Chapter 4: I’ll Grow Corn to Support You

Chapter 4: I’ll Grow Corn to Support You

The courtyard of the old house was quite large, and the cement floor had already cracked. Even in the dead of winter, a tiny violet flower had managed to sprout from a crack, trembling as it bloomed in the cold wind.

Song Tan stared at the flower, feeling that in this new environment, even this little wildflower looked delicate and pretty.

Song Sancheng placed the luggage in the main room and hurriedly called out to his daughter

"Tantan, it’s cold outside. Hurry inside and warm yourself by the fire."

As he spoke, he rubbed his hands and feet together. "Riding a motorcycle is really cold!"

Song Tan paused for a moment before reacting—yes, riding a bike in the middle of winter was indeed freezing.

However, she didn't feel it much.

She spread her hands open, seeing that her palms were as white and translucent as jade. She figured that in her desperate attempt to repair her body during the car accident to escape a fated death, her body had undergone a certain degree of tempering.

Though, it was quite limited.

For instance, just now, a gust of cold wind blew by, and Song Tan couldn't help but shiver. She stood stunned for a second before quickly ducking into the house.

This was a small room used for heating.

It wasn't large. In the corner by the window sat an iron stove with a square iron plate on top. The flue was long, bending at the ceiling before extending toward a hole in the opposite wall.

With this setup, the fire in the stove would roar, and the hot, stifling smoke would be vented outside through the flue. As long as a fire was burning, the whole room would be cozy and warm, comparable to the heated rooms in the Northeast.

Song Sancheng hadn't seen his daughter in a long time—that was the downside of working in a big city; vacations were scarce, and it was hard to get tickets during peak times.

The last time they met was during the Lunar New Year.

But she only had three days off and went back to work on the fourth day; it was very tiring.

She was his firstborn, a daughter. He was used to doing whatever she said, a habit that persisted even after his son was born.

At this moment, he didn't know what to say, so he reached out with his calloused, "ruthless" hands to take a roasted sweet potato off the stove

"Are you hungry? Eat a sweet potato to tide you over!"

He wasn't afraid of the heat, and neither was Song Tan now. She reached out and took it: "Dad, you have some too."

"I won't!" Song Sancheng waved his hand quickly. "When I was a kid, your grandma made us eat sweet potatoes every day. If you eat too much of this stuff, it gives you heartburn; I’m sick of it."

Song Tan was silent for a moment.

Song Sancheng finally found a topic: "How long are you staying home this time?"

Song Tan opened her mouth. In the cultivation world, she had always been a straightforward person who acted on her impulses, but right now, the words felt heavy as lead.

"Dad, I quit my job. I want to come home and farm."

Song Sancheng fell silent instantly. After a long while, he sighed: "Tantan, you don't know how hard farming is."

"You’re a college graduate coming back to farm. I’m not afraid of people laughing at us, but you really can't handle that kind of hardship."

The implication was clear: he didn't approve.

Song Tan wasn't in a hurry: "Dad, when I was little, I pulled peanuts, shucked corn, picked tea leaves, and watered the vegetable garden. I’ve done farm work before."

"That’s barely any work at all!"

Song Sancheng pointed to the pesticide sprayer sitting in the utility room across the way: "You can't even carry that tank!"

It was an old-fashioned blue plastic sprayer. When filled with water, it weighed over thirty pounds, and you had to carry it on your back the whole time you were spraying.

But compared to digging up tea mountains, harvesting rice, or transplanting seedlings, this was already considered light work.

And don't think that people in the countryside don't use pesticides. These days, weeds and insects have strong resistance; if everyone else is spraying and you don't, you might as well wait for your crops and tea to be eaten clean!

As they spoke, Wu Lan walked into the room carrying a basin of milky-white fish soup. The fragrance filled the air; even though there were still slight impurities in the taste, it was already much better than what she had tasted during the day.

