Traveling Through Those Years Of Farming (Quick Transmigration) - Volume 4 Chapter 18

“Did someone bully you?” Baobao frowned. Something felt wrong.

Ever since Fu Shinian started attending school, he had always been happy. Every night he would excitedly share stories about his new friends at the schoolhouse and recite freshly learned essays and poems. The only thing he was ever sad about was that Baobao couldn’t go study with him. She had never once heard him cry and say he didn’t want to study.

Her first reaction was: this little soft bun must’ve been bullied.

Someone dared bully her person? She wasn’t even done bullying him herself—how could someone else?

Baobao looked at her own thin arms and legs and swallowed back her fierce declaration. She probably couldn’t beat whoever bullied Fu Shinian.

But she had reinforcements…

She glanced at her bulging cloth pouch. Later she could shut the door and release her mouse—let the little fat thing chew through the bully’s shoe. Very vicious.

“Mother said… there was a scholar… and then they all died…” Fu Shinian shivered. He was so nervous he even hiccupped.

“Scholars… all died?” Not only Baobao—Lin Yu, listening from the side, was stunned.

This made no sense.

Seeing their confused faces, Fu Shinian forced himself to retell the ghost stories his mother had told him.

“You see? The scholars… they all died in the end…”

QAQ He didn’t want to be a scholar anymore.

After hearing his retelling, Baobao felt a bit embarrassed on his behalf—but she couldn’t show it.

“It’s okay.” Baobao tiptoed and patted his shoulder. “Everyone dies, you know. Last year Dog Egg’s grandfather died. And the year before that Granny Chunshan and Xiaoping’s mother died. Not only scholars.”

She spoke earnestly. “Besides, your teacher is still alive. And adults say all officials were scholars once too. They’re alive, aren’t they?”

“That’s right…” Fu Shinian tilted his head, thought for a moment, and brightened up.

“Then I probably won’t die strangely. I want to die of old age.”

He really liked studying. Because Mother said if he studied well and passed exams in the future, she and Baobao wouldn’t have to worry about Big Brother’s family bullying them. Fu Shinian wanted to protect the people he cared about. So he had long made a silent vow to study hard.

“Mm, you’ll die of old age.” Baobao’s arm was tired, so she switched to patting him with the other one. She looked pleased.

“Hahaha!” Lin Yu couldn’t help it anymore. She held her stomach and burst out laughing.

These two children were too funny—especially Fu Shinian. Aside from sharing a face with the cold, expressionless youth she remembered, everything else was completely different.

This world really had changed.

It was brighter, happier.

Good. Truly good.

Because Ge Shiyan went out in the afternoon, dinner was later than usual. Besides two plates of blanched greens, she made a bowl of sour pickled cabbage stewed with pork and glass noodles.

Her cooking wasn’t particularly good. The pickled vegetables she made were fine with porridge, but pairing them with pork without overwhelming the meat’s fragrance was another matter.

Still, the village had plenty of women who made delicious pickled cabbage. So she traded a chicken egg for a big bowl of good pickled vegetables.

The pork belly had been bought early that morning—mostly fatty meat, top-quality belly cuts. In this era pigs ate natural feed, with no additives. The fat was a clean white, and the lean meat was pink and fresh.

When she tossed the pork belly into the pot and fried it until fragrant, the aroma drifted out through the kitchen window. Even though Baobao and the others had stuffed themselves with wild fruit earlier, they still swallowed their saliva.

Ge Shiyan liked adding half a bowl of the pickling liquid into the stew. This made her sour-pork-glass-noodle dish much sourer than others’, but it cut through the oil perfectly and increased everyone’s appetite. Whenever this dish was on the table, not only did the noodles vanish, they even ate several extra bowls of rice.

“Time to eat. You three start first.” She brought the big bowl of stew out and went back into the kitchen.

She still had to bring dinner to those free laborers.

