Traveling Through Those Years Of Farming (Quick Transmigration) - Volume 4 Chapter 16

“Time to eat!” Lin Yu came over carrying a basket. Inside was lunch for Tao Lamei’s group.

The meal was simple. Each person received a cornbread-and-wild-greens mixed grain bun, the size of an adult’s palm—filling but coarse, needing long chewing before any faint sweetness emerged.

Besides the coarse bun, there was a big bowl of muddled porridge. It contained sweet potatoes, corn, chopped greens, and a ladle of yesterday’s leftover rice, which made the porridge thicker and more substantial.

One bowl of porridge, one bun—this was lunch. The men got one extra steamed sweet potato.

Among them, the eldest was Tao Lamei’s husband; the youngest was her little uncle’s son, only eleven. He couldn’t do much work and so received less food. His bun was torn in half and shared among adults who worked the hardest.

“This woman is stingy.” Tao Lamei’s little uncle muttered after taking a sip of porridge.

“Eldest Sister-in-law, talk to her. She can’t just feed us without paying us. Look at how much we’ve been working. Back home, we’d at least get five wen a day.”

But that was before the floods. Now most of their region had suffered disaster. The fields that remained were barely enough for the locals themselves. Landlords with larger fields had more than enough starving farmers willing to work for much lower wages. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have travelled so far to seek out distant relatives.

Here, locals were hostile to outsiders. One hearing their foreign accent was enough—no one would hire them.

“Hmph. They’re narrow-minded! This is discrimination!” Tao Lamei’s husband chimed in angrily. 

So what if they were from somewhere else? They weren’t inferior. If these villagers weren’t so petty, they wouldn’t be forced to work under this shrew Ge Shiyan.

This kind of regional distrust was common in this dynasty. Besides merchants, locals were wary of out-of-towners—especially disaster refugees. No one knew their background, and even if they pocketed a needle or a spoon, it would be enough to make the household fume.

If there were local laborers to choose from, why hire starving strangers?

“That’s right. She must pay us. Women and kids should get at least two wen a day. Men should get one.” The group leaned together, slurping porridge and building up momentum.

They had already learned: Ge Shiyan had eight mu of land to harvest. It was peak farm season. Every household had to finish their own fields first. No one had spare labor. Even if she found someone, the current rates were six wen a day—much more expensive than hiring them.

After two days of steady meals—unsatisfying but filling—their little schemes began sprouting again.

They urged Tao Lamei to confront Ge Shiyan. Though the woman showed no mercy, Tao Lamei was still “family,” after all. Since Ge Shiyan had hired them, surely she didn’t completely look down on the Tao clan.

Tao Lamei was never strong-willed. After being pushed, she felt tempted.

“Yes, Sister-in-law! Tell her that if she won’t pay, we won’t work!”

“Right! No pay, no work!”

Their voices were muffled by porridge, but everyone agreed.

Having made their “firm decision,” Tao Lamei gathered courage and walked toward Ge Shiyan.

“Two people will go dig the drainage ditch this afternoon,” Ge Shiyan said before she even reached her. She sat on a little stool, eating her own lunch while eyeing the group that kept glancing at her. “It’s tougher work. Whoever digs gets to eat meat tonight.”

Meat?!

Everyone stiffened. Since the floods, they hadn’t tasted meat in who-knew-how long.

“Gulp—gulp—”

The sound of swallowing echoed.

“I’m the eldest, the most experienced! Let me do the ditch digging!”

“No! I’m the youngest and strongest! It’s tiring work—big brother, you’re too old for it!”

“Me me me me! I’m only eleven but I want meat!!”

They had just sworn solidarity… now they fought fiercely over the two spots.

As for wages? What wages? Never heard of them.

Compared to money they might not get, meat they could eat tonight was far more real. And knowing how stingy the woman was, she’d probably give only a thumb-sized piece—so they had to fight for it.

Up on the ridge, Ge Shiyan watched them bicker red-faced, calmly eating her lunch—credit hidden, merit unspoken.

While adults harvested the fields, the children didn’t sit idle. It was the season for wild fruits in the hills.

Original-body memories said this was when wild guavas ripened—golden skins, soft sweet flesh. The half-ripe ones were pleasantly sour.

There were also twisted date fruits and wild grapes. The grapes were very sour, mostly picked for fun or for adults to make wine.

Though she worried for her daughter, Ge Shiyan couldn’t keep Baobao indoors forever. And after seeing Baobao and Lin Yu beat the dragon-phoenix twins last time, she knew the girls weren’t easy targets.

So after Baobao begged a few times, she finally allowed the girls to join the village kids again.

That afternoon, the same fruit-picking troop gathered at the mountain foot. After last time, they trusted Baobao completely. Though she wasn’t the oldest, she already had the aura of a little gang leader.

Wherever she pointed, the kids ran to pick.

Today’s harvest was excellent. Baobao even found a rare patch of spiny pear fruit—branches heavy with fruit.

Spiny pear lived up to its name—covered in sharp thorns. The fruit was sour-sweet and crunchy. Kids liked eating it fresh or covered in sugar. Adults used it to infuse wine.

If they brought some home, the adults would praise them for sure—and maybe give them sweet spiny-pear syrup water at night.

This patch was tucked in a sunken area behind dense thorn bushes, so few villagers came here. The fruits were huge and plentiful.

Kids tied their sleeves and pants with grass rope, covered their necks and cheeks with cloth, then shuffled into the thorns carefully.

There were several twisted-date trees nearby too, all loaded with ripe fruit. Kids climbed the short trees fearlessly—falling into soft leaves wasn’t dangerous. Even if they got bonked on the head by falling fruit, they’d cry a bit then climb again.

Lin Yu had climbed up already, steady on a thick branch, putting fruit into her basket. 

Baobao tried climbing but her legs turned to jelly. She suspected the original body was a little afraid of heights. Definitely not because she lacked skill.

Giving up on climbing, she looked for other fruit—and when the thorny area filled, she wandered off.

Ever since realizing the mountain’s overlapping scents interfered with treasure-seeking, Baobao had practiced narrowing her smell range. She’d already scanned the nearby area—nothing valuable left.

So she expanded her smell a little more— and immediately caught a fragrance from the southwest, a hundred times stronger than the fruit scent.

A treasure!

While the others were distracted by fruit, Baobao crept toward the smell.

It wasn’t far—twenty or thirty meters away. She reached the spot and could still hear the kids laughing and shrieking.

She crouched, searching the source.

The grass grew thick here. She wasn’t a botanist, so she couldn’t name every plant—but her nose never lied. Closing her eyes, she focused until she found it.

She stopped in front of a plant with palm-shaped compound leaves—three to five oval, finely serrated leaflets, with some fine hairs. Several clusters grew together, ten or so in all.

A familiar, precious shape.

Ginseng.

So cliché!

She stared at the plant with her tiny hands on her hips. Why did farming novels always have ginseng and wild boars? The world wasn’t made of those two things.

But her face betrayed her. If she disliked the “cliché,” why were her hands already digging?
Why was her grin stretched to her ears?

Getting rich!!

She tried recalling ginseng prices—more leaflets meant older root. So many leaves—didn’t that mean many decades?

Good stuff. In story-world logic, ginseng wasn’t just medicine—it could revive the dying.

She decided not to sell it. She’d keep it. Who knew—maybe someday it would save a life.

Her gold-fingered destiny assured she wouldn’t lack money.

Very pleased with herself, she dug fast—too fast. She broke several fine tendrils. But since it was for their own use, she didn’t care.

The ginseng root was about as thick as two of her little fingers, almost as long as her forearm. Freshly dug, but would shrink after processing. She didn’t know whether this size was considered big or small.

Didn’t matter—it was treasure.

She tucked it into the bottom of her basket and covered it with fruit. Even someone who peeked wouldn’t notice.

She sniffed again—no more treasures. She dusted her muddy hands and ran back toward the thorn patch.

But after just a dozen steps—only ten paces from the thorn bushes—she felt danger.

A surge of hostile intent shot toward her at high speed. In a blink, its source was within one meter.

A beast guarding heavenly treasure?!

No time to dodge. Baobao dropped into a squat, arms over her head.

She waited.

No pain.

Just… something fuzzy brushing her ankle.

She cracked one eye open.

A fat, round tri-colored creature—white, yellow, and brown—was gnawing angrily on her shoe. Cheeks puffed, fur bristling.

A tiny chubby mouse.