"Tantan, drink plenty of soup tonight. The crucian carp was caught by your dad in that wild pond. It’s very nutritious; you need to build up your strength."

Turning to see the small gauze bandage on her daughter's head, and hearing that it was just a minor bump, she became even more determined to serve her daughter two extra bowls of soup tonight!

Wu Lan placed the basin on the iron surface of the stove to keep it warm, then noticed the sweet potato in Song Tan's hand

"Tantan, don't eat the sweet potato yet. This is our local white-fleshed variety; it’s dry and choking. Save it for later tonight; don't ruin your appetite for dinner."

Without waiting for an answer, she hurried back to the kitchen.

Song Tan set the sweet potato aside and looked at Song Sancheng’s complicated expression. She walked over to the utility room, picked up the heavy blue sprayer, opened the faucet nearby, and began filling it with water.

"Tantan!"

Song Sancheng followed her out—watching his daughter’s effortless movements, he felt a sudden pang of heartache for some reason.

His daughter had been obedient and sensible since she was a child, frugal and unwilling to spend money while working away from home, all for the sake of this family.

Now, with an injury on her head and having just quit her job, she must have suffered grievances in Ningcheng... It was true, every time they talked on the phone, she was working overtime, and the room she lived in was so tiny—how could she not have suffered?

At this moment, Song Sancheng’s resolve wavered.

If the child wants to come back and farm, let her farm. If she really can't handle the hardship, the worst that happens is she finds a job in the city later; at least it’s close to home.

Song Sancheng was just about to speak when he saw the sprayer was already full, and his daughter, who "couldn't handle hardship," was carrying it as if it were a toy teddy bear.

At this moment, fifty-eight-year-old veteran farmer Song Sancheng looked at his own rough hands, feeling bewildered

Why do I think that tank is so heavy?

Am I getting old?

...

Just then, a cheerful shout came from afar

"Sister! Sister!"

Song Tan instinctively turned her head and saw a young boy in a black cotton vest running from the road. He had long legs and stood about 1.8 meters tall, though he was on the thin side. His skin was fair, and he had a small dimple on his cheek. He was running over with a smile, his whole being radiating joy

"Sister!"

This was her younger brother, Song Qiao. His biological age was eighteen, but his mental age... was six.

Wu Lan gave birth to him when she was forty. There was no habit of prenatal checkups in the countryside, and as a result, he was born this way, forever retaining the mind of a six or seven-year-old.

But he was very well-behaved and sensible. When he was little, Song Tan had raised him herself.

Until she left home for school and then stayed in Ningcheng...

Song Qiao stood in front of Song Tan, his eyes sparkling, looking at her obediently like a puppy.

Song Tan reached out, and the boy lowered his head obediently, letting her touch his cold cheeks: "Qiaoqiao."

"Mm!"

"I’m back to stay with you, okay?"

"Okay!" he replied, super loudly.

Then he looked at Song Sancheng hesitantly: "But Dad said you have to earn money, and it’s very tiring, so I shouldn't bother you."

Song Tan laughed and checked his hands, looking to see if his fingernails were clean—he was good; he hadn't been digging in the mud in the middle of winter.

"Earning money is too tiring. Sister doesn't want to earn it anymore. I’m coming back to stay with Qiaoqiao, with Mom and Dad. We’ll be together. Is that okay?"

Song Qiao didn't know what it meant for one of the few college graduates in the village to come back and farm; he just cheered

"Yay!"

"Don't be afraid, Sister! I know how to grow corn, I’ll support you!"

At this, even Song Sancheng, who had been wearing a bitter face, couldn't help but laugh

"All you know how to do is drop corn kernels into a hole and break them off the stalk. What do you know about growing corn!"

Thank you to Qianqiu for the tip, and thank you all for your support! This story remains a slow burn.

Prices, countryside, farming, environment, climate—every place has different living habits, and I guarantee I haven't written anything blindly. So, don't worry when you see different opinions; just treat it like a trip to a remote rural village.

(End of chapter)