Earlier she had promised that whoever dug the irrigation ditch would get extra meat at dinner. So the stingy Ge Shiyan carefully picked through the pot, scooping out two small bowls of sour pork and noodles.

They were mostly noodles and cabbage, with only a few slices of pork—but meat was meat.

She covered all the bowls and walked slowly toward the fields. The workers were starving by now. They didn’t dare enter the village because she had already warned locals to keep them out—she was afraid they’d try to snatch Baobao away. And since they depended on her for food, they were terrified of offending her.

Fortunately, she finally arrived.

“Here. Extra reward for digging the ditch.”

The ones chosen were Tao Lamei’s husband and her younger brother-in-law—the only fit young men.

The moment they saw the oily pork slices, their eyes nearly bulged out. The usual corn buns and blanched greens didn’t even enter their vision.

“Work hard. You’ll get meat. Wages will come eventually too.”

After a few days of observation, she found them still manageable. Time to dangle a bone in front of them.

Meat! Wages! They were energized instantly.

“Don’t worry! We’ll work hard!”

“Yeah! We’re all experienced farmhands!”

One vague promise and they practically treated her as a living Bodhisattva.

Ge Shiyan left them with the food and walked away gracefully.

Meanwhile, Fu Dayan had just missed her. He had left the fields moments before she arrived. He was exhausted these days—not only did he help his eldest son tend their five mu of land, but he also faithfully helped Ge Shiyan out of guilt.

When he heard she had hired those troublesome Tao relatives, he worried even more. How could she trust such people? What if they sabotaged her?

So he checked on them daily, advising and warning them whenever they slacked.

He split his time carefully:
— mornings helping the eldest son
— afternoons working for Ge Shiyan
— evenings dragging himself home

He thought this was fair. Although the family was divided, he was still their father.

When he returned home, it was quiet.

Wasn’t it dinnertime?

The east wing—his eldest son’s room—had its lamp lit. Candlelight flickered behind the window.

“Father, you’re home,” the couple said as they emerged.

“You’re late today. The two children were starving and crying. We had no choice but to eat first. Your meal’s warming on the stove. Tonight, you’ll have to eat alone.”

Though Ma Meifang was smiling, Fu Dayan felt a chill.

“Our bowls are already washed. When you finish eating, please wash yours too.” Then she shut the door in his face.

He stood in the courtyard for a long time. Only when his legs felt numb did he quietly put away his tools.

Before, the tool basket held three hoes—his, Ge Shiyan’s, and the eldest son’s. Now there were only two. One had been taken away during the division.

“Sigh—” A wave of loneliness hit him.

He went to the kitchen. The fire had long gone out. His “warmed” meal was a bowl of lukewarm porridge and two cold, hard steamed buns.

He sat alone in the dim hall, eating mechanically.

“Sigh—” Another sigh.

Perhaps the children really were crying earlier. He didn’t want to believe this was deliberate coldness from his eldest son and daughter-in-law.

Back at Ge Shiyan’s house, the atmosphere was completely different.

They chattered happily over dinner every night. Daytime kept them all busy—so dinner was when they shared stories.

Fu Shinian spoke the most, recounting schoolhouse stories and reciting the day’s lessons with dramatic flair.

Baobao always clapped and showered him with praise.

“Wow! You’re amazing! That poem was so long!”

“You’re incredible! Your reading is beautiful!”

“I knew you were the best!”

Every compliment made Fu Shinian puff up like a proud shrimp—chin up, cheeks red, pretending to be modest while radiating smug joy.

Lin Yu spoke little, but even she had unknowingly changed—she now laughed freely and occasionally joined the conversation. She truly felt like a seven-year-old child living in a warm home.

Tonight’s dinner was late. Perhaps because of hunger, they all cleaned their bowls.

While clearing the dishes, Ge Shiyan noticed something: Baobao tore off small chunks of steamed bun and slipped them into her pocket.

She didn’t confront her, only observed for days.

