The afternoon sun remained bright, but it was no longer as scorching as it had been at noon.
Filtering through the leaves, it cast dappled shadows on the newly cleared land.
After a quick lunch and a short rest, I picked up the heavy Refined Iron Hoe and officially began the afternoon’s “deep plowing and careful cultivation.”
Although this ten-odd square meter plot of land had already been cleared of weeds and shrubs with the Mountain-Cleaving Yue and roughly leveled, the soil structure was still compacted.
It likely contained leftover grass roots and stones, and it wasn’t porous enough, falling far short of the requirements for planting.
Next, it was time for the iron hoe to come into play.
I stood at the edge of the field, weighed the hoe in my hand, and recalled my father’s posture as he plowed the fields.
Gripping the end of the handle with both hands, I lifted the hoe high, aimed it at the ground before me, and, putting power into my waist and legs to drive my arms and the hoe, swung it violently downward and forward!
“Hey!”
With a whoosh, the hoe blade sank deep into the soil with a “thump,” proving to be easier than expected.
Seizing the momentum, I pulled the handle backward, and a large chunk of dark brown earth, mixed with some grass roots and gravel, was overturned, revealing the darker, moister soil beneath.
A rich, fresh scent of earth wafted toward me, carrying the unique, reassuring fragrance of the ground.
This feeling…
was very grounding.
I shook the dirt off the hoe, and the doubts that had arisen because of the tool’s primitivity mostly vanished.
The sharpness and weight of this iron hoe were just right, and its plowing efficiency far exceeded my expectations.
Just like that, I advanced forward, hoe after hoe.
My movements, which had been slightly clumsy at first, soon became fluid.
My body’s coordination was excellent, as if I were born knowing how to use this kind of tool efficiently.
Every swing, dig, flip, and breaking of earth chunks carried a strange sense of rhythm.
The jade-white dragon tail behind me swayed gently with my movements, acting not as a hindrance but instead cleverly helping me maintain my balance.
Plowing was not just brute strength, but also a skilled craft.
I needed to pay attention to the depth of the soil I turned up (a depth of about one hoe’s length, around 20 centimeters being just right) to ensure that the bottom layer of soil was brought up and the compacted layer broken.
At the same time, I also had to bend over from time to time, use my hands to pick out the larger stones and stubborn grass roots that were turned up, and throw them to the side of the field.
Some grass roots were intricately intertwined and needed to be carefully pried out with the tip of the hoe.
Instead, there was a sense of hearty, invigorating exercise.
My breathing gradually synchronized with the rhythm of my hoeing.
I could clearly feel my waist, abdomen, and arm muscles working in coordination with every exertion, and I could also feel the soil beneath my feet loosening and turning over under the hoe’s blade.
Occasionally, I would stop and scoop up a handful of the freshly turned, soft, and moist earth, kneading it in my palm.
The soil’s texture was better than I had expected: its stickiness was moderate, its breathability was good, it was rich in humus, and its color was a healthy dark brown.
With a rough perception through the System, I could tell the flow of Leyline Energy here was also quite smooth.
“Mm, a good foundation,” I nodded with satisfaction, letting the soil in my hand fall back to the ground.
Time flowed quietly through the repetitive yet fulfilling labor.
The sun gradually sank toward the west, stretching my shadow long across the ground.
When I struck the last hoe and used its back to roughly level the edges of the soil, the entire plot of land had been completely transformed.
The once-compacted ground was now covered with rows of freshly turned, soft, and moist earth, undulating like gentle waves.
The air was filled with the rich, fresh scent of soil.
The stones and main grass roots had all been cleared out and piled by the edge of the field.
Leaning on my hoe, I caught my breath, my ice-blue eyes sweeping over the land I had personally cleared and tilled.
A clear, warm sense of accomplishment welled up within me.
“Phew…
It’s finally starting to look like something.” I wiped away my sweat, a smile spreading across my face.
Though the area was small and my tools were primitive, this was truly the first real “field” I had carved out in this other world, relying on my own two hands (and a little special ability).
“Hoeing the earth, hoeing the earth…
This work really isn’t easy, but the results are gratifying,” I muttered to myself, my mood quite cheerful.
My simple dinner was roasted fish again.
This time, I deliberately set aside a slightly smaller one, wrapping it in a large leaf to bring back to the Cave as tomorrow’s breakfast. This chapter was copied from novelping dot com without permission.
After tending to the fire and cleaning up the trash, the sun was already sinking behind the mountain ridge, painting the horizon with a brilliant sunset.
While there was still some daylight left, I didn’t return to the Cave immediately.
I could now start trying out the “fish trap” plan I’d thought of this morning.
I searched along the riverbank’s bushes and the edge of the forest, breaking off several long, slender branches of moderate thickness and good flexibility.
I also used my stone knife to cut some tough-looking vines and soft bark fibers.
With the materials ready, I returned to a relatively dry spot by the river and sat down.
Recalling the vague structure of a fish trap in my mind, I tried bending several thicker branches into circles, binding them with bark fibers to serve as the entrance frame and bottom support.
Then, using thinner, more elastic branches, I began to wrap and interweave them in circles, imitating the method of weaving a basket, gradually constructing a funnel-shaped cage with a small opening and a large belly.
At the entrance, I deliberately left inward-pointing, barb-like branches (carefully sharpened with my stone knife) so that fish could enter but not escape.
Weaving is a delicate task that requires patience, especially for a novice like me.
At first, it was always crooked, and the branches wouldn’t obey.
But I found that when I calmed my mind and focused on the movements of my fingers and the direction of the branches, a strange “sense of control” would appear.
Perhaps it was the natural affinity for plant fibers from Shu’s ability at work?
The weaving process became much smoother, and although the finished product was still crude, the structure was basically stable.
The sky grew darker, and I quickened my pace.
Finally, using tougher vines as a handle and securing rope, I completed this crude fish trap that exuded the fresh scent of plants.
“Mission accomplished!” I lifted the fish trap, which looked a bit odd but should be functional, and examined it in the last of the daylight.
Though crude, I hoped it would be useful.
I took the fish trap to the riverbank, found a spot in the shallow water where the current was relatively calm, the aquatic plants were lush, and it felt like a place where fish would like to gather.
I weighed down the bottom with stones, pointed the entrance in the direction of the current, and then used vines to secure it to the tree roots on the bank.
“Next, it’s all up to you.” I clapped my wet hands together, placing high hopes on my first handmade “automated” fishing device.
By the time I finished all this, the sky had already turned almost completely dark.
I picked up the remaining branches and tools, and with the anticipation of tomorrow’s catch, I set off back to the cave, guided by the faint starlight and the glow of the ember in my hand.
A fulfilling day slowly came to a close, accompanied by the moonlight and starlight.