Chapter 51 Part 1

Li Cunxin led people to put the dry provisions into the storehouse, then took the seven to the construction site to meet everyone. Busy laying bricks, carrying tiles, and mixing mortar, the workers nodded at the seven.

The seven looked at the half-built house, their hearts itching with desire. They couldn’t resist touching the blue bricks out of curiosity. The bricks were hard and rough, grating painfully against their hands.

Most of the people at the construction site were still wearing the summer clothes Jiang Beibei had tailored from linen cloth. Though it was deep autumn, the atmosphere at the construction site was sizzling hot, making one’s blood boil. Everyone’s arms were covered in a layer of hot sweat, their limbs caked with dust. Vigorous strength emanated from their tensed muscles.

The seven, men and women alike, felt as if they were in a stadium, where the blue bricks and roof tiles were millions of spectators. The biting, cold autumn wind howled like a tidal wave of cheers. A strange heroic passion arose within them, their bones itching. They wanted to strip off their coats and jump in, saying to Li Cunxin, “Village Chief, let us help out too.”

Li Cunxin just smiled. “Don’t be in a hurry. You just arrived and must be tired. Rest up today. You can start working with everyone tomorrow.”

Li Cunxin led the group on a tour of the village. They visited the small smelting workshop and the brick and tile kiln, saw the chickens, geese, and piglets raised in the backyard, and took a walk in the fields where winter wheat had just been planted.

Seeing it with their own eyes, the seven savored the experience, only then realizing the gap between the two sides wasn’t slight. They had originally assumed Li Cunxin’s group surpassed them mainly in housing. Who could have imagined they were superior in all aspects? The salt mine and iron mine alone were incomparable. If this continued, who knew how wide the gap between the two sides would grow.

The seven’s hearts surged with emotion, unsure whether they felt more relief or helplessness.

Li Cunxin arranged accommodations for the seven. The men took the rooms vacated by Zhao Penglai and Xu Yin, and by Yu Muyang and Wang Ran. The women stayed in the bamboo rooms previously occupied by Yunxiu and Xia Qing.

The original occupants had long since moved into their own new houses.

Even though the houses hadn’t been fitted with doors and windows yet and had no tables, stools, or beds inside, they still rolled up their straw mats and laid them out to sleep in their new homes. The new houses were spacious and airy, offering a sense of privacy and space. What they valued most, however, was that sense of ceremony. Beautiful, orderly houses propped up their dignity as modern people, somewhat alleviating the desolation of having fallen so low, of having nothing here.

It was precisely this—the first few people eagerly moving out—that stirred fiery enthusiasm in those behind them. They couldn’t wait to get the later houses built. With the addition of the seven new helpers, the project accelerated more and more.

By the time the first snow fell in winter, the houses for Liu Cuo Jin and Jiang Beibei, those for Feng Huai and Miao Bing, and the five-person courtyard for Wen Mi, Di Wanling, Zhou Huan, Ning Yikui, and Bai Ling were all completed.

That wasn’t all. Seeing the group’s eagerness to sleep on the floor just to be in the new house, Li Cunxin didn’t dare let anyone truly sleep on the ground in winter. The cold from the earth was heavy; if someone caught a cold or fever by accident, and with none of them knowing medicine, it would be a headache. She instructed Miao Bing the Bamboo Craftsman and the three Carpenters to quickly make a few beds, no matter how good, as long as they were sleepable. The cotton harvested this year had mostly been made into quilts, given to the newly arrived seven. The little remaining was barely enough to weave some cloth for spring clothes or summer clothes; making winter clothes for everyone was out of the question.

The first snow fell fine and dense, like a white snow curtain. The front and back doors of the Village Chief’s house were closed. A fire burned in a pit on the left side of the room. A few pieces of wood, charred and incomplete, rested on a pile of ash. Crack! A piece of timber, burnt black at the ends and white in the middle, broke apart. A few sparks flew upward.

Li Cunxin grabbed a bundle of straw beside her and tossed it in. What had been only a little red glow immediately ignited into flickering bright flames. Li Cunxin threw in more branches, which emitted a mournful creaking sound as two thick streams of white smoke snaked along the branch tips.

Xia Qing held a branch over the fire. Two potatoes were skewered on its forked twigs, their skins already burnt ash-black.

Xia Qing handed one to Yu Muyang and took one for herself. The two tossed the roasted potato from left hand to right, peeling the skin away in spirals. They dipped it in the pepper salt on a saucer placed on a nearby small stool, took a bite, and breathed out a mouthful of hot air.

Feng Huai couldn’t help muttering, “What’s so good about it?” They had eaten potatoes last winter until they were sick of them. The mere taste brought back the memory of the earthy flavor.

