Chapter 71: Preserved in Its Authenticity

The next day, as usual, Zhong Di finished his chores and then, carrying a small native chicken, headed straight for Yang’s Noodle House. He had promised yesterday, after all.

Upon arriving, Zhong Di explained the purpose of the chicken and some of his ideas. At first, Yang Meng found it rather far-fetched—no matter how good a native chicken was, could it really have such an effect? Would people really abandon ordering from the preferred group-buying platform just to eat at a noodle place that only put a little chicken meat in its noodles? The whole thing sounded unbelievable.

Zhong Di, true to his nature, didn’t bother with lengthy explanations. He simply rolled up his sleeves and cooked a meal.

It was right between morning and noon, a quiet time at the shop, so Yang Meng let Zhong Di experiment. When she tasted the noodles he made, everything changed.

A simple bowl of noodles, enriched with chicken broth simmered from native chicken, and basic seasonings—this was all it took. Zhong Di didn’t charge for the chicken; it was just for Yang Meng to try. Later, they could settle at the usual price.

He had done the math: a single chicken could produce enough broth for a thousand bowls of noodles, raising the cost per bowl by only a few cents. Compared to platform fees, it was negligible.

After finishing, Zhong Di returned to the orchard.

“How...how did you manage this?”

“These dates—at least a ton in yield, right?”

“A ton? At least a ton and a half!”

Just as he arrived, Zhong Di heard a commotion. Though the voices varied, they all revolved around his red dates.

He had expected this. Even Shao Hong, who produced alongside him, was amazed, not to mention others—especially those who had actually grown red dates.

If it had been people unfamiliar with date farming, seeing such quantities, they might have simply thought it was impressive but wouldn’t be especially shocked. They had no baseline for comparison.

These people were different. As Zhong Di drew closer, he saw most were locals, some growing red dates, others fragrant pears. Whatever their backgrounds, they all understood red dates, and seeing his crop left them astonished.

“Zhong Di, you’re back. You didn’t use any illegal chemicals on your red dates, did you?”

Uncle Zhang, spotting Zhong Di, slipped out of the crowd, eager to clear up any doubts before the others noticed him—otherwise trouble could easily follow.

“Illegal chemicals? I just followed the green route, didn’t even use gibberellin or brassinosteroids.” Zhong Di thought of the Wild Sand Immortal Bud in his mind, figuring it shouldn’t be an issue.

“Whew, that’s good. I remember when you did two girdling cuts around the trunk—I told you it wouldn’t work. Seems I was outdated in my thinking.”

“But it’s strange, we’ve experimented with girdling, but it didn’t work for us. Maybe we should try two cuts.”

Uncle Zhang mused aloud, as if talking to himself. In his mind, girdling was essential—otherwise, given the vigor of date trees, it simply wouldn’t work. But two cuts, that was a new approach.

“Uncle Zhang, the situations aren’t the same. Look at my orchard—neglected date trees, already weak, so girdling works here. There are reasons behind it.”

A few simple words weren’t enough to fool Uncle Zhang. Fruit set was one thing, but whether the dates could mature smoothly was another.

“Well, it’s an idea. We should experiment. If two cuts don’t work, try three. It’s less damaging to the tree, and every year someone kills their tree by over-girdling.”

As the two spoke, someone else noticed Zhong Di had returned. After a round of debate, Zhong Di finally managed to disperse the crowd.

After the crowd left, a few more people trickled in, but by afternoon, visitors finally dwindled.

“Zhong Di, I’ve brought a few friends. Open up!”

Just as Zhong Di was about to check on the vegetables, he heard Qian Weining’s voice. After several encounters, Zhong Di was already familiar with him.

With Qian Weining’s arrival, Zhong Di put aside his own tasks. A black SUV was parked at the entrance, looking impressive.

Four people in total, all middle-aged, clearly of Qian Weining’s kind: wealthy, with assets, calm, and now spending their days pursuing personal interests.

Unlike others who struggled daily for a living, these men were free from such burdens.

Zhong Di opened the door, then went to the kitchen to prepare cups for Qian Weining and his companions.

“Not bad, getting into the groove. The frontage looks good now—more and more like a proper place,” Qian Weining remarked as he sipped plain water.

“Old Qian, where did you find this place? It has a nice vibe,” another middle-aged man said quietly.

“It’s all about authenticity. Nowadays, picking orchards and farm stays are too modern, lacking real flavor.”

“But the main thing is the food. Wait till you taste it—you’ll be surprised.” Qian Weining smiled mysteriously.

The group chatted, sitting on the chairs Zhong Di had prepared: two folding round tables and some chairs he’d bought specifically for customers to rest.