Every single meal, Baobao hid food. Sometimes she sneaked into the kitchen, climbed on a stool, and stole leftovers from the cupboard.

Eventually Ge Shiyan couldn’t hold back and followed her.

Baobao snuck half a bun from the kitchen and returned to her room happily. She forgot to close the door.

She plopped onto the floor, stuck her bottom up, crawled under the bed, and dragged out a wooden box.

“Zhi zhi zhi—!”

Something inside squeaked with excitement.

“Time to eat!”

Baobao tore the bun into pieces. The tiny creature devoured them quickly. Soon the bun was gone and it clung to the box edge, squeaking for more.

“Wait, wait. I’ll feed you carrot.”

She pulled out a long yellowish-brown root—a ginseng—and tore off a single thin tendril. The moment the creature saw it, it went wild, kicking its hind legs in excitement.

Its name was Sanhua. Baobao named it that for its three-colored fur—white, yellow, and brown. Like a calico cat—but a calico mouse.

Sanhua actually had a bit of intelligence. It had lived its whole life guarding a certain ginseng. Instinct told it the older the ginseng grew, the better it would be—so it waited and waited, day after day.

Until one day it went out to find fruit—and a “giant beast” (Baobao) dug up its treasure.

Sanhua was furious and attacked bravely.

The rest didn’t need repeating. Sanhua believed it had intimidated the “giant beast.” Now it was fed daily, sometimes even with ginseng.

It was very satisfied with this luxurious lifestyle.

“This is… a mouse…” Ge Shiyan never expected her daughter’s strange behavior came from secretly raising a mouse.

When Baobao heard her, she acted startled—exactly as planned.

“Mother!”

She quickly stood up and blocked the box, looking guilty.

“Mother…”

The first “Mother” was loud. The second was weak and timid.

Country folk raised cats and dogs—never mice. Mice were dirty. So Baobao put on her most pitiful expression.

“This… mouse… does look quite nice…”

Ge Shiyan had intended to scold her and tell her to throw the mouse out, but seeing Baobao’s eyes turn watery, the words stuck in her throat.

Up close, the mouse really did look cute. Rural mice were usually black or brown, rarely a clean three-color coat. And it was round, clean, and oddly endearing.

If Baobao liked it, maybe they could keep it.

Just as she was about to speak, her eyes fell on the thing in Baobao’s hand.

She had called it a “carrot.”

Ge Shiyan’s eyes widened. Hand to chest.

This wasn’t a carrot.

This was ginseng.

And Baobao was feeding ginseng to the fat mouse.

Her heart almost stopped.

“Baobao, where did you dig that up?” Her voice trembled.

“You mean this carrot?” Baobao lifted the ginseng innocently.

“Sanhua told me to dig it up. Mother, I named it Sanhua!”

Baobao clearly didn’t care about the ginseng at all—she wanted to brag about the mouse.

“Sanhua really loves these carrots. But I searched and searched and couldn’t find any others like it. So I only feed a teeny bit each time.”

A “teeny bit”—barely half a centimeter.

For a ginseng covered in long tendrils, that was indeed tiny.

“Sanhua is great at finding things! It even helped me dig up that box in the old house. And that stone—it really liked that stone.” Baobao whistled casually.

“The wooden box… the stone…” Ge Shiyan repeated softly. Wasn’t that the stash of private savings—and the jade?

So it was this fat mouse that had led Baobao to all of it?

She felt like lightning struck her.

“This isn’t a mouse… it’s a treasure-seeking mouse!”

She stared at the chubby creature, butt sticking up as it chewed its ginseng. The more she looked, the more she felt this mouse was extraordinary—almost glowing.

Yes, yes!

Baobao nodded inwardly.

If only Mother knew—it wasn’t just a treasure-seeking mouse. It was her scapegoat mouse.

From now on, whenever Baobao found treasure, Sanhua the treasure mouse would take all the credit.