Chapter 85: The Scent of Hearth and Smoke

Upon arriving at the orchard, Zhong Di did nothing else but rush straight to the fish pond. The excavation of the fish pond was currently the most important task in the orchard. Although his father was supervising the work, and there was little need to worry, it didn't stop him from wanting to check on the progress himself.

After a round of inquiries and inspection, Zhong Di finally grasped the basic situation of the fish pond. It was designed to be a small pond, forty meters by forty, with the depth adjusted to four and a half meters—a decision his father had arrived at after much deliberation. The excavated soil would be used to raise the surrounding banks, allowing the water depth to be regulated at any time.

The rest of the soil, by his father's plan, would not only be used to heighten the banks but also to repair and widen the central road. Any surplus would be piled onto the homestead, to be used later for building houses or leveling the land.

At the current pace, it would take several days to finish the excavation and repairs; the exact timing depended on progress. Starting tomorrow, more people would be brought in to help out—digging, repairing roads, transporting soil—none of which could be managed by just one or two people.

It wasn't until after nine o'clock that the excavator finally stopped.

Zhong Hua was staying for dinner that night—a customary occurrence. After all, it wouldn't be right to have someone operate the excavator all afternoon and not invite them to dinner.

As they ate, Zhong Di began to consider whether they should build the housing as well.

“Dad, how about this—let’s take this opportunity and build a row of houses on the homestead, just ordinary residences, about twenty square meters each.”

“I get what you mean: since digging the pond will produce so much soil, we might as well build the houses at the same time.”

This was the result of Zhong Di’s careful consideration. He’d consulted his older sister, and according to their accounts, there was still plenty of money. With daily customers, payments from Dongyang, vegetable picking and sales, the funds were more than sufficient.

Moreover, building houses was not something that could be completed in a short time; the initial investment wasn’t much. Things like interior decoration and buying beds could all be handled later.

“Alright, you make the decision. I’ll keep an eye on things over here,” Zhong Tian replied without objection.

After discussing a few concrete details with his father, the plan was settled.

The house they currently lived in had been built for temporary residence and would not affect the overall construction. The new houses would be built behind the current dwelling—a whole row, with the first being a suite reserved for Zhong Di, followed by nine guest rooms, each three and a half meters wide and five meters long. A single row would fit perfectly.

It was the standard single-room residence, suitable for two occupants. A standard double bed, an en-suite bathroom, complemented by a television and table and chairs—just right. The specifics of the interior design would be decided later; first, they would build the houses.

With the arrangements settled, his father would handle contacting suppliers for bricks, cement, and so forth. His father was experienced in these matters—it wasn’t as if they were constructing a large apartment building.

Starting tomorrow, internal renovations would begin. Zhong Di had already explained to his sister that any dining customers should be informed that hardware facilities were being upgraded. If they didn’t mind, they could come; otherwise, it was best to wait until the work was complete.

Monday, August 10th.

That morning, Zhong Di rose early and began attending to various tasks. Everything proceeded in an orderly fashion over the past few days, and aside from occasionally pondering the methods for promoting red dates, he was busy with the excavation and construction.

He didn’t need to supervise every day, but he still lent a hand from time to time. The fish pond was nearly finished, with only the final touch-ups and water filling remaining.

The pond was shaped like a pot lid, deepest at the center and shallower toward the edges. Several platforms had been constructed for casual guests to fish, though these were more for passing the time. For a true fishing experience, Quan Weining’s place was still the best choice.

Initially, Zhong Di planned for a water depth of one meter, gradually increasing it as the fish and shrimp grew. He knew a thing or two about fish farming: deeper water wasn’t always better—what mattered was the right depth.

As for the housing, the foundations were already laid; next would be walling and roofing. Generally, once the foundation was set, the rest was stable.

That day, Zhong Di needed to go into town—not only to pick up a parcel, but also to buy some necessary equipment. Things like water pumps, aerators, and circulation pumps had to be purchased.

There was a small well in the orchard. Usually, water was pumped to the reservoir; after sitting for a while, it could then be pumped into the fish pond.

After finishing his chores and making a list of what he needed, Zhong Di set out.

He headed straight for the open market, which had the widest selection and was the most suitable place to shop. It wasn’t until midday that he’d managed to buy most of what he needed, largely because the items were so varied and miscellaneous.

Running here and there, comparing options, sometimes he couldn’t find the perfect fit, which took up quite a bit of time.

Zhong Di glanced at the car, now loaded with equipment, thinking to himself that this should be enough.

When he got home, he would install the pumps and fill the pond. In a few days, once the fish fry were released, the job would be done.

Looking around the market, he saw many vendors and small businesses, all bustling with life. The open market, whether houses or anything else, was suffused with an air of age and wear, but it was the most lively place around—even the busiest commercial streets couldn’t match its vibrant atmosphere.

Zhong Di understood why: it was simply the human touch. Not only others, but even he liked to wander around here when he had nothing to do.

Those commercial districts were too profit-driven; strolling through them always felt lacking in warmth. It was basically grab your goods, pay, and leave. Bargaining was almost extinct, with everything clearly priced and no haggling allowed.

In the open market, you could even pull up a small stool, sit down, and chat with the vendor.

“Young man, just picked some glutinous corn—would you like to buy some?”

An elderly man, seeing Zhong Di surveying the stalls, asked tentatively. Sellers knew that such customers were potential buyers.

To catch a customer, one usually asked. Out of ten, if one stopped and bought, it was a win—the cost of asking was nothing.

Zhong Di thought for a moment. It was nearly mid-August, and there was still corn around; it must have been planted late, otherwise it wouldn’t have lasted this long.

If it had been planted on time, it would be too tough to eat by now, unless it was picked early and stored in a cold room.

He hadn’t eaten corn in ages. Buying some to cook with glutinous rice and white sugar sounded delightful.

Wow! Looking at it, the corn was indeed fresh, obviously just picked, though its color was rather odd.

“Grandpa, why is your corn black?” he asked, peeling back the leaves and seeing the kernels were black. Zhong Di instinctively recoiled—not because black was bad, but because he’d once been disgusted by a similar incident.