Jian Jia carefully transferred all the fried pork belly into the jar, then ladled the hot oil used for frying over the top, letting it seep slowly into the gaps between the meat. Her choice of jar was perfect; the pork fit snugly just below the rim. Once she confirmed that all the meat was fully submerged in oil, she carefully capped the jar and added a small half spoon of water to the rim.
The preserved pork was ready to eat at any time, though it was said that after sealing for a month, the flavor would reach its peak. During that month, the meat would be fully soaked with aromatic fat, achieving a tender yet firm texture.
The jar full of pork was placed by Hunter Qin on the wooden shelf next to the stove. Looking around, Jian Jia noticed three other jars of the same type. Black ceramic jars, identical in size and shape, each contained different contents. To avoid confusion, Jian Jia made labels for each jar immediately after sealing them.
“Lang’er, are the labels ready?” she called toward the east wing.
“Done!” came Qin Lang’s quick reply. Holding a palm-sized piece of yellow hemp paper, he ran over. Three bold characters on the paper read: “Preserved Pork,” with a smaller line underneath noting today’s date.
Jian Jia applied glue to the back of the paper and carefully stuck it to the jar. The yellow paper with black lettering clearly marked both the food inside and the date of preparation. The four other jars—“Pickled Vegetables,” “Amaranth Stalks,” and “Preserved Mustard Greens”—also bore matching labels, all evenly placed with neat, clear handwriting, pleasing to the eye.
Qin Lang squatted by the jars, touching the warm rims. “We have to wait a month to eat it?” He couldn’t wait, just smelling the fried meat this afternoon had already made him eager.
Jian Jia patted his soft hair. “Not so strict. In a couple of days, when the vegetables in the field grow, I’ll steam some meat for you to taste.”
Qin Lang’s big eyes sparkled as he grinned. “Thank you, sister!”
As evening fell, Hunter Qin was not in the yard. Jian Jia looked around and recalled what he had said earlier. After thinking for a moment, she lowered her voice to ask Qin Lang, “Do you know where the old orchard is?”
Qin Lang pointed west from the kitchen. “Over there. That’s the old orchard.”
The two brothers’ parents had been hardworking. When alive, they had cleared land for fruit trees in addition to hunting in the mountains. The orchard lay just west of the yard, beyond a small irrigation canal.
The climate favored peaches and pears, so these were the dominant trees, interspersed with a few persimmon and jujube trees. After their parents’ passing, the orchard had been neglected, with only the hardiest trees surviving the rampant weeds.
Hunter Qin hadn’t stepped foot in the orchard for years. Following memory through the waist-high weeds, he found the stone house abandoned for several years. Once used for keeping livestock, the building now held no sign of chickens or ducks, only thick weeds crowding the area.
Jian Jia arrived to find Hunter Qin stacking the weeds. Within the piles appeared three stone houses, each over a person’s height. Stone troughs and rails remained, though broken and rotted, clearly in need of repair before reuse.
Surveying the area, Jian Jia remarked, “Such a large place… I had no idea there was so much hidden here.” Earlier, from the yard, she had assumed the orchard was just wild land. Hidden beneath the overgrowth, she now saw a treasure trove. She noticed several fruit-bearing peach and pear trees, though weeds blocked further access.
Hunter Qin frowned. “How did you get here? It’s dirty and full of snakes and insects. Go back for now, I’ll tidy it up first.”
Jian Jia peered into one of the small stone houses. “Are you planning to raise the miniature pigs here?” She thought it was a good idea—pet pigs wouldn’t grow large, and three stone houses could house several. But she wondered: after the sows gave birth, would anyone buy them? Were people really keeping pigs as pets now?
Hunter Qin walked slowly to her side, pointing to the leftmost stone house. “I’ll raise two. By year’s end, they’ll be fully grown. Miniature pigs taste better; castrated ones are even better than ordinary pigs.”
Jian Jia: ???
Wait, are they talking about the same miniature pigs?
After his explanation, Jian Jia realized her mistake. The local “miniature pigs” were a breed called Xiang pigs, compact and adorable, never growing past just over a hundred pounds. Hunter Qin planned to raise two, slaughtering them at year’s end for consumption.
Jian Jia didn’t object to raising pigs, though she was curious: “Why suddenly want to raise pigs?” She had thought he might switch from hunter to breeder, but he only intended to raise two for himself.
