively. Both were common in the northwest and suited to sandy soil; goji berries were shrubs, licorice was a root crop, and neither would die in winter. The shelterbelts and northern sandy patches would be ideal for planting them.

Sour jujube could also be considered, but there was no need to plant it—wild saplings that hadn’t been grafted thrived everywhere. Next, he chose herbs like peony, honeysuckle, and balloon flower—plants that were both medicinal and beautiful in bloom.

Lastly, there were isatis root, dandelion, saposhnikovia, bupleurum, white thorn fruit, kochia, cogongrass root, belamcanda, astragalus, sophora root, glehnia, wild melon, and bitter bean. The more variety, the better—it didn’t need to be a true hundred-herb garden, but it should at least look the part. Any weeds that sprouted could be left for now, with more varieties added later.

Once he finalized his list, Zhong Di headed to town and bought as many of the listed medicinal herbs as he could, spending a tidy sum. He then bought all the medicinal seeds available in Shache County; for the rest, he’d have to order online and wait for delivery.

By the time all this was done, it was already eight o’clock. Zhong Di returned to the orchard.

“Back already? The sheep pen’s finished—come take a look,” Shao Hong said, helping to unload supplies.

Zhong Di grinned, “You must be exhausted. Tonight, I’ll cook chicken—we’ll have a proper meal to make up for it.”

The sheep pen stretched a full forty meters along the eastern boundary and was ten meters wide—plenty of space for dozens of sheep, or even twice that number. The troughs and water basins were all in place; it was clear the job had been done with care.

There were big sheep and lambs, some ewes with their young, and a few solitary ones that looked rather forlorn.

“Looks great. Dad, uncles, stay and have dinner with us—try our pure free-range chicken,” Zhong Di offered. The sheep pen had turned out so well that the least he could do was invite them for a meal.

“It’s getting late, we should be heading home,” one uncle declined politely. After all, with chicken at eighty per kilo, even eating a kilo or two at dinner seemed excessive for someone just paid for a day’s work.

“Stay and eat. You’ve worked hard, and the pay I’m giving you doesn’t really match the effort,” Zhong Tian pressed.

Seeing they couldn’t refuse, the two uncles agreed. Zhong Di picked out three chickens and began prepping them. His culinary skills were average, limited to home-style dishes, but the quality of the chicken more than made up for it.

He didn’t bother with elaborate techniques to remove any gaminess; he simply stir-fried the chicken with a few basic ingredients. True quality ingredients never needed much embellishment.

Dinner was ready in no time, served with rice. Zhong Di wasn’t particularly fond of rice himself, but with company, it was the most convenient choice.

“This chicken is incredible—I’ve never tasted anything like it,” the uncles exclaimed as soon as they started eating.

“No wonder you charge so much,” they added.

Zhong Tian simply smiled, saying nothing. It was a genuine pleasure to see his son’s efforts acknowledged—far more satisfying than making money.

After dinner, Dad left with two chickens, accompanied by the uncles.

With the sheep pen finished, the orchard was basically complete. The rest—replacing trees, fine-tuning—could be done gradually; there was no rush.

“Zhong Di, what are you doing?” Shao Hong asked, puzzled as he watched Zhong Di place eggs on the high slope. Was there some secret ritual to raising chickens? Could this be the secret behind the delicious eggs?

“I have an agreement with the weasel—it can take a few eggs each day as long as it leaves my chickens alone,” Zhong Di replied, once they were back indoors.

Shao Hong was speechless. This wasn’t superstition anymore—this was almost supernatural.

“Tonight, duo queue with me—carry me to a chicken dinner,” Zhong Di said, eyes sparkling. For all his brawn, Shao Hong had nimble fingers—he was the best player in their dorm.

“No way, I do better solo,” Shao Hong protested, remembering all too well how Zhong Di could drag him down.

“But what’s the fun in that? Isn’t it more satisfying to win together? I’ve been practicing, you know—my skills have improved a lot,” Zhong Di insisted.

“Alright, let’s give it a try.” Seeing how serious Zhong Di was, Shao Hong relented. Who knew—after all, with sky-high egg and chicken prices, perhaps Zhong Di had stumbled onto something extraordinary, maybe even in gaming.

Ten minutes later, Shao Hong quit the game.

“What’s the matter? We were playing so well just now—totally outplayed the enemy!” Zhong Di was excited; clearly, playing with Shao Hong was a wise choice.

“I... I just don’t want to play anymore.” It took him a moment to get the words out. The frustration was something only those who’d been there could understand.

“You’re such a killjoy.”

Knock, knock.

Just as Zhong Di considered starting another game, there was a commotion outside.

Woof woof... bark!

Yusheng joined in, barking at the noise.

“There’s something outside,” Shao Hong said, immediately sitting up from his bunk—the same arrangement they’d had back at school, with Zhong Di on the bottom and Shao Hong on top.

“No need to worry, it’s just the weasel coming for its eggs. Yusheng, come in,” Zhong Di explained, calling the dog.

Yusheng obeyed, trotting over to Zhong Di with a couple of barks before curling up in his little bed.

“This is too weird,” Shao Hong muttered, shaking his head. First a pact with a weasel, now a puppy trained so well—none of this seemed normal.

“You’ll get used to it after a couple of days. Life in the fields is like this.”

“By the way, once things settle down, let’s go fishing or something. Take some snacks, drinks, maybe have afternoon tea,” Zhong Di offered, realizing there wasn’t much entertainment out here.

“These days, everyone’s expected to work nine to nine, six days a week, with a wolfish drive. You can’t just laze around like this. If you don’t work hard when you’re young, you’ll suffer when you’re old,” Shao Hong replied, echoing their boss’s frequent admonition. He had a point—making money was important, especially to give his mother a good life. Zhong Di’s way wouldn’t get them rich.

“And what’s the point of the eight-hour workday the last generation fought for?” Zhong Di countered. “Work is meant to serve life—not the other way around. If you lose your life to work, what’s the point? Are we just money-making machines?”

“Fine, you win,” Shao Hong conceded, flopping onto his bunk and opening his favorite web novel site. He decided to read some urban farming stories—maybe they’d give him some inspiration.

With the interruption, Zhong Di lost interest in gaming. He closed the game, opened his chat app, and started replying to messages.