“By the way, why only plain water? Not even the cheapest brick tea?” Qian Weining asked, holding his cup.

“Uncle Qian, plain water is the best beverage in the world. Have you ever heard of someone getting tired of drinking water?” Zhong Di felt a bit embarrassed seeing the water on the table, always meaning to buy tea but forgetting. On this point, Zhong Di was determined to stick to his guns.

“Fair enough. Anyway, I brought these old friends to have a meal here. Serve us everything you can cook, and charge whatever you see fit!”

Qian Weining didn’t dwell on the topic, heading straight for the point. The old pals rarely gathered, and as they pondered what to eat, Qian Weining thought of Zhong Di’s place.

Kulun City had Dongyang’s restaurants and all sorts of delicacies, but none felt right—none had the atmosphere.

The group came from humble backgrounds; their parents were poor, and since they became wealthy, they longed for the flavors of their childhood. Qian Weining thought this place would fit perfectly.

“All right, we’ll cook, you eat.”

Zhong Di wanted to refuse—he hadn’t prepared the kitchenware he’d promised to buy, and the place was so basic. But on second thought, it was a good opportunity to see what was missing and improve things. Clearly, Qian Weining only cared about the ingredients.

Otherwise, why not eat in a fancy restaurant? They must not care much about hardware.

“Okay, we won’t order. You cook as you see fit.”

“Uncle Qian, uncles, take a look around. If you have any suggestions, let us know. We’ll improve things. When it’s time to eat, I’ll call you.”

The uncles wandered about, picking fresh corn to feed the pigeons and chickens, occasionally pulling weeds for the rabbits...

“Sister, here’s a list. Go shopping in town, and I’ll coordinate things with Shao Hong.”

Inside the house, Zhong Di found a piece of paper and wrote down everything needed—ingredients, grill, charcoal, and so on.

This time, he made sure to write down everything he could think of.

For garnishes, he only wrote cilantro, millet peppers, and scallions; the main dishes would all come from his own garden.

“Okay, I’ll go.” Zhong Hui said and drove off in her electric tricycle.

It was only five or six o’clock; plenty of daylight left. Qian Weining’s mood showed he wasn’t in a hurry.

“Shao Hong, I’ll help you out today. It’s our first time hosting guests...”

Zhong Di preferred prepping ingredients to cooking, so he pushed Shao Hong forward.

“Zhong Di, what am I supposed to cook? With my skill level, will people actually eat it? Don’t mess it up.”

“What’s there to worry about? With our native chicken, you still have doubts?”

“All right, I’ll give it a try,” Shao Hong agreed.

Rice would be the staple; for vegetables, Zhong Di planned to use what was available.

Only bok choy, romaine, lettuce, and cilantro in the garden were barely edible; the rest needed more time.

No matter how little you care about size, you still need something to eat!

While pulling seedlings, Zhong Di was inspired: once the greenhouse was built, he could cultivate sprouts—specialize in producing edible seedlings.

For vegetables, he prepared three stir-fried dishes and one cold salad—the cilantro. Zhong Di didn’t care much for cilantro himself, but that didn’t mean others didn’t love it!

All grown with organic fertilizer, sprayed with Wild Sand Immortal Bud leaf fertilizer, they surely tasted good—Zhong Di was confident.

After finishing the vegetable dishes, he made a cold salad of bitterweed and another of wild amaranth.

Wild amaranth was the common red-rooted pigweed; though considered a weed, it tasted great as a dish with garlic.

When the vegetables were ready, his sister Zhong Hui returned, just in time with the garnishes. A few meat dishes could be cooked later.

“Uncle Qian, dinner’s ready!”

Zhong Di brought the plates of vegetables to the round table and called the uncles.

They ate as more dishes were cooked; otherwise, the earlier stir-fried dishes would cool by the time everything was ready. Although they could be kept warm, the taste wouldn’t be as good.

Eat first, cook more as needed—no problem.

“So soon? All right, brothers, let’s eat!”

Qian Weining put down his hoe and called the others.

“It’s been ages since I felt this relaxed. Today feels great! Just a bit tired—haven’t moved much in so long.”

“You spend so much money at the gym every year. Isn’t that tiring? Not just tiring, but expensive. Private lessons aren’t cheap.”

“That’s true. The air here is better—most primal way to exercise.”

“Come on, let’s eat.”

They gathered at the table. As the covered bowls were uncovered, an unexpectedly rich aroma wafted out, instantly awakening their appetites.

“My goodness, what did you make? It smells incredible!”

Qian Weining swallowed, as if he’d never eaten before. No matter what delicacies he’d tasted, none felt like this.