Hunter Qin gave her a deep look but remained silent.
Jian Jia was used to his occasional quietness. She turned her attention to two trees nearby, initially assuming they were peaches. Looking up, she saw sparse yellow fruit unlike peaches.
Squinting, she asked, “Hunter Qin, are these plums?”
He glanced at the tree and nodded. “Yes, plums. Very sour, not good to eat. But the flowers were lovely, so Mother left them here.” Because the plums were too tart for animals, his mother had planted them near the stone house to shelter chickens and ducks from wind and rain.
Seeing Jian Jia interested in the plums, Hunter Qin picked one yellow plum from the high branches and handed it to her. “You can put it by your pillow to enjoy the fragrance.” The plums were sour and astringent; he never ate them, but their scent was unique. Whenever they ripened, he would pick some to place by his pillow.
“Crunch.”
The crisp sound startled Hunter Qin. Jian Jia’s face contorted. “Ugh, so sour.”
Hunter Qin: …
Seeing the yellow plum with her teeth marks, he couldn’t help laughing helplessly. “Didn’t I tell you they’re sour and astringent? Why didn’t you believe me?”
Jian Jia’s mouth watered as she struggled with the tartness, finally regaining composure. “Not that I didn’t believe you, I just wanted to taste it. These plums are ripe; they can be used for plum wine, preserves, or salted plums.”
Hunter Qin blinked. “I know about plum wine, but preserves?” That was new to him.
Holding the plum, Jian Jia looked at the tree trunk. “Such good plums can’t go to waste…” As the day ended, she planned to harvest the plums tomorrow to make plum wine, plum syrup, and salted plums.
Jian Jia carried a small handful of plums out of the orchard. Washed yellow plums scattered roundly on her pillow, their fragrance infusing her sheets and pillowcase, even entering her dreams. She couldn’t remember what she dreamed, but she woke the next morning feeling refreshed.
After breakfast, Jian Jia returned to the orchard with a basket. Qin Lang, hearing she intended to make plum snacks, stuck closely behind like a little tail.
The two plum trees were old; some branches had rotted from insect damage, leaving only the higher branches with fruit. Jian Jia didn’t dare climb, so she crafted a simple harvesting tool: a bamboo ring fixed to a pole, with a fine mesh pouch sewn at the front.
Though crude, Qin Lang was fascinated, holding onto it tightly. When Jian Jia used it to effortlessly pluck two yellow plums from the top branches, his eyes sparkled, and before the pouch could lower completely, he rushed to retrieve the plums from inside.
“Two!” Qin Lang held a plum in each hand proudly. “Sister’s invention picked two at once. Jia’er is the best!” He was amazed at her ingenuity, whether for wringing clothes or harvesting plums.
Jian Jia laughed. “Alright, stand back a little so the plums don’t hit you.”
Even with Qin Lang’s help, picking the sparse plums was no easy task. By the end of the morning, Jian Jia had harvested all the usable fruit. Each plum was carefully inspected, with only unblemished, worm-free fruit placed in the basket.
The bright yellow plums filled over half the basket, heavy to carry. Qin Lang grabbed one side of the basket with all his strength to help Jian Jia.
Seeing his reddened face, Jian Jia chided gently, “Let go, Lang’er. I can carry it. Go check if your brother has returned.” Hunter Qin usually arrived at this hour, but today he was nowhere in sight. Perhaps the rain had made the mountain path slower, taking him longer than usual.
Just then, the general’s bark rang from outside the orchard. Unlike usual, when he only called twice casually upon returning home, today he barked repeatedly, anxious and agitated.
Jian Jia looked toward the sound and saw the dog running frantically from the gate, neck fur bristled, tail drooping. It rushed to her, whining anxiously, and upon seeing her tense expression, grabbed her clothing with its mouth and tried to drag her toward the gate.
Jian Jia’s heart skipped. “Lang’er, go find Second Uncle. If I’m late returning for lunch, you’ll have to make do with him.”
Qin Lang pressed his lips, glanced at Jian Jia, then at the frenzied dog, his face paling. “Sister, I’ll go with you.” Small though he was, he wasn’t naive. The dog’s unusual behavior could only mean something had happened to his brother. Their father had always said he was the man of the house—no matter what happened, he could handle it.
Jian Jia reached out, patting Qin Lang’s head. “Be good. I’ll be right back.”