Chapter 7: Sprout Soup

Jiang Fubao didn’t want to go out.

She stayed in the courtyard, enjoying the rural scenery.

Until dusk fell.

Only then did the Jiang family return.

Each went to their own room, preparing to sleep.

In ancient times, except in summer, people rarely washed at night. Early spring was still a bit chilly, and heating water was inconvenient.

Villagers generally went to bed without washing their face or feet. After all, getting chilled could easily lead to a deadly cold.

Plus, it hadn’t rained much in the past two years. The drought made washing an even greater waste of water.

Jiang Fubao wasn’t used to this.

In her memory, the last time she had bathed was half a month ago.

She had fallen into the river and gotten completely soaked, breaking into cold sweats and feeling sticky all over.

But there was nothing she could do. When in Rome, do as the Romans do—she had to try to accept it.

Listening to the breathing of her two brothers beside her, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and soon she drifted into sleep.

At this moment, in the corner of the kitchen, there were two bamboo baskets.

One held chicken eggs, the other quail eggs, both lying quietly.

Farming families couldn’t afford candles or oil lamps.

They didn’t even want to waste oil on food, let alone lighting. So once night fell, it was time for the household to sleep.

Early spring wasn’t as cold as winter.

Hibernating animals came out to forage, birds became active, and occasionally a cry echoed at night, startlingly like a baby’s wail.

The entire Jiangjia Village grew unusually quiet.

Until the early hours of the morning.

Jiang Fubao, half-asleep, heard sparse sounds at the door. Her sleep was light, so she woke immediately, but her childlike body couldn’t resist—she just turned over and continued sleeping.

When she woke again, the sun had already appeared.

The morning glow in the east cast a faint golden light—it would be a clear day.

But for farmers, this was not something to celebrate.

Spring rain is said to be worth its weight in oil, yet not a single drop had fallen so far.

Jiang Fubao put on her clothes and shoes and got out of bed.

Her two brothers were already awake.

She stepped out of the house.

Just like yesterday.

Under her grandmother-in-law’s vigorous care, she washed her face.

Breakfast, too, was the same coarse rice porridge.

No variation at all.

Time always flew when daydreaming. In a blink, it was noon, and the three of them returning from gathering wild vegetables carried bamboo baskets.

“From today onward, our family will have three meals. At noon, Da He and the others are doing odd jobs in town, so if they can’t come back, we’ll just have some sprout soup. Save the rice porridge for dinner. There’s no heavy labor in the fields, so no need to eat too much.”

Zhang Jinlan saw her daughters-in-law returning.

She quickly said this.

“Understood, Mother. We’ll start sorting the vegetables right away,” Zhu Yingqiu replied.

“Mother, we gathered a full basket. Once the sprout soup is ready, I want a big bowl!” the glutton Sun Pingmei said, licking her lips.

Only Zhang Yanzi smiled gently.

She remained silent.

The three of them squatted and began sorting vegetables.

Each worked quickly and efficiently.

Before long, the full baskets of sprouts were ready.

At noon, only eleven people sat at the table in the main hall.

Each had a bowl of green sprout soup in front of them.

Not a drop of oil, just a pinch of salt to cook it.

“It’s strange, I feel like there’s a bit more salt in the salt jar than usual,” Zhu Yingqiu, who was usually in the kitchen, noticed something was off.

But no one believed her.

“Sister-in-law, you must be mistaken. Who would add salt to our jar? Only a foolish spendthrift would do something that dumb. You must be remembering wrong. Hurry and eat; after lunch, the three of us will go to the mountain again, see if we’re as lucky as Fubao in finding bird eggs.”

Sun Pingmei lifted her bowl and started eating voraciously.

The sprouts were bitter but far better than tree bark.

Years ago, Qixi County had suffered disasters. Back then, Sun Pingmei was unmarried, only seven or eight. Being a girl, she had no access to the family grain and went hungry every day.

In the mountains, wild vegetables and fungi were scarce, and even weeds were hard to find. Sun Pingmei could only gnaw on tree bark to survive.

So she had learned not to be picky. Even sprouts smelled delicious.

After her first try, the spendthrift Jiang Fubao quickly accepted sprout soup.

Boiled sprouts were less bitter than stir-fried ones.

She ate in small bites, occasionally sipping the soup.

Originally, her noon meal was supposed to be steamed egg custard.

But Jiang Fubao didn’t want to eat alone.

She insisted on eating the same as the Jiang family.

Zhang Jinlan couldn’t refuse and served her a small half bowl of sprout soup.

“When we sell the grain this fall, we’ll find a wife for Tong Jin. He’s fifteen already. If he stayed in Zhangjia Village, the kid would already be born by year’s end.”

In poor families, there were no strict rules about food or speech.

Zhang Jinlan chewed the sprouts slowly and spoke.

She was from Zhangjia Village. Had her parents not died early and had she had brothers to help, she wouldn’t have married into the poorest Jiangjia Village. Luckily, her old man treated her well. Life was simple but fulfilling.

Her sons were filial, daughters-in-law diligent, and grandsons sensible.

Speaking of Zhangjia Village, her youngest daughter-in-law, Zhang Yanzi, who was Fubao’s mother, was distantly related—within three degrees of kinship.

Zhang Yanzi was also an only child. Her father died, and her widowed mother raised her but passed away as well. Poor and cursed by fate, no one in Zhangjia Village would marry her.

On a visit, Zhang Jinlan decided to arrange the marriage for her son.

The mother-in-law and daughter-in-law got along like real mother and daughter.

“Exactly. Blame the weather these past two years: no rain, relentless sun. It’s exhausted us, ruined the rice harvest, and even after collecting the coarse rice, we only got half the yield. Everyone’s struggling. On top of that, conscription took men away, and there’s no grain or money left.”

Zhu Yingqiu put down her bowl and sighed.

Tong Jin was her eldest son, so she naturally cared.

But the family had no money—what could she do?

Last year’s conscription required every family to provide three men over fourteen, or pay a fine.

Two taels of silver per person.

How could she let her son go to the frontier to fight? Nine times out of ten, he wouldn’t return. It was basically sending him to his death.

So the Jiang family paid six taels of silver as a fine.

It emptied the household coffers.

Adding hardship to an already poor family.

“Enough, just eat. No sighing. Old woman, starting tomorrow, take the three daughters-in-law to gather more sprouts in the mountains. Spring is here, wild vegetables and fungi will emerge. Keep an eye out. Last year, selling dried mushrooms didn’t bring much money, but it was still extra income. As for fieldwork, I and the three boys can handle it.”

Jiang Shoujia saw the family’s low spirits. He tapped the table and then said to Zhang Jinlan:

“You’re right, old woman. No matter how hard life gets, we must keep going. I don’t know if it will rain this year, but as the saying goes, ‘prepare for a rainy day.’ Saving a little money never hurts. This year, we’ll gather more dried mushrooms to sell. Even if the harvest is poor, we can manage. And if we get lucky, like Fubao did with the bird eggs, we won’t go hungry.”