In the morning at Zhongnan Mountain, a thin mist wrapped the woods like a soft veil and refused to disperse for a long time. The mountain wind slipped through the trees with the clean scent of pine needles and the damp, rotten smell of fallen leaves, brushing Du Heng’s cheeks with a coolness that felt especially comfortable. He stepped up the slick mountain path little by little, his gaze like a scanner as he carefully swept over every plant along the way… this was not a purposeless stroll, but a systematic resource survey, and every glance carried the anticipation of “finding treasures.”
“That patch over there is shepherd’s purse; the leaves are pinnate, and when it’s tender you can use it as dumpling filling, and when it’s old you can still boil it into vegetable soup; that clump with red stems and thick leaves is purslane, which you can eat as a vegetable and also clear heat and detoxify, and if you get heatstroke in summer, chewing a few leaves works great; that vine by the cliff is wild soybeans… look how plump these pods are, the oil content is high, and later I can press oil from it, and the stalks can even be used as feed…” He muttered softly as he walked, holding a piece of birch bark in his hand and rapidly sketching the plants’ shapes, their growing environment, and what they could be used for with a charcoal stick. With every stroke, his mind simultaneously pulled up the botany and agronomy knowledge he learned in college, as if he were doing a “resource classification question,” clearly marking which ones could be eaten, which ones could be used as medicine, and which ones could serve as industrial raw materials.
Without realizing it, he wandered for most of the day, and the sack on Du Heng’s back was already bulging, stuffed with “spoils of war”: two handfuls of fresh, tender shepherd’s purse, a bundle of plump purslane, half a bag of sweet-and-sour wild berries, a bunch of insect-repelling mugwort, and a small bundle of extremely tough kudzu vine… this kudzu vine was incredibly useful: its fibers could be braided into rope, its roots could be processed into starch, and if you fermented it, you could even brew rich, fragrant kudzu vine wine, making it a true “one-vine, many-uses” treasure.
On the way down the mountain, Du Heng deliberately detoured to the abandoned brick kiln at the west end of the village. The kiln had collapsed years ago and weeds covered the kiln body; it looked broken and shabby, but in Du Heng’s eyes, this place was full of “usable resources.” He squatted down and inspected carefully, picking up several pieces of red earthenware shard with good fire resistance… these could serve as molds for firing pottery; then he dug up half a bag of fine yellow clay… mix it with water and it became a natural adhesive, useful for building stoves and patching clay jars.
“Pottery firing, brickmaking, stove building… now I’ve got all the materials I need.” He cradled the yellow clay and chuckled. “The ancients may not have invented cement, but they had plenty of life wisdom; yellow clay mixed with rice straw is no worse at all in bonding strength!”
By the time he returned to Dujiawa, the sun had already tilted west, dyeing the sky a warm orange-red. Du Heng did not bother to wipe his sweat or rest his feet, and he carried the sack straight toward his family’s half-mu wasteland plot. This land had been abandoned for two years already, the soil compacted like hard iron, and the weeds grew taller than a person; when the wind blew, they rustled loudly, like an unmanaged “kingdom of wild grass.”
He squatted down, grabbed a handful of soil and kneaded it between his fingers as he carefully observed its texture. “There’s a bit too much sand, so water retention is a bit poor, but it’s breathable… perfect for root crops like radishes and Chinese yams, and when I find potato seeds later, I can also try planting potatoes here, and I’m sure I’ll get a good harvest.”
Du Heng spread the birch bark on the ground and used the charcoal stick to sketch the manor’s master plan stroke by stroke. Without modern CAD software and without precise surveying instruments, he relied on visual estimation and pacing, yet he still drew a blueprint with clear functions and reasonable planning, just like a “countryside engineer.”
With the earthen house as the center, he divided this wasteland into three major functional zones, and he marked the purpose of each zone with absolute clarity.
Eastern zone… plantation (about 0.3 mu):
– Near the foot of the mountain, he dug a shallow ditch to divert the spring water down, and then built a water storage pond, which solved the irrigation problem so he would never fear drought again.
– He divided the land into three raised beds: the first bed tried planting wild soybeans and millet, using crop rotation… soybeans fixed nitrogen, while millet consumed nitrogen, and by rotating the two, the soil grew more fertile and yields could also increase; the second bed was dedicated to purslane, shepherd’s purse, and other wild vegetables to domesticate them over time, so he would not need to go into the mountains to gather them every day; the third bed was reserved as an experimental plot, and when he later found tomato and chili seeds, he would try them here first, because even “fantasy crops” were worth testing to see if they could survive in Great Tang.
– Along the ditch, he planted mint and mugwort, which could repel insects and also be used as medicinal herbs; once dried and made into sachets, they might even be sold at the market for money.