Zhao Penglai laughed. “Too bad there’s no chili powder. Let me tell you, a roasted potato sprinkled with chili powder—nothing could be better.”

Chewing the soft, floury roasted potato, Xia Qing stared blankly at the firelight, its slight salt-and-pepper numbness making her dazed. “I really want french fries.”

Who could have imagined that a tiny patch Li Cunxin had planted would, when matured and pulled up, yield six or seven potato balls at the root? Half an acre of land had produced quite a few potatoes. While not yet at the point of eating them freely, they didn’t have to be so stingy when using them in cooking, hesitating to peel the skins.

Making a snack out of them just this once wasn’t impossible.

But the problem was, they had potatoes, but no oil.

Using that much oil to fry potatoes—let alone Yunxiu being unwilling, Xia Qing herself couldn’t bear to, not to mention that the lard had long been used up. Though they had caught quite a few pigs this year, Zhou Huan wanted to keep them all as breeding stock. Without slaughtering a pig, there was no fat to render into oil. Now, their dishes had no oil or fat. Occasionally, they had rabbit meat hotpot, rendering the fat from the meat, but it didn’t yield even two ounces of oil. Besides, rabbit fat wasn’t as good as lard…

Xia Qing propped her chin on her hand and sighed.

Oil, how they lacked it. Vegetable oil, animal oil, cooking oil, industrial oil.

There was nettle and ramie here—how was it that there was no sesame?

Li Cunxin poked and prodded the bottom of the fire pit with the fire tongs, raking out a few things burnt coal-black, resembling sea urchins. She pulled them close. The objects were like sea urchins, their hard shells covered in spines. She cracked them open with the fire tongs, and hot steam rose.

Inside each shell were roasted chestnuts, burnt through.

Unafraid of the heat, she got the chestnuts out, placed them on a chair, and used her teeth to bite one open, tasting it. The roasted chestnuts had a firm texture, powdery and sweet. She pointed at the chestnuts and said to Yan Baiyu and the others, “They’re cooked.”

Yan Baiyu noticed when Li Cunxin peeled the chestnut shell, the black ash on her hands had smeared onto her lips. Her eyes moved slightly. “You’ve got ash on the corner of your mouth.”

Li Cunxin casually wiped it with her sleeve, smiling. “It’s fine. Plant ash is the cleanest.”

Yan Baiyu took a chestnut to taste. The shell was completely intact, not easy to peel. If you squeezed it from the middle to break it in two, the meat would also break and shrink inside the shell, refusing to come out. She could only peel it little by little, but she hadn’t kept her nails long, so the process wasn’t smooth.

Li Cunxin took the small porcelain knife from Yu Muyang. As she picked up a chestnut to peel, she saw her own pitch-black hands and paused. She got up, pushed the main door open, and went out.

A cold draft from outside rushed in. Yan Baiyu saw a glimpse of the snowy scene beyond the door.

A short while later, Li Cunxin returned, white puffs of breath escaping her as she breathed. She reached out to close the door.

Yunxiu called out, “Hey, don’t close the door! The white smoke from the fire pit is drifting this way—it’s stinging our eyes. Open it, open it.”

On the right side of the room, tables had been pushed together. A candle was lit on the table. A group of people sat around, making dumplings. Li Cunxin guessed that when they were tending the fire on the other side and adding fuel, they’d changed the smoke’s direction.

Li Cunxin had to leave the door open, which brightened the room considerably. She returned to the fire pit, held her now cleanly washed hands over the fire to dry, baking them until the heat stung, before pulling them back. She picked up the washed knife, took a chestnut in her other hand, and began prying the shell.

She was an expert at peeling crabs and equally adept at peeling chestnuts.

Crack—a light sound from the shell, a thin fissure opening. She inserted the porcelain blade into the crack, tearing away the thin membrane clinging to the fruit meat. With a pry, a whole, intact chestnut popped out. Li Cunxin offered it to Yan Baiyu. “Here.”

“You should eat it yourself,” Yan Baiyu said, though she still took the chestnut.

“It’s fine.” Li Cunxin said to Xia Qing, “Bring that empty plate over.”

Li Cunxin took the empty plate Xia Qing handed her and placed it on the stool. The peeled chestnuts went onto the plate. “You all have a taste too. They’re quite sweet even without added sugar.”

The people sitting near the fire rejoiced. For every one she peeled, they ate one.

By the time the chestnuts were all peeled, none remained on the plate. The group was satisfied. Li Cunxin had only tasted the very first one. She clapped her palms and put down the porcelain knife.