Song Tan’s Chronicle - Chapter 85

In the pitch-black night, the bright stars twinkled above. Though the once smooth village roads were now rugged, the country folk were used to walking such paths without issue.

The siblings, accompanied by King, walked quietly along, the occasional chirping of insects the only sound around them.

Qiao Qiao blew a bubble the size of a fist and turned excitedly to Song Tan, crossing his eyes to focus on the bubble, calling out for her to see. Even King curiously sniffed at it.

“Pop!”

The bubble burst, sticking to his lips, cheeks, and nose. He had to rub it off for a while, looking quite dejected as he spat out the remaining gum.

Song Tan couldn’t help but laugh.

“Qiao Qiao,” she remembered, “Weren’t you buying the bubble gum for Brother Yanping? Why did you open it first?”

Qiao Qiao replied confidently, “Brother didn’t work hard, so he doesn’t get much. If he weeds faster than me tomorrow, he can earn a piece.”

Song Tan: …

That bubble gum was turning out to be incredibly valuable.

…

Zhang Yanping probably hadn’t had bubble gum in twenty years. He studied diligently, competed fiercely, graduated from a prestigious university… and now he was farming in the mountains for a piece of bubble gum.

Ahead, his uncle Song Sancheng swung his hoe effortlessly, turning the hard soil as if it were pastry, carving out a deep trench.

Meanwhile, Zhang Yanping struggled on the other side, barely making a meter of progress while being told it wasn’t deep enough. His uncle had already dug out ten meters!

Frustrated, he video-called his mom.

“Mom, look at me. Look at what your son is doing. Don’t you feel sorry for me?”

His mom, Wu Fang, was thrilled. “Oh my! Son, going to the village was a good idea. Look at how fair your skin is now, and your dark circles are gone!”

Impossible.

Zhang Yanping didn’t believe it. Sure, he’d been working hard during the day, sleeping early and eating well at night… but this was only his third morning in the village.

He flipped the camera to see himself.

Oh, it’s just that my phone’s camera is so good; it even has a beauty filter.

He sighed, “Mom, that’s just the camera filter.”

“What filter?” Wu Fang shot back, “When you used to filter your photos, your dark circles were still visible.”

“No wonder no one at the wholesale market wanted to set you up with a date. You never worked hard, had no future, and looked sickly!”

A full-scale verbal beatdown.

Spotting someone coming to buy fruit, Wu Fang quickly dismissed him, “Son, work hard. Tell your aunt to cook more good food for you. Look how skinny you’ve gotten…”

“Beep—” The call ended.

Zhang Yanping, having no one else to turn to, glanced back to see his uncle had already dug a large trench!

Resigned, he picked up his hoe and continued working.

Seeing the pile of wild roses with their sprawling roots, he knew it was easier to dig trenches than holes for planting.

He thought, If I’d known I’d be planting these flowers myself, I would’ve insisted on using a thorny wire fence.

Next to him, a silent man hammered large branches into the ground to support the fence. Zhang Yanping looked at his own soft arms and legs and thought, Maybe I should have just pulled weeds!

…

The Chinese milk vetch was about to bloom. Several flower fields were filled with buds ready to open.

With a few blooms, they could still be stir-fried. But once fully bloomed, the vegetables would be too old to sell.

This timing was within Song Tan’s plan, and she calmly picked an extra fifty pounds that morning.

At the market, the aunts surrounded her.

Qiao Qiao earnestly announced, “It’s almost gone. If you want to pickle them, start now.”

As the temperature rose, everyone knew the milk vetch wouldn’t last long. They weren’t upset, just curious about what would come next.

“What will you sell next?” they asked.

Song Tan thought, “The cabbage grows quickly. In half a month, I’ll have cabbage. Until then, I’ll sell the milk vetch as long as it lasts.”

As the aunts left with their purchases, the vegetable seller next door sighed, looking at his dwindling stock of cucumbers and tomatoes. “Good thing you only sell one type. Otherwise, we’d all be out of business.”

“Don’t say that,” Song Tan replied. “How much can I grow alone? Once I run out, they’ll buy from you.”

The vendor rolled his eyes. “You bring in a few baskets of grass, and people think they own a ranch.”

Just then, a group of middle-aged men appeared, peeking and whispering.

The vendor became wary. “I know the old man leading them; he’s bought from you. Who are the others?”

Song Tan glanced over, not recognizing them. “Maybe they’re here to buy vegetables.”

She looked at her empty baskets. “I should have brought more today.”

The vendor nearly rolled his eyes again. “You bring baskets of grass, and people think they’re running a ranch.”

The men approached, hesitating and muttering.

“This is the place?”

“Yeah, she has the good stuff.”

“It’s expensive…”

“Worth it. Once you taste it, you’re hooked…”

They stood there, conflicted and indecisive, not daring to ask directly. After all, a thousand yuan for an ounce was steep.

Finally, Old Sun spoke up. “Miss, still selling?”

Song Tan remembered him from yesterday. Her tea really was worth the high price!

“Selling,” she replied, smiling.

Before they could get excited, she added, “But no more small sales. No more ounces.”

Their hearts sank. A thousand yuan for an ounce was one thing; ten thousand yuan per pound sounded astronomical!

Such a price would make their pensions cry.