Chapter 11: 11 Processing Seeds

Chapter 11: Processing Seeds

Early the next morning, as soon as Song Sancheng got out of bed, he was stunned.

The air... it was so fresh!

In the distance, the mountains were wreathed in clouds and mist, with a faint layer of golden light softly haloing them, looking just as beautiful as a scenic spot.

The pond at the gate was covered in a layer of white mist—thick and dense, almost obscuring the entire surface of the water. The mist hung very low, drifting slowly.

As for the plum tree in the yard, Song Sancheng clearly remembered it had finished blooming last month, so why were there a few more blossoms today? Small, yellow buds, half-open and half-closed, were not only exceptionally cute but also emitted a faint fragrance that could be smelled from far away.

For once, the old farmer felt a rare appreciation for beauty, but he also felt like something was off, as if he himself were being observed...

He turned his head to look!

Seven or eight local gray squirrels were clinging to the courtyard wall, peering into the yard like paparazzi. He looked toward the back mountain; despite it being the bleak scene of a winter just passed, it somehow exuded a sense of new brightness.

It was like... like it had been polished!

Song Sancheng stared blankly for a long time, amused by his own thoughts: "Achoo!"

The morning was too cold.

He quickly cast aside his messy thoughts, grabbed a pile of firewood, and went to light the stove.

Sigh, being an aging man is hard work. Everyone is afraid of the cold, yet he’s the one who has to get up to light the fire.

...

Inside the room.

Song Tan slowly withdrew her spiritual sense. The spiritual energy attracted to her surroundings had been refined and transformed through her Water-Wood Spirit Method, and now it dissipated quietly, turning into even richer vitality.

Inside and outside the house, the air was perfectly fresh.

Feeling the abundant spiritual energy in her body, she let out a long breath—her body was finally almost fully repaired.

Song Tan left the room, washed up briefly, and pulled two wild grass stalks from the woodpile. She tied them into a cross, then squatted in the empty vegetable garden. She cupped the cross in her palms, the ends lightly touching the ground—

Then, closing her eyes slightly, she whispered

"How is my savior doing now?"

This was *Fuji* (planchette writing).

It was an ancient method of divination similar to the I Ching and Bagua. It required little spiritual energy, and many ordinary people with a slight grasp of spiritual methods could perform it. It was also the only thing Song Tan, still in the Qi Refining stage, could manage.

Of course, with a low barrier to entry, the results were... also a bit sloppy.

...

The man who saved her in the car accident—if it weren't for him, even if she had transmigrated back and repaired her body with spiritual energy, it would have been difficult to survive such an explosion.

Her memories were too chaotic, and the conflict between the spiritual energy and her physical injuries meant Song Tan only remembered his dark brown eyes and thick eyelashes...

She hadn't been able to ask at the hospital, and now that her spiritual energy had recovered slightly, she naturally wanted to investigate immediately.

Cultivators value karma, and she, Song Tan, values gratitude.

If nothing else, sending some local specialties was always an option.

The doctor at the hospital, Dr. Zhang, had been vague, and she always felt something wasn't quite right.

Spiritual energy surged, and the simple makeshift planchette in her hands slid slowly through the slightly damp morning soil. Song Tan opened her eyes to see a scattered line of text on the ground

"Not dead."

Song Tan:...

She felt like she was cracking up.

What kind of answer was that? No wonder no one in the Cangxuan Realm used this method anymore!

Unwilling to give up, she closed her eyes again to focus and asked: "Where is my savior?"

Spiritual energy surged again, eventually scratching out a line of even more scattered text

"At home."

Song Tan was even more annoyed!

She threw the cross of grass aside, feeling for the first time that metaphysics was useless. After thinking for a moment, she simply sent another message to the doctor at Ning Province People's Hospital

"Dr. Zhang, may I trouble you to ask how the gentleman who saved me is doing? Was the transfer due to his physical condition? If possible, could you provide his contact information?"

"A life-saving grace—even if he doesn't need me to repay him, I must thank him in person."

It took a long time for a reply: "I'll ask for you again."

...

On a winter morning, washing vegetables in the kitchen was freezing, so Wu Lan simply boiled a big pot of dumplings. She watched as Qiaoqiao spun like a top, serving his sister dumplings one moment and bringing her dumpling soup the next...

The couple, one tending the fire and one cooking, just served themselves and ate—self-reliance it was!

As for Song Tan?

She sat brazenly in her chair, coaxing people with her words: "Qiaoqiao is so good!"

"Qiaoqiao is so well-behaved!"

"Qiaoqiao brought the dumpling soup, Sister drank it all in one go!"

Wu Lan and Song Sancheng were both silent.

Our silly son, what are we going to do?

Out of sight, out of mind. Song Sancheng cleared his throat to change the subject

"Well, the person for plowing the land is coming this morning. Make a bit more food for lunch."

Song Tan was curious: "Are they bringing it by tractor?"

Where would they get a tractor now?

"By a small tricycle."

Song Tan:!!!

The plow is small, but isn't using a tricycle to transport it a bit insulting to the machine? Besides, can a tricycle handle the mountains and ridges?

But before she could ponder this, she heard the sound of a vehicle on the road outside. She went out to look, and wow!

It was indeed an old, date-red tricycle, looking exactly like the private ones used for moving and deliveries on the streets of Ning City.

In the small but seemingly very large cargo bed sat an equally old date-red plow, clearly ready for work.

"Brother, where's the land? I'm heading there now!"

"Here so early? Have you eaten?"

The two older men exchanged pleasantries and walked toward the fields amidst the roar of the tricycle.

On this side, Wu Lan was calculating the lunch menu, not forgetting to instruct her daughter

"I've hired quite a few people to cut trees on the back mountain. It's a good chance to saw down those overly dense sawtooth oaks that are the size of a bowl. On one hand, it clears space for a pigsty. On the other hand, didn't you want to grow black fungus and white fungus? These trunks will come in handy."

The money was already spent, so Wu Lan could only accept these plans. She spoke calmly now

"I'll ask around and have someone pull the weeds in the chestnut grove on the hillside by the pond. Otherwise, it'll affect the fungus cultivation."

She muttered to herself: "Hiring people to pull weeds is more expensive than using pesticides..."

Song Tan pretended to be a quail; in any case, using pesticides was out of the question.

However, playing the quail didn't save her. Wu Lan stared at her again: "If you want to farm, you can't just sit around. Go process the seeds for me."

Song Tan nodded quickly.

Qiaoqiao, holding his bowl, had just poked a big dumpling with his chopsticks. Not understanding what was going on, he quickly added: "Sister! I'll help you!"

—Wu Lan looked even more annoyed.

...

Processing the Chinese milk vetch seeds was quite simple.

Song Tan took Qiaoqiao to shovel two scoops of sand from outside to mix with the vetch seeds, rubbing them together vigorously—this would thin the thick outer shell and help them germinate faster.

This rubbing through the bag, besides requiring some effort, had a special kind of fun to it. Song and Qiao laughed as they rubbed, clearly having a talent for farm work.

Once rubbed enough, it was time to dry them.

After drying for a few hours, it was time to play with water—no, wait, it was to soak the seeds for half a day.

By noon, after stirring a few times, they threw away the inferior seeds that floated to the top.

The seeds were considered processed.

After all, it was green manure; for so many years, everyone had used such rough planting methods. The only difference was that when soaking them, Song Tan dissolved some spiritual energy into the water.

Qiaoqiao looked at the seeds covering half the yard, feeling extremely proud: "Sister, farming is so much fun!"

It was just that his arms were a bit sore.

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