novelAbuy Article 20 addresses the two brothers, Mo and his brother.
Article 20 addresses the two brothers, Mo and his brother.
Cheng Chuliang was dragged out of the mansion gate by his brother. Two horses were tied at the gate, one chestnut and one black.
Cheng Chumo mounted the chestnut horse, while Cheng Chuliang yawned and climbed onto the black horse, muttering as he climbed: "What spring outing? I think you just want to mess with me."
Last time you said you'd take me to Qujiang to see the flowers, but it turned out we were just going to get into a fight to support someone.
Last time you said you'd take me to the East Market for sesame cakes, but we ended up just waiting for someone.
"Today is for a spring outing." Cheng Chumo spurred the horse, "Giddy up!"
Two horses emerged from the gate, one after the other.
Early morning vendors were already setting up their stalls on the streets, with steam rising from large pots selling steamed buns and stacks of bamboo steamers for selling steamed cakes.
The clattering of hooves on the bluestone slabs dispelled most of Cheng Chuliang's drowsiness.
Once you leave the Golden Gate, the fields on both sides of the road become more numerous. In March, the wheat fields are lush and green, swaying in waves when the wind blows.
The earthy smell in the air was completely different from the smoky atmosphere of the city. Taking a deep breath made my lungs feel refreshed.
Cheng Chuliang then perked up, looking around: "It's really more comfortable outside than in the city. Brother, you know how to pick a place."
"Just wandering around." Cheng Chumo rode his horse, his eyes fixed on the dirt road ahead. Two rows of mulberry trees lined both sides of the road; the trees weren't tall, but their leaves were dense.
"Which way?" Cheng Chuliang asked.
"Just wander around. Wherever you end up is fine."
After walking for the time it takes to burn an incense stick, large rice paddies began to appear along the roadside.
The rice seedlings have already grown to about knee-high, standing in neat rows.
Cheng Chuliang didn't know much about crops, but his brother unconsciously pulled on the reins at the edge of a certain field.
"The spacing is half a hand wider than that of a typical paddy field."
This tone doesn't sound like that of a military general's son, but rather like... Cheng Chumo suddenly realized who he had just spoken like.
Last time, his father took him to the Ministry of Revenue to see the land registers in Guanzhong. The old agricultural official squatted in front of the map and talked about the direction of the irrigation canals. That's how he talked.
He shook his head, spurred the horse on, and continued forward.
The dirt road turned a corner, and a farm came into view. The yard wasn't big, but it was quite tidy.
The courtyard wall was made of rammed earth and was not high. From the horse, you could see a jujube tree in the courtyard, with its canopy peeking over the top of the wall.
Behind us, we could vaguely see rice paddies stretching all the way to the foot of the mountain. The gate to the courtyard was ajar, half-open.
Cheng Chumo dismounted and handed the reins to Cheng Chuliang.
"Wait here."
"Huh? Weren't you just passing by? Why did you go in?"
"Can I have a drink of water? Aren't you thirsty after riding all this way?"
Cheng Chumo ignored his questions, walked to the courtyard gate, and knocked twice.
Is anyone there?
A young man's voice came from inside: "Coming, coming."
Then came the sound of footsteps. The courtyard gate was pulled open from the inside, and a young man about his age stood in the doorway.
He was wearing a gray cloth coat, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his hands were covered in mud.
His face didn't show any particular expression; he wasn't enthusiastic or wary, just the kind of ordinary person who would "open the door when they hear a knock."
Cheng Chumo clasped his hands in a fist and said, "Brother, I apologize for bothering you. My surname is Cheng. My younger brother and I went out of town for a spring outing, and we've been riding for a long time and are quite thirsty. We'd like to ask for a bowl of water. Is it convenient for you?"
Wang Zhi glanced at him, then at Cheng Chuliang, who was leading the horse behind him.
Two young people, dressed plainly, riding horses, went out of town for a spring outing early in the morning—a perfectly normal thing.
"No problem at all, come in. There's water, just drawn from the well."
Cheng Chumo turned around and waved to Cheng Chuliang: "Come in and rest for a while."
Cheng Chuliang tied his horse to the hitching post at the entrance and followed him inside.
As soon as he entered the courtyard, his eyes began to dart around. On the stone table sat a half-empty bowl of water, and next to it were two half-eaten steamed buns.
Under the jujube tree were several small bamboo chairs, and next to the chairs was a rough porcelain jar with a few goldfish swimming slowly in it.
Several earthenware jars sat on the windowsill, their mouths sealed with oil paper. The clucking of chickens came from the backyard.
"This courtyard is really well-maintained." Cheng Chumo took the water bowl, sat down on the stone bench, and said casually.
"If you live alone, you won't feel comfortable if you don't keep things tidy." Wang Zhihuan sat down and handed Cheng Chuliang a bowl of water.
Cheng Chuliang took the bowl of water, but his attention was drawn to the commotion from the chicken coop.
He carried the bowl to the chicken coop, glanced inside, and then his voice changed: "Brother! Their chickens don't eat corn! They eat worms! The kind that crawl on the ground!"
"Earthworms," Wang Zhihuan said, walking over. "They're earthworms."
Cheng Chuliang squatted outside the fence, peering inside for a long time while gripping the bamboo strips with both hands. He finally managed to squeeze out a question: "These earthworms, you just throw them in like that to feed them?"
"Yes. Just pile up rotten vegetable leaves and straw, and it will grow back on its own."
"Can it lay eggs?"
Cheng Chuliang raised this question, and his brother also took a few steps closer without making a sound.
At this moment, Cheng Yaojin's little brat and Old Zhang's grandson, Gou Dan, achieved a high degree of unity in spirit.
They don't care about what circular agriculture is; they only care whether the chickens will lay eggs after eating this.
Wang Zhihuan chuckled, "Yes, it's possible. Chickens that eat this lay eggs more than a month earlier than those that eat millet. And the eggs are bigger too."
"Tsk tsk tsk." After making a remark, Cheng Chuliang added two more words, "That's really good."
Cheng Chumo stood to the side without saying a word, but he memorized two words: earthworm.
Cheng Chuliang then went to look at the goldfish in the tank, poking at the surface of the water with his finger as he chased after them.
Cheng Chumo was sitting on a stone bench with a bowl of water in his hand when the rice paddy outside the backyard came into his view.
He put down his bowl, stood up, walked to the courtyard wall, and looked into the distance.
A large rice paddy, with neat rows of rice seedlings, much thicker than those in the fields outside.
When the wind blows, the green waves roll from in front of you all the way to the foot of the mountain.
"Brother, what variety of rice is this? It's taller than the ones outside."
"Champa rice".
"Champa?"
"It came from the south. It's drought-resistant, grows quickly, and has many branches. Come and take a look."
Wang Zhi also led him to the edge of the field, squatted down and gently bent down the stem of a rice seedling to show him, "This one has six branches."
There are several thousand plants per acre, with six shoots per plant and one ear of rice per shoot. The harvest yields twice as many as ordinary rice.
Cheng Chumo squatted on the edge of the field and poked at the root of the rice seedling with a finger.
The stalks were bulging, