She pointed at the tiny bud at the top of the stem for Liu Shi to see. Only then did Liu Shi relax, a smile appearing on her face.
“Our Wan’er really knows so much.”
From the side, Shen Mingxuan added, “Mother, Wan’er knows far more than this. A few days ago, she said we should plant beans between the rows of millet. She said the beans can enrich the soil, and by the time the millet is almost ripe, the beans will be ready to harvest too. Two birds with one stone.”
“We’ll wait until the millet has taken root before doing that,” Shen Weiwan said with a smile. “For now, let’s let these little ones grow properly in the soil. In a few days, we’ll fertilize them.”
By the time the sun had climbed high into the sky, half a mu of land had been planted with millet seedlings.
The little green sprouts swayed gently in the breeze, standing in neat rows like a line of tiny soldiers. The sight was especially pleasing.
Straightening up, Liu Shi rubbed her aching back and gazed at the patch of fresh green, much of the worry in her eyes already gone.
“When autumn harvest comes, we’ll finally be able to eat the millet we’ve grown ourselves.”
“Not just that,” Shen Mingxuan said as he counted the ridges in the field. “This plot should yield quite a lot. After we keep enough for ourselves, we can take the rest to town and trade it for some coarse rice.”
Shen Weiwan said nothing. She merely crouched down and gently touched the leaf of a seedling.
The dew on the leaf dampened her fingertips, cool to the touch.
She knew these seedlings were only the beginning. There was still endless work ahead—weeding, fertilizing, preventing pests…
Yet looking at the fresh green stretching across the field, she felt as though something inside her had been filled. It brought her a sense of peace and warmth.
Life in Han Village stretched on quietly, like vines creeping along the ridges of a field.
After several rains, the millet seedlings had grown much taller. Their leaves spread out like little fans, and any weeds that dared emerge between the ridges were promptly pulled out by Shen Weiwan and Shen Mingxuan before the morning dew had even dried.
The sound of Shen Mingxuan studying became the daily background music of their small courtyard.
He practiced his calligraphy on the coarse xuan paper Shen Jingzhi had bought. The edges of the sheets had become frayed from his fingers, but he still wrote each stroke with utmost care.
Whenever Shen Jingzhi returned from work, he would not even bother wiping the dust from his clothes before picking up his son’s calligraphy and commenting on it word by word.
“This character zhi needs a more extended finishing stroke. You must hide the strength first and then reveal it—that’s where the power lies.”
Holding his paper, Shen Mingxuan would ponder the advice beneath the oil lamp, and sometimes he would suddenly slap his thigh.
“Father, I understand now! It’s just like what Wan’er said—writing is like transplanting seedlings. First, you have to stand firmly, then slowly spread out.”
Whenever he heard this, Shen Jingzhi would smile and pat his son’s head.
Ever since coming to Han Village, the boy had become much steadier. The timidity he once carried in the Marquis’s Estate had faded, replaced by a resilience nurtured by the soil itself.
Liu Shi, meanwhile, kept the household in perfect order.
She had learned composting from Shen Weiwan and visited the vegetable patch every morning, knowing exactly which plants needed watering and which needed thinning. She remembered these things more clearly than her own birthday.
In the evenings, she sat beneath the lamp mending clothes, altering and patching the old garments they had brought from the Marquis’s Estate into fitted work clothes for the children. Her stitches were as fine and meticulous as the calculations in her heart—how many copper coins the vegetables would fetch this month and whether there would be enough to buy Mingxuan a new writing brush.
Shen Weiwan had become the family’s “strategist.”
She recorded every daily expense in an account book and drew strange symbols in the margins with a charcoal pencil—her own modern method of tracking income and expenditures.
When she noticed more aphids appearing in the vegetable patch, she taught her family to soak wood ash in water and spray it on the plants. When she saw signs that the millet might topple over, she had Shen Mingxuan cut branches to make supports.
