Rebirth: Not Being a Waste - Chapter 45

The next day, the two of them don’t rest. Although staying home is nice, it’s better to get some work done outside to keep warm rather than sit around doing nothing.

It isn’t the coldest time of the year yet. Aside from the elderly and children, young people who spend all day indoors with a brazier are laughed at.

By November, most of the farm work in the fields is finished. Other than some cabbage and radishes planted for the winter, the Zhang family also sows a field of autumn potatoes—essentially, late-season potatoes. If planted in July or August, they can be harvested by November.

After Zhang Shu explains this to Li Mujin, the two of them grab their hoes and baskets, ready to head out. However, Grandma Zhang quickly stops them.

“What are you two doing? As the saying goes, even the emperor takes three days off for his wedding! Why not stay home and rest?”

“Grandma, we planted potatoes in the field. We need to dig them up and store them in the cellar before the ground freezes, or it’ll be too hard to harvest them later,” Zhang Shu explains.

“Your grandfather and I can handle it. You two just got married—you should stay home and rest.”

“No need, Grandma. I’m married now, which means I’m an adult. From now on, I’ll be responsible for supporting the family. You and Grandpa shouldn’t have to work so hard anymore. If you have free time, go visit the neighbors and chat. Jin’er and I can take care of this.”

In the village, most people Grandma Zhang’s age have already started enjoying the blessings of their children. Unlike them, Grandma Zhang and Grandpa Zhang are still working in the fields every day despite their age.

“Yes, Grandma, you should rest at home. I’ll help Ah’shu. I’m strong too!” Li Mujin chimes in.

Seeing their determination, Grandma Zhang relents. After they leave, she wipes her tears. These two children are so filial—it warms her heart.

Zhang Shu and Li Mujin walk side by side along the road. Though they don’t hold hands, they chat and laugh the entire way, making some older married couples envious of their closeness.

The land where the potatoes are planted isn’t near the rice fields but at the eastern edge of the village. Only a few families live nearby, and because it’s somewhat isolated, the Zhang family rarely visits.

Since their land is far from the village, difficult to access, and has an irregular shape, they never rent it out. Instead, they use it for low-maintenance crops. After all, who has time to travel back and forth every day just to tend the fields?

The plot isn’t very large—only about two feet long and one foot wide. Grandpa Zhang prepares two ridges of soil, where around fifty or sixty sweet potato plants are growing.

When Zhang Shu and Li Mujin arrive, they find that the plants’ foliage has begun to wither and turn yellow. Since Grandpa Zhang hasn’t watered them recently, the soil has dried out, making the harvest easier.

For autumn potatoes, people usually cut off the tops a day before harvesting, allowing the soil to dry out and making the tubers easier to dig up. Otherwise, the hoe gets clogged with mud, making the work messier and more difficult.

Zhang Shu tells Li Mujin to wait, then takes out a sickle and begins cutting down the dried leaves. The plants haven’t been watered in over ten days, so their stalks are dry enough to be used as kindling.

Once Zhang Shu clears about half the plot, Li Mujin picks up a hoe and starts digging. The ground is firm, requiring several strikes before the first clump of potatoes loosens.

Autumn potatoes aren’t as large as spring ones. They grow in clusters, with the biggest ones about the size of a child’s fist, while the smallest ones are no bigger than the marbles kids play with.

But Li Mujin doesn’t mind. No matter how small, food is still food. Who would look down on it?

He bends down, shakes the dirt off the potatoes, puts them in his basket, and moves on to the next plant.

Zhang Shu works faster, cutting the remaining stalks and piling them aside. As he crouches down, he catches sight of Li Mujin’s slender waist moving rhythmically as he swings the hoe. Sweat rolls down his face, making him look unexpectedly appealing. Zhang Shu feels his heart stir and quickly scolds himself. Feeling tempted while working in the fields? He really is regressing.

To distract himself, he grabs his own hoe and starts digging in another section, hoping to channel his energy into something productive.

To his relief, the method works. By the time he digs halfway, he’s able to think normally again.

“Jin’er, are you tired? Come here—I’ll dig, and you can collect the potatoes. How about that?” Zhang Shu suggests.

Li Mujin has already finished nearly half of his section. He hasn’t worked this hard in a long time and is starting to feel a bit exhausted, so he nods in agreement.

Zhang Shu swings his hoe with renewed vigor. With the two of them working together, the job feels much easier. In less than a morning, they harvest all the potatoes from both plots.

The fifty or sixty potato plants fill up two large baskets. Though the yield isn’t great, everyone knows that autumn potatoes never grow as well as spring ones. Still, they require little effort to cultivate, so it’s not a big loss.

It’s still a little early for lunch.

Zhang Shu thinks for a moment, then turns to Li Mujin. “Jin’er, do you want to roast some potatoes?”

Li Mujin nods naturally. He remembers that when they were young, they would often steal potatoes and taro from home to roast. Even if they were burnt on the outside and raw on the inside, they still ate them with relish. Sometimes, it isn’t about what you eat but who you eat it with.

Zhang Shu tells him to wait before picking out a few large potatoes. Then he gets up and walks toward a nearby house.

Li Mujin squats beside the bamboo basket, carefully selecting the potatoes. He’s reluctant to take the biggest ones, not wanting to waste them, but he also worries that the smallest ones will burn too quickly and become inedible. After some hesitation, he chooses a few that are neither too big nor too small.

A shadow falls over him. Looking up, he sees a bowl of steaming water held out in front of him.

Zhang Shu stands there with a smile, bending down as he hands over the water again. “Are you thirsty? Drink some hot water.” He has specially asked for hot water, knowing it isn’t good to drink cold water in winter.

Li Mujin takes the large coarse porcelain bowl and drinks half of it. He has indeed been a little thirsty, but since this is farmland, unlike the mountains where springs are everywhere, he hasn’t mentioned it. He doesn’t know how Zhang Shu noticed.

He holds out the remaining half-bowl to Zhang Shu’s lips. “Drink some too.”

“I already drank some.”

“Liar. Your lips are dry. You haven’t had a sip.”

“I’ll have some when I return the bowl.” Zhang Shu pauses when he sees Li Mujin pouting at him, as if ready to be upset if he doesn’t drink.

Zhang Shu has never known that a simple pout could tug at his heartstrings. He bends down and drinks the rest of the water from Li Mujin’s hands. Then, taking advantage of his distraction, he quickly pecks him on the lips.

Li Mujin is startled at first. He glances around, and when he sees no one, he leans in and kisses Zhang Shu back. Then he grins triumphantly at the stunned expression on Zhang Shu’s face.

One is squatting, the other bent over, stealing kisses at the edge of the field as if playing a game.

The game ends when Li Mujin’s stomach lets out a loud growl. He has only had a bowl of porridge that morning, and after all the work, how could he not be hungry?

Zhang Shu chuckles, then reaches out to pull him up. Along with the bowl of water, he has borrowed a fire starter from the house. Gathering some branches from the edge of the field, he digs a hole, places the potatoes inside, covers them with dirt, and lights the firewood on top.

At first, there’s a bit of smoke, but soon the flames burn stronger. The two of them sit nearby, enjoying the warmth. Even though they aren’t working anymore, the winter air is still chilly.

Once the fire burns out, Zhang Shu uses a hoe to dig through the ashes and unearth the potatoes. A rich, roasted aroma fills the air.

Using unburned branches, he fishes out the potatoes and places them in a large bowl of water to cool. There are too many for them to finish, so he sets some aside for Pingbo’s grandson—the child had wanted to follow them earlier.

They share several roasted potatoes right there in the field. They taste much better than when they were kids, and the joy of eating them together is just as sweet.

Zhang Shu hands the bowl to Li Mujin, then picks up the two baskets of potatoes—one on his back and one in his arms.

“Put it down! I’ll carry one too!”

“No need. Just hold the bowl and take the hoe and sickle.” Seeing Li Mujin’s disapproving look, Zhang Shu adds, “Be good and listen. Your man is strong! This isn’t tiring for me.”

With that, he quickly walks ahead, too embarrassed to look back at Li Mujin’s expression. Still, calling himself “your man” feels oddly satisfying. Now he understands why the other men in the village like saying it.

Li Mujin follows behind, a faint smile on his lips. Zhang Shu rarely acts this domineering, but when he does, it’s unexpectedly charming.

On their way past Pingbo’s house, they return the bowl and fire starter. Pingbo takes one look at the large baskets Zhang Shu is carrying and teases them.

When they finally get home, Grandma Zhang has already finished cooking. She doesn’t think much of Zhang Shu carrying all the potatoes alone—after all, Grandpa Zhang had done the same in his younger days.

With two large baskets of potatoes in the yard, the family begins discussing how to eat them.

For Grandpa Zhang and Grandma Zhang, the most classic way is to toss a couple into the stove while cooking or boil a few in a pot. It fills the stomach but isn’t particularly delicious.

The best way is to cook them with meat, but meat isn’t something they eat every day.

Some people try stir-frying them, but that often results in a pot of mush—basically pre-chewed potatoes, which aren’t very appetizing.

When Zhang Shu hears the word “mush,” he suddenly remembers a new way to prepare them—something he learned from a tea stall in town.