Half a month passed like the wild grass growing along the field ridges—quietly, almost unnoticed, yet undeniably real.
The chill in the winds of Han Manor gradually faded, and the sun became more generous, warming people’s backs and making the soil softer and looser.
Shen Weiwan crouched beneath the eaves, looking at the seeds in the bamboo trays that had begun to sprout white tips. Her eyes curved into crescents with delight.
The millet sprouts resembled shy little worms, timidly peeking out of their shells. The buckwheat sprouts looked much livelier, their tender shoots tinged with purplish red and packed tightly together, brimming with vitality.
“It worked!” she exclaimed softly, drawing the attention of Shen Mingxuan, who had just returned from the fields.
The young man leaned over to look, a smile spreading across his sun-darkened face.
“Wan’er, look how sturdy these sprouts are! They’re even better than the seeds sold in the shops in town.”
During these past two weeks, the entire family had been working almost without rest.
Every day, after finishing his duties, Shen Jingzhi barely had time to catch his breath before carrying a hoe to the fields. Most of the drainage ditches had been dug by him in the evenings and on his days off.
The winding shallow trenches looked like veins across the land, carrying excess water toward the low-lying areas in the distance. They no longer had to worry about flooding during the rainy season.
Shen Mingxuan had become half a farmer himself. Not only had he learned from Shen Weiwan how to judge whether the soil was too wet or too dry, but he had also gradually hauled back the old manure from the abandoned pigsty on the western side of the village.
Although he was so exhausted that he fell asleep as soon as he lay down each night, he always reported enthusiastically at dinner:
“I gathered two more baskets of wood ash today—enough for half a plot of land!”
Liu Shi had changed a great deal as well.
She no longer spent her days in tears. Instead, she managed the household briskly, rising before dawn every day to cook porridge fragrant with mixed grains. At noon, she would bring cooled tea and dry rations to the fields despite the blazing sun, and in the evenings, she joined the children in clearing stones from the land.
The hands that had once been used only for embroidery had now grown calloused, yet they also carried a newfound strength and steadiness.
At that moment, Shen Weiwan carefully separated the sprouted seeds into several small clay pots and covered them with a layer of finely sifted compost.
“Tomorrow we can sow them. We’ll plant millet on the two fen of land closest to the house, and the remaining three fen will be planted with buckwheat. If they mature at different times, we’ll be able to harvest several times over.”
Shen Mingxuan squatted beside her, handing her the clay pots.
“I checked the fields this afternoon. We turned the soil over twice more, and it’s as fine as flour now. The seeds will definitely take root.”
Just then, Shen Jingzhi returned.
He removed his mud-stained official boots. Though his face was weary, his eyes were bright.
“There isn’t much going on at the yamen. I asked for tomorrow off, so I can help you sow the seeds.”
“Father, you should rest. Brother and I can manage,” Shen Weiwan said with a smile.
Shen Jingzhi waved his hand and walked beneath the eaves to look at the sprouted seeds. His fingertips lightly touched the tender shoots, and a rare smile appeared on his face.
“How can I let you two children carry the family’s burdens alone? Besides, this is our first crop at Han Manor. I won’t feel at ease unless I plant it with my own hands.”
Liu Shi came over carrying water. Seeing her husband looking so relaxed for once, she smiled as well.
“I’ll make some buckwheat pancakes tonight and stir-fry some wild vegetables to give you all a bit more strength.”
That evening, beneath the dim glow of an oil lamp, the family sat around their small table.
The buckwheat pancakes smelled deliciously toasted, and the stir-fried wild vegetables were bright green. Though the meal was simple, it tasted especially sweet.
The morning dew bent the grass along the field ridges.
Carrying a small bamboo basket, Shen Weiwan crouched in the newly opened vegetable patch.
The plot lay beside the corner of the house and measured less than half a fen, but she had put a great deal of effort into preparing it. The soil had been sifted more finely than anywhere else, the wood ash mixed in more evenly, and even the base fertilizer buried beneath had been blended with crushed bean-cake residue.
“Sister, will these tiny cabbage seeds really sprout?” Shen Mingxuan asked as he approached with a hoe on his shoulder, eyeing the tiny black seeds in her hand with some doubt.
They hadn’t been able to buy many vegetable seeds, and the small patch they had tried planting earlier had produced a pitifully low germination rate.
But Shen Weiwan was full of confidence. She pinched a few seeds between her fingers and evenly scattered them into the shallow furrows.
“Don’t worry. I soaked them in warm water overnight and wrapped them in a damp cloth for two days. The sprouts have already begun to emerge.”
This was a method she had learned from modern agricultural books.
Soaking seeds in warm water could break their dormancy, while sprouting them in damp cloth allowed the seedlings to build up strength before breaking through the soil.
On this barren land, every single seed had to be used wisely.
Liu Shi followed behind with a basin of water and carefully sprinkled it into the furrows.
“If Wan’er says it’ll work, then it certainly will. Weren’t those spinach plants started the same way?”
Mentioning the spinach made Shen Mingxuan smile.
Though the plants had grown thin and small, they were the first vegetables the family had harvested since arriving at Han Manor. Stir-fried, they had tasted fresh with a slight bitterness, and everyone had eaten them with unusual delight.
After sowing the cabbage seeds, Shen Weiwan planted several eggplant seedlings in the empty patch nearby.
Shen Jingzhi had spent three copper coins to buy the seedlings during his day off. Their roots were still coated with soil, and they looked wilted and weak.
Yet she wasn’t worried.
Using a small trowel, she dug a shallow ring-shaped trench around the roots and sprinkled in a handful of wood ash.
“Wood ash keeps aphids away and adds potassium to the soil. Eggplants love it.”
“Wan’er, how do you know all this?” Shen Mingxuan crouched beside her, increasingly fascinated.
Ever since they had moved to Han Manor, his sister seemed like a different person, always coming up with methods they had never even heard of.
Shen Weiwan’s hands paused briefly before she smiled.
“I read a few farming books in the study at the marquis’s residence and remembered some scattered techniques. I didn’t expect them to actually come in handy.”
The explanation was half true and half false.
Those farming books did exist, but most of what she remembered came from another world.
She knew that the land needed to be nurtured, just as people needed to care for their health.
Turning poor soil into fertile land overnight was impossible, but intercropping could keep the earth productive even while it was “resting.”
For example, planting beans between rows of millet. The bean vines wouldn’t take up much space, and the root nodules could fix nitrogen in the soil.
Or planting radishes after harvesting buckwheat. The radishes’ roots would loosen the soil.
As they were speaking, Shen Jingzhi returned.
He had gotten off work early and was carrying a cloth bundle. Opening it revealed half a sack of bran.
“The manager Wang’s mill at the yamen replaced its millstones, and they didn’t want this old bran anymore, so I brought it back.”
A trace of delight showed on his face.
“Wan’er, you mentioned composting fertilizer. Wouldn’t this make it even better?”
“Father, you’re amazing!” Shen Weiwan’s eyes lit up.
Bran was rich in nutrients. Mixed into manure compost, it could easily double the fertilizer’s effectiveness.
She quickly fetched a broken clay jar and layered the bran together with the fallen leaves and manure they had previously collected, sprinkling water between each layer.
“If we let this compost for a month, it’ll make excellent top dressing.”
The entire family busied themselves around the clay jar until the sun rose high in the sky.
The soil in the vegetable patch became soft and loose, and the seedlings swayed gently in the breeze, finally showing signs of life.
Shen Weiwan gazed at the orderly vegetable garden before her.
Eggplants had been planted here, cabbage seeds were waiting to sprout there, and a corner had been left empty for future radishes.
In her heart, it felt as though she carried a full and healthy seed—solid, warm, and full of hope.
She knew that improving the land would take two or three years.
But life was lived one day at a time.
These intercropped vegetables would not only make their meals more plentiful; any surplus could eventually be sold for money.
After the millet and buckwheat were harvested, they could plant winter wheat.
By rotating crops this way, the land would never become too exhausted.
As the sun set, Shen Weiwan sat on the doorstep, watching the rosy clouds in the sky.
She took out a small notebook hidden inside her clothes.
It had been made from scraps of paper left over from the marquis’s residence, and on its pages were crooked notes recording planting dates, the growth of the seedlings, and a single line of small writing:
“April 13th: Planted cabbage and eggplants. Waiting for the compost to mature.”
This was her life at Han Manor—
trivial and laborious,
yet filled with the hope of breaking through the soil and growing toward the light.