Western zone… livestock yard (about 0.2 mu):
– He used cut bamboo to make a frame and kudzu vine as rope to weave a latchable cage door, then built a simple but sturdy chicken coop; the first batch would be ten hens, which could lay eggs and also build up manure.
– Next to the chicken coop, he dug a compost pit and dumped all the chicken manure into it to ferment; once it fully decomposed, it became the best natural fertilizer, perfect for feeding the crops in the plantation and forming a small ecological cycle.
– He reserved space for a pigpen, and when he had money later, he would buy a few piglets to raise… pigs could eat kitchen leftovers and provide meat, and pig manure was also high-quality fertilizer, making the cost-performance ratio extremely high.
Northern zone… workshop area (right behind the house):
– He mixed yellow clay with rice straw to build a double stove: one stove specifically for stir-frying (even though there was no iron wok yet, he would make do with a pottery cauldron for now), while the other stove was for steaming and boiling, which made cooking millet and steaming wild vegetables convenient.
– He set out three pottery crocks: one for pickling vegetables so the wild vegetables he could not finish could be pickled for winter; one for making sauce, on which he planned to rely later to make soy sauce; and one for storing water, to keep the diverted spring water clean and handy.
– He built a drying rack: in summer he could dry wild greens and medicinal herbs, and in winter he could dry cured meat and meat strips, so he would never worry about food spoiling again.
– In a corner, he built a small compost pool and dumped kitchen scraps and field weeds into it; in about three months, it would ferment into fertilizer, which was both eco-friendly and money-saving.
“I’ll try it on a small scale first, and after it works, I’ll slowly expand it and replicate it.” Du Heng muttered softly, because this was the core of modern engineering thinking… MVP (minimum viable product). He did not expect to reach the sky in one step; he only hoped that every step would show results, that he could adjust based on reality, and that he could slowly live a better life.
As soon as he decided, he did it, and Du Heng immediately sprang into action. He first used the newly sharpened iron hoe to clear the weeds in the eastern zone; the weeds were too dense, and with a single hoe swing he could only chop off a few stalks, and blisters quickly formed on his palms, but he clenched his teeth and persisted, thinking of eating vegetables he grew himself and feeling strength surge through his whole body. After clearing the weeds, he used a hemp rope to pull a straight line and drew neat ridges along it, making the plot look as orderly as a chessboard.
Diverting water was the most critical step. Du Heng carefully surveyed along the mountain’s terrain, and finally, about a hundred paces behind the house, he found a seepage crack in the rock, and clear, sweet spring water slowly seeped out. He quickly picked up the iron hoe and dug a shallow ditch, laid a layer of gravel at the bottom to prevent the soil from collapsing, and then pieced together the broken pottery shards he had collected into simple ceramic pipes; he sealed the pipe seams tightly with yellow clay and carefully connected the pipes, and unexpectedly, he really did divert the spring water into the pre-dug water storage pond.
“The ancients may not have invented PVC pipes, but these ceramic pipes work great too!” Du Heng wiped the sweat from his forehead and smiled brightly. “It leaks a bit, but as long as the flow is big enough, a little leakage is nothing, and it can even water the grass next to it.”
Early the next morning, Du Heng took his only three copper coins and ran to the village blacksmith shop to ask the blacksmith to forge a small iron trowel for him… this was a “divine tool” for sowing. Then, using a basket of fresh wild berries, he traded with Uncle Wang next door for a handful of vegetable seeds and half a liter of bean seeds, and Uncle Wang even laughed and said, “Little Heng, if you grow something good, you’ve got to leave your uncle a bit to taste!” Du Heng patted his chest and promised, “Absolutely, absolutely, and when the time comes I’ll treat you to stir-fried greens!”
When it came time to sow, Du Heng did not follow the traditional broadcast-sowing method, but instead used a “dibbling + mulching” approach… he put three beans in each hole, spaced about one chi apart, so the beans had enough room to grow and would not compete for nutrients; after sowing, he covered them with damp grass and pressed down the edges with broken pottery shards to keep the wind from blowing it away. “There’s no plastic film right now, but a grass mulch works the same; it retains moisture and warmth and also suppresses weed growth, and once the beans sprout, I can just lift the grass mulch off.”
The construction of the western-zone chicken coop was also full of clever thought. Du Heng cut several bamboo stalks of uniform thickness to make the frame, and used kudzu vine to weave a mesh-like cage door that allowed ventilation while preventing weasels from sneaking in. The bottom of the coop was lined with a thick layer of dry straw for moisture protection and warmth; a small window was opened on the side for summer ventilation, and in winter it could be blocked with a wooden board, making it especially practical. The ten hens were traded from a hunter’s family outside the village with a basket of his biggest, sweetest wild berries, and the hunter even taught him how to tell whether a hen would lay eggs; Du Heng listened very carefully and filled a whole page of birch-bark notes.
“These chickens can eat the insects and weeds in the field, and they can also lay eggs to supplement my nutrition, and their manure can become fertilizer; they’re basically ‘three-good students’!” Du Heng looked at the clucking hens in the coop, his heart full of anticipation. “When they start laying eggs next month, I’ll have a stable source of protein, and I won’t have to rely only on wild greens to fill my belly anymore.”
The workshop area in the northern zone required the most effort. When Du Heng mixed the mud, he deliberately added chopped rice straw into the yellow clay, so the stove he built would be stronger and less likely to crack. He designed the stove with a dual flue system: the main flue was for stir-frying, and the secondary flue used residual heat to warm water or dry medicinal herbs, wasting no firewood at all. There were not enough pottery crocks at home, so he made small clay jars himself: he kneaded the fine yellow clay evenly, pinched it into a jar shape like playing with modeling clay, left it to air-dry in a cool place for three days, and then put it into a temporary earthen kiln; he slowly fired it with firewood for seven shichen, and although the fired jars had uneven color and looked a bit crooked, they were completely usable for storage.
Du Heng also tried making his first jar of soy sauce: he crushed roasted beans, added coarse salt and spring water, sealed it in a clay jar, and left it to ferment in a cool, well-ventilated place. He made a mark on the jar and said with a smile, “We’ll see the results in three months; if it works, this will be Great Tang’s first bottle of ‘Gezhi soy sauce,’ and when I cook then, it’ll definitely smell amazing!”
Besides that, he used fresh purslane with salt to pickle a small jar of “heat-clearing vegetables,” planning to eat it in summer to relieve heat and make meals more appetizing; he also used wild berries and honey borrowed from Granny A Ruan to brew a jar of wild-berry fruit wine, and although it still tasted a bit sour and astringent right now, he could already smell a faint fruit aroma, and it would definitely taste better after sitting for a while.
Without noticing, seven days passed, and the wasteland courtyard in Dujiawa unexpectedly looked completely renewed, as if it had changed into something else. Neat ridges lay across the ground like a chessboard, chicken calls rang out from the coop, wisps of cooking smoke rose from the stove, and the whole courtyard brimmed with life, no longer the broken, desolate place it used to be. Villagers passing by could not help stopping, pointing into the yard and discussing it. “Look at that kid Xiao Heng… only a few days, and he’s cleaned up the wasteland courtyard this well; could it be he got guidance from an immortal?”
Granny A Ruan came to see him leaning on her cane, and when she saw the changes in the courtyard, her eyes turned red. Holding Du Heng’s hand, she said, “Child, if your father were still alive, he would definitely be proud of you. When he was alive, he often said that although our Du family has fallen, we must not lose our backbone, and now it seems you haven’t let him down.”
Du Heng smiled as he helped Granny A Ruan sit down and handed her a cup of freshly brewed mint tea. “Granny, please don’t praise me; this is what I should do. Tomorrow I’ll treat you to stir-fried greens, using the newly built stove, and later I’ll use the newly brewed soy sauce too, and I guarantee you’ll get a taste of something fresh.”
That night, Du Heng lay on a straw mat, staring at the starlight leaking through the roof, and a clear blueprint had already formed in his heart. “Agricultural improvement is only the first step; when I make soy sauce, cured meat, and sausages, I can carry them to the city to sell, and once I earn money, I can buy an iron wok, press flaxseed oil, and build a glazed kiln… and later I’ll also open a Gezhi Institute to spread modern knowledge, so more people can live better lives.”
He pulled out that half a scroll of Qimin Yaoshu, and in the blank space he wrote a new title: “Du Clan Agricultural and Industrial Records · Volume 1: Manor Planning and Crop-Rotation Experiments,” and he added a note underneath.
“Crop rotation can increase land output by 30%; composting can reduce diseases and insect pests; the chicken coop design can be promoted to the entire village to help everyone increase income; if soy sauce production succeeds, ‘Xiaoyao Tower’ can be opened to drive people’s livelihoods through cuisine…”
Outside the window, gentle moonlight spilled over the newly turned field ridges like a layer of silvery-white satin, beautiful and full of hope. Du Heng knew that this half-mu wasteland plot was not only the foundation that kept him alive, but also the starting point of his change to Great Tang.
And this 14-year-old boy was using his own hands and the knowledge in his mind to cultivate, hoe by hoe and shovel by shovel, chiseling open the gate to the Zhenguan Golden Age and also carving out for himself, in this era, a path filled with infinite possibilities.