Next to the old vegetable field, the fence was already in a state of disrepair. Only faint outlines could still be seen. Fu Yinli actually had a rough idea—this wasn’t a very technical job, and even if it required some skill, their current materials simply didn’t allow it.
But he still wanted to ask her.
Ruan Zhe finished writing the task list and turned around, only to see him standing in front of the firewood, holding an axe in one hand.
No wonder so many people liked “rough man” novels. Who could see a physique like that first thing in the morning and not smile?
She coughed. “We don’t have the materials anyway, so let’s not build it for now.”
They did have wood, but no wire, no nails. Rather than building something makeshift, it was better to keep things simple at the beginning.
Besides, she had noticed that the chickens weren’t pecking at the vegetable field anymore—perhaps it was just a habit they had been trained into before.
She glanced over. The chicks were following a hen, chirping nonstop, while a rooster had flown onto the barn roof, eyes closed, tail proudly raised.
Then she finally remembered what she had forgotten.
There was still one hen missing.
And… what else had she forgotten?
“There’s still a hen we can’t find. Let’s go look for it.”
Since the place wasn’t that big, they split up to search.
Soon Ruan Zhe saw Fu Yinli standing near the pile of thin branches they had gathered earlier, gesturing for her to come over.
When she approached, she saw the hen curled up in a corner, its body tucked into a ball, wings slightly spread, eyes half-closed and completely still.
“Should we move it? It’s not moving at all—could it be sick?” Fu Yinli asked softly, as if afraid of disturbing it.
Ruan Zhe slapped her forehead. “I knew it. Didn’t we collect a nest of wild eggs before? We didn’t notice yesterday—this hen is incubating them.”
She was a little confused herself. Did hens not recognize their own eggs? The entire bird was basically covering the nest, transferring its body heat to the eggs. It had probably started yesterday.
Fu Yinli squatted down. The hen immediately opened its eyes and stared at him warily.
“Forget it, don’t scare it,” Ruan Zhe said. “Let’s leave it. If it wants to hatch them, let it. Maybe we’ll have more chickens later.”
“Then we should prepare more food for it. It’ll probably be very exhausting,” Fu Yinli said after observing it for a while.
Feeding it rice felt a bit wasteful. That was their staple food, and both humans and chickens didn’t have much of it.
“Then bring out the corn.”
Ruan Zhe went to the stove, relit the fire, and when the corn arrived, she poured it into the pot to dry-roast over low heat.
“For the chickens?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Roasted corn was more fragrant and easier to digest. It also wouldn’t sprout or cause bloating in the chickens’ stomachs.
Most importantly, it helped regulate their diet—otherwise they wouldn’t lay eggs consistently. Since food was limited, mixing corn with grass also saved resources.
“I’ll do it,” Fu Yinli said, taking the spatula and slowly stirring the corn kernels.
After about ten minutes, the kernels turned a light golden color. Ruan Zhe had him pour them out onto a cut piece of cloth to cool.
Meanwhile, she found a piece of pine wood and smashed it repeatedly with a hammer, turning it into wood chips and small fragments.
Before Fu Yinli could ask, she explained on her own:
“Mixing wood shavings into chicken feed provides fiber. Chickens don’t have teeth—they rely on grit and wood particles in their gizzard to grind food. Without it, they can get indigestion.”
“Go cut some grass and chop it up,” she instructed.
After he finished, she had him mix the corn meal, wood shavings, and chopped grass together. The volume instantly looked much larger.
She placed a bowl of this feed in front of the brooding hen, making sure other chickens wouldn’t steal it. She even had Fu Yinli build a small barrier out of wood around it.
The remaining feed was dumped into a shallow trench near the stream.
That was all they could do. In another day, they would have to leave.
If the chickens were taken care of, what about the rabbit?
Ruan Zhe was worried it wouldn’t have enough to eat and starve—but also worried it might turn the farm into a burrow system.
The rabbit had already spent a day and a night here. It was energetic, eating and sleeping well, and the wound on its ear had already scabbed over.
She called Fu Yinli over again.
He came over and listened to her instructions.
“Let’s rebuild the cage into a spherical shape. Make it hollow inside so the rabbit can run around. When it moves, the whole sphere will roll, so it can exercise while eating grass. That way it won’t dig holes in one place.”
Ruan Zhe had basically run out of ideas. With no proper tools, this was the only solution she could think of.
“Alright,” Fu Yinli always agreed without hesitation.
There wasn’t enough wood, so Ruan Zhe found cloth strips and rope for him to use, hoping the rabbit wouldn’t chew through everything.
And because materials were limited, there wasn’t actually much work to do.
While Fu Yinli wove the rabbit cage, Ruan Zhe started cooking.
This time she selected many ingredients: two spruce grouse caught in the forest by the old man but not yet eaten; a bag of dried bamboo shoots; potatoes; fresh mushrooms (both pine mushrooms and hazel mushrooms); wild scallions; fresh fiddlehead ferns; eggs; and flour.
She washed the mushrooms and set them aside to drain, cut the ferns into short sections, and separated scallion whites from greens.
Sprouted potatoes were saved for planting; the rest were peeled, cut into chunks, and soaked in water to prevent oxidation.
Eggs were beaten in a bowl.
The two spruce grouse were processed under Ruan Zhe’s guidance: boiled to remove feathers, cleaned of internal organs, washed thoroughly, and cut into pieces, with fat separated out.
Ruan Zhe kneaded dough herself and let it rest under a damp cloth.
After preparing the ingredients together, Fu Yinli went off to chop firewood.
The large pot was already hot. Ruan Zhe rendered the chicken fat first, then ladled out the excess into a small bowl—the aroma was rich and fragrant.
She added all the chicken pieces and stir-fried them over high heat. The skin curled in the hot oil, turning golden, and the aroma of meat and fat filled the air.
Once properly sautéed, she added hot water to cover the chicken and poured in the dried bamboo shoots.
When it boiled, the lid bounced slightly from the steam.
She lifted it slightly. Chicken oil floated on top, the soup turned golden, and bamboo shoots tumbled in the broth. Then she added the potato chunks.
As the potatoes simmered, they released starch, thickening the soup.
“You’re not going to ask why I’m making so much?” she finally said. The silence felt unusual—he used to question everything she did.
She looked over. Fu Yinli had already chopped a neat pile of firewood. Hearing her, he paused, lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his sweat, revealing his abs.