The sunlight was scorching, as if it could peel off a layer of skin.
It pierced mercilessly through the clouds, shining down on the earth and bringing endless heat and burning warmth. The air seemed to have thickened, stifling and oppressive in every corner.
Lu Qingran found an empty alley, stored the empty buckets in her space, and took out two cups of chilled cola and two straw hats.
“This is cola—a drink from our world. It’s cold; try it,” Lu Qingran said as she handed one cup to Yan Zihao.
The dark, fizzy liquid piqued Yan Zihao’s curiosity. He took a small sip, and the icy coolness instantly relieved the heat all over his body.
“It’s a bit sweet, but also a little strange. Still, it feels refreshing; suddenly it’s not so hot anymore. Qingran, did you drink this often back in your world?” Yan Zihao asked.
“We had all kinds of drinks there, including fresh juices. Like the watermelon you ate last night—it can also be juiced. I usually drank juice, milk tea, or coffee. Carbonated drinks like cola were less common. I’ll let you try more later. Come on, drink it and let’s buy our supplies! Wang Da-ye is waiting!” Lu Qingran said.
Yan Zihao gulped down the entire cup of cola, put the bottle back into her space, and each of them put on a straw hat. They left the alley and headed straight for the ironware shop.
Whether it was war or famine, the journey wouldn’t be smooth. Even without bandits, starving refugees might rob them. Therefore, self-defense weapons were essential.
Lu Qingran’s space contained many items, but not these weapons.
The ironware shop owner was a middle-aged man, muscular from head to toe, who looked strong enough to lift a person with one hand.
“What do you want?” the man asked, his voice rough and stern, looking intimidating.
In the Yong’an era, ordinary people couldn’t buy swords or daggers—they could only purchase tools for farming or hunting. Yan Zihao and Lu Qingran had already planned their purchases.
“We want five long-handled axes, five long-handled machetes, and three short-handled machetes,” Yan Zihao said.
The shop owner glanced at them silently and walked inside. Soon, he returned with the items, placing them on the counter.
Yan Zihao picked up an axe, swung it a few times, tested the feel, and nodded. “How much?”
“Long-handled axes and machetes are 300 wen each, short-handled ones 200 wen. Total: 3 liang 600 wen,” the shop owner replied.
Knowing ancient ironware was expensive, Lu Qingran looked at Yan Zihao. Seeing him nod, she took the money bag from her space and handed it over.
The shop owner counted the coins, placed them in the drawer, and said, “Take your goods. No exchanges after leaving the shop.”
With the weapons in hand, they left the shop. Having them provided extra security for their journey.
Outside, they found an empty spot to store the weapons in the space, then went to a general store to buy ten oilcloths and ten sheets of oiled paper, spending 1 liang 2 qian.
After leaving, the sun was high in the sky. They exchanged a glance, returned to the empty alley, stored the oilcloths and oiled paper in the space, retrieved the bucket used for pig offal, and finally left Zhushan Town.
Things couldn’t be rushed; otherwise, people would notice.
The ironware shop owner didn’t ask why they bought so many items, but the general store owner did, reminding them to take things slowly. Their explanation was that the supplies were for the villagers, which justified the bulk purchase.
With the pig offal in tow, Yan Zihao and Lu Qingran hurried out of Zhushan Town. Nearby, under a large tree, Wang Da-ye was watching. Upon seeing them, he immediately untied the ox, turned it around, and began preparing for their return. His face was red from the sun, drenched in sweat.
“This blasted weather—it’s deadly hot,” Wang Da-ye complained.
“Yes, it really is,” Yan Zihao replied, placing the wooden bucket securely and helping Lu Qingran onto the cart. The ox cart began its journey home.
The blazing sun was directly overhead. Aside from the straw hats shielding their faces, their clothes absorbed the heat, almost scalding their skin, especially with multiple layers. Lu Qingran felt like she might burst from the heat.
“Tomorrow, ask the Fudian Restaurant owner if he can take five batches of pig offal at once. If so, we’ll sell everything to him. This heat makes selling here impractical,” Lu Qingran said.
“Okay, I’ll ask tomorrow,” Yan Zihao replied.
In Lu Jia Village, every household was discussing the weather. Village Chief Lu Chengfu looked more troubled than ever.
“Old man, it’s getting hotter every day. Villagers are working hard to irrigate the fields, but if the rivers run low, what will we do?” asked the chief’s daughter-in-law.
“What can we do? Wait for rain. If this continues, the harvest will be poor. Let’s make do with what we have and hope the court finds a solution. From today on, ration the food at home, just in case,” Lu Chengfu said.
“Father, should we buy more grain? If the drought continues and the harvest fails, prices might rise,” his eldest son Lu Younian suggested.
“Wait a bit longer. Only buy if absolutely necessary,” Lu Chengfu replied.
The village was quiet. At noon, almost no one was outside; those who were had gone to the river. Separate from Wang Da-ye, the two headed home.
Lunch consisted of sweet potato rice, braised pig offal, cold bamboo shoots, and stir-fried cabbage in vinegar. The heat suppressed appetites, so meals were small, except when it was cooler in the morning or evening.
After lunch, Yan Zihao and Lu Qingran returned to their room. Lu Qingran took out a large qilin watermelon, and Yan Zihao carried it out.
“Da Lang, what’s this? Where did you get it?” Mother Yan asked, washing dishes, noticing the green-skinned fruit.
“Mother, we bought it in town today. The peddler said it’s a fruit, perfect for this weather. I was curious, so I bought one,” Yan Zihao explained.
“It’s so hard…how do we eat it? Didn’t you get tricked?” Mother Yan touched the rind, puzzled.
Yan Zihao washed the watermelon with water, placed it on the cutting board, and sliced it open. The bright red, juicy flesh was revealed. He cut it into pieces like Lu Qingran had shown him, placed them on plates, and offered a piece to Mother Yan.
“Mother, try it. The merchant said it’s sweet.”
Mother Yan took a bite skeptically. “Hmm, it is sweet and refreshing. Bring some to Qingran quickly.”
Seeing how thoughtful her son was toward his wife, Yan Zihao felt very happy. “Okay, we’ll take this plate of fewer pieces and leave the rest for you.”
He carried out two plates of watermelon. The explanation to Father Yan and the younger siblings was the same.
“Big brother, this is delicious,” Yan Ziyi said.
“Delicious! Very delicious! I’ll take some to give to Da Sao,” Yan Zimeng said.
“Alright, enjoy it here. I’ll bring some to Qingran. Don’t throw away the rinds—the peddler said they can be eaten cold. I told Qingran how,” Yan Zihao instructed.
“Okay, got it, big brother,” they replied in unison.