Ever since the two of them cleared things up, their relationship had become even more harmonious. Most likely Yun Dahai had already explained everything to Yun Da-niang; at first she would still stare blankly at Yun Xi from time to time, but gradually she fully accepted this new “Yun Xi.”
Yun Dahai liked to consult Yun Xi about almost everything, because he felt she seemed to know even more than he did. Their relationship no longer resembled father and daughter, but more like friends—kindred spirits. The two often sat together discussing things enthusiastically, to the point where Yun Da-niang sometimes felt jealous.
“Xier, the sweet potatoes on the mountain are basically all dug up. Judging by the quantity, there should be no problem getting through the winter. About the pit-storage method you mentioned last time—I’ve already had people dig the cellar. How should the sweet potatoes be placed inside? Are there any special requirements?”
It was as if Yun Xi had become his encyclopedia—he asked her about everything.
Yun Xi dug through the agricultural knowledge in her mind. Fortunately, her former profession involved such things, or she truly would have been at a loss.
“Let me think… First, line the bottom and the walls of the cellar with dry straw. Then place the sweet potatoes inside. Use a woven bamboo tube as an air vent—stand it upright from the cellar bottom to the top for ventilation. Don’t fill the cellar too full. Cover the sweet potatoes with straw.
“At the top of the cellar, use bamboo or wooden slats to build an arched frame or an inverted-V shape, cover it with straw, and then with soil.
“Leave two small ventilation windows on the sides of the top.
“And dig drainage ditches around the cellar to prevent rainwater from flowing in.”
Yun Xi recited the entire sweet-potato cellaring method as if reading from a manual.
Yun Dahai nodded continuously as he listened, even taking up a brush to write everything down.
“Xier, about that schooling idea you mentioned—I’ve discussed it with the villagers. Most of them agree to send their children to learn characters. A few families still don’t agree, but I’ll talk to them again later.
“Where do you think the lessons should be held? I think the ancestral hall would work. There are two rooms—you can use those. It will shield everyone from wind and rain. As the weather gets colder, you can’t be teaching outside and freezing.”
Yun Xi nodded. Education had to start young—in modern times this was basic knowledge, but here it was a challenge. Still, even if she couldn’t make the entire village wealthy, she had confidence she could improve their living conditions.
The next morning, as planned, Yun Xi arrived early at the ancestral hall. Following her earlier instructions, one of the rooms had already been outfitted with simple wooden tables and stools.
“Simple” was an understatement: long planks nailed to two supports served as long tables for several children, and the stools were just shorter versions of the same structure. On one wall hung a blackboard—a wooden board painted dark.
That was their temporary classroom.
Yun Xi gave a wry smile; the conditions were extremely rough—modern mountain schools were hundreds of times better than this.
Children began trickling in. Because there were no clocks, Yun Xi told them to arrive during chen hour (roughly 7–9 a.m.), and again during wei hour in the afternoon (1–3 p.m.).
Yun Xi planned to start with teaching numbers. In this era, people still counted by tying knots in ropes—each knot representing one unit or event.
She remembered a line from a Song-dynasty text:
“The Tartars have no writing. Whenever they mobilize troops, they tie knots in grass ropes to convey the number.”
This knot-counting method had long been used among illiterate people in ancient China.
Among the children, Yun Xi only recognized one person—Yun Lu.
He was one of the older children, and his family had initially not wanted him to attend. But Yun Lu insisted; he was determined to learn to read so he wouldn’t be looked down upon by his little sister Yun Xi.
To teach effectively, Yun Xi racked her brain and created a beginner’s booklet containing numbers, characters, and pictures. Anyone seeing it would probably exclaim in shock—it looked like a simplified primary-school textbook from modern times.
Yun Xi distributed the booklets and began teaching everyone according to the contents.
She didn’t copy modern education blindly; she knew she had to align it with this era’s reality. Otherwise, teaching things that had no relevance here would be meaningless.
She wasn’t strong enough yet to change the world—but she could begin with this village.