“These aphids are afraid of wood ash, just like the people in the Marquis’s Estate are afraid of trouble,” she said while sprinkling ash over the vegetable leaves. “Right now, we’re like the grass in this field. We have to stay hidden in the soil and grow quietly. Once our roots are deep enough, no one will be able to pull us out.”
Shen Mingxuan nodded, only half understanding, but his hands never stopped working.
He knew his sister was right, just as their father was in the yamen.
Shen Jingzhi had become increasingly low-key at the Hanlin Academy.
When his colleagues discussed poetry and prose, he would sit quietly in a corner and listen. Whenever assignments were distributed, he accepted them all, no matter how difficult or trivial, never refusing.
The humiliation Shen Jingyan had inflicted upon him at Wenmo Studio had branded itself into his heart like a hot iron, making him fully understand that in Kyoto’s official circles, silence sometimes held more power than argument.
Once, Director Wang remarked casually,
“Brother Jingzhi’s calligraphy has become increasingly steady. It even has a touch of antiquity to it.”
Shen Jingzhi merely smiled and cupped his hands.
“It’s nothing more than idle scribbling while teaching my son to practice calligraphy.”
He knew very well that this state of “nonexistence” was the very shield that allowed his family to live peacefully in Han Village.
As for the Yong’an Marquis Estate, things had turned out exactly as Shen Weiwan had predicted.
No one ever came looking for them again.
After the incident at Wenmo Studio, Shen Jingyan never appeared again, as though their branch of the family had truly been erased from the clan records.
Before the morning mist had even cleared, Shen Weiwan was already squatting in the vegetable patch, looking at the tender new leaves that had sprouted.
The glossy green leaves were covered in dew and crowded together across the half-mu plot, a delightful sight to behold.
“In another ten days or so, we’ll be able to harvest the first batch.”
She pinched off an older outer leaf and rubbed it between her fingers. The leaf was thick and carried a fresh, natural fragrance.
Shen Mingxuan came over carrying a hoe, his forehead still glistening with sweat.
“Wan’er, these vegetables are growing so fast. They look even more vigorous than the ones in the Marquis’s garden.”
“That’s because we’ve been generous with the fertilizer,” Shen Weiwan said with a smile. “Look at the soil. It’s much looser than when we first arrived. Give it another couple of years, and it’ll become truly fertile land.”
As the siblings chatted, Liu Shi arrived carrying a basket filled with freshly steamed mixed-grain buns.
“Take a break and eat something. Wan’er, you said we should sell vegetables at the market north of the city. I’ve cleaned a few more pickling jars these past days. I’ll pickle more dried radishes to take with us—maybe we can earn a few extra coins.”
“Mother, that’s very thoughtful.”
As she bit into the bun, Shen Weiwan silently planned for their trip to the market.
The northern market wasn’t far from Han Village. Most of its vendors were nearby villagers and small peddlers. It lacked the many rules of the city markets, but it had its own hidden ways.
She had already inquired about it thoroughly. The price of vegetables there was low, but the crowds were large. As long as the greens were fresh, they would always sell.
“It’s just…” Shen Weiwan looked toward the official road in the distance and frowned slightly. “I’ve heard there are a few local thugs at the market who love to bully new vendors. We’ll have to avoid them.”
Shen Mingxuan clenched his fists until they cracked.
“If they dare cause trouble, I’ll fight them!”
“Silly brother.”
Shen Weiwan patted his arm.
“Now isn’t the time for us to confront anyone head-on. Father always says that enduring for a while brings peace. We’re going there to make money, not to cause trouble.”
She knew very well that in the capital region, even an insignificant street thug might be connected to a complicated web of influential people.
Their family was like dandelions growing on a field ridge—one strong gust of wind could scatter them.
They simply couldn’t afford any upheaval.
All the innovative ideas she had learned in her previous life—making exquisite foods or improving farming tools—could only remain buried deep within her heart for now.