Chapter Nine: Something Is a Little Different

Under the night sky, a campfire quietly rose, casting a warm glow that pierced the darkness. Zhong Di gathered some dry branches and stacked them nearby, skillfully building a fire, then happily set the oiled rabbit over the flames to roast.

Grilling meat like this required care; you couldn’t simply place it directly over the open fire, especially with such blazing flames—it would burn far too easily. Smoldering coals, on the other hand, allowed for slow roasting, drawing the fat from the meat without issue.

The rabbit, brushed with oil, glistened as it sizzled softly, and before long, the air was thick with the rich aroma of roasting meat. Zhong Di inhaled deeply. The scent was intoxicating—just like his childhood.

A plaintive whimpering, punctuated by a sharp bark, came from the little puppy nearby, clearly unable to contain its longing for the roast rabbit. Zhong Di glanced at it, thinking it was time to give the pup a proper name. “Doggy?” That seemed too ordinary. “Dog son?” The puppy was indeed a male, but that name sounded a bit like an insult—best not.

Perhaps he would name him “Rest of Life,” hoping the pup’s days would be filled with happiness. “Rest of Life… That’s it. From now on, you’ll be called Rest of Life, and you’ll share our family name—Zhong Rest of Life.”

Whether the puppy agreed or not, he was destined to be its father from now on. The name suited the puppy’s role as his “dog son,” yet didn’t sound like a curse.

When the rabbit was nearly ready, Zhong Di took out a small knife, sliced shallow cuts into the meat, and sprinkled salt over it. Rest of Life barked insistently—clearly starving. Zhong Di patted his head, carved a chunk of meat from the hind leg, cut it into smaller pieces, and placed it next to the puppy, who sniffed eagerly before devouring it with delight.

Once Rest of Life had more than enough, Zhong Di dusted the rest of the rabbit with chili powder for himself—a spicier meal was always more satisfying.

After they had both eaten their fill, Zhong Di and Rest of Life sat quietly beside the campfire, savoring the deep tranquility of the night. Insects chirped in harmony with the gentle rush of water; moonlight cast its glow across Zhong Di’s face, and a soft breeze rustled the poplar leaves nearby.

This rural peace was something the city could never offer, and Zhong Di had always cherished it, ever since he was a child.

Only after the third plot was nearly irrigated did Zhong Di move on to the next, finally taking a rest for the night.

At daybreak, he was awakened by the persistent barking of the little puppy, who roused him from bed with its insistent cries. Peering out the window, he saw that dawn had not yet broken.

“You little rascal, waking your father at this hour. I’ll stew you one of these days,” he grumbled, but still rose from bed. His phone showed it was already past six—it wouldn’t be long before sunrise, so there was no point going back to sleep.

“Zhong Di… Zhong Di…” A voice called out for him. He threw on some clothes and stepped out of the small house.

It was his mother, carrying a bag of food. She had brought him breakfast.

“Zhong Di, you must be starving! Eat up.” She bustled into the tiny house, set out bowls and chopsticks, and unpacked the meal she’d prepared: stewed green beans with pork trotters, two vegetable dishes, and pan-fried dumplings as the staple.

The milky broth of the pork trotter soup told Zhong Di it had simmered for hours—likely all through the night. No matter what became of him, his mother’s heart would always hold him dear.

Rest of Life, enticed by the aroma, barked loudly, desperate to make his presence known.

“I found him on the road yesterday—not sure who abandoned him. I thought I’d keep a dog for company,” Zhong Di explained, preempting his mother’s questions.

“I see you’ve been irrigating. Should I have your father take a day off to help you out?” she asked, a hint of concern in her tone. The thought of her son needing a dog for companionship stung her a little.

“No need. I’ve been working in the fields with you both since I was little—there’s nothing I can’t handle. Besides, I’ve learned new methods; I can manage on my own,” he replied firmly, declining the offer. He wasn’t even sure how things would turn out yet, and it would be wasteful to have his father come over at this stage. He’d see how things went before considering further help.

“All right, but if you run into trouble you can’t solve, don’t force yourself—tell the family,” she said, not wanting to dampen his confidence. Still, she decided she’d have his father come by to lend a hand—the sixty-mu jujube orchard was a two-person job, and she doubted Zhong Di could handle it alone.

“I know, I’ll let you know if there’s a problem,” he promised.

“Take this card. The password is your birthday. Inside is your scholarship money and the savings your father and I set aside for your wedding—sixty thousand in all. It’s everything we have. I don’t know what you’re planning, but whatever it is, you’ll need money. Originally, this was for your wedding with Wen Ya, but now it’s all yours.”

“Since you’ve made up your mind, don’t regret it. Give it your best and make something of it. I need to get to work,” she said, setting the card down and leaving.

Holding the card, Zhong Di felt a pang of sorrow. The family had given him all their savings. If he hadn’t broken up with Wen Ya, his mother wouldn’t have handed over this money.

He’d been worrying about how to get started, but now, with some capital, things seemed a little easier—nothing could be done without money. Still, the amount wasn’t much; it wouldn’t last long. Just building a greenhouse would cost at least a hundred thousand—an enormous expense. Most importantly, with no income, the land would produce nothing for now.

It wasn’t like the stories he’d read, where the hero gained some mysterious space or potion and managed to grow fruits and vegetables in days, then sold them for a fortune.

His own abilities felt pitifully weak in comparison. But then, life was never so perfect or miraculous. To have even this bit of good fortune was already a blessing.

As he wrestled with these thoughts, Rest of Life tugged at his pant leg, snapping him from his reverie. The little fellow was starving—it was the time of life for growing. Truth be told, Zhong Di was hungry too; he hadn’t eaten much the night before.

He tossed a chunk of pork trotter to Rest of Life and began to eat. When he finished, he went out to change the irrigation pipes.

He’d already gotten up once in the night to do this, and the first plot was fully irrigated. If all went well, he’d be done in a day and a night. The earliest-irrigated ground had already absorbed the water, though it was still too muddy to tread.

The jujube trees, freshly watered, looked visibly more vibrant—the leaves glistening with life.

Zhong Di wandered among the trees, pondering how to transform the place into a unique picking orchard, to create a farm with character. Wait a minute—the rows in the jujube orchard were six meters apart. That seemed awfully wide, a waste of space.

If he remembered correctly, the extra width was meant to make management easier, but now it appeared that four meters would suffice. After all, jujube trees didn’t grow as tall as apple or pear trees.

Hold on—with such wide spacing, couldn’t he interplant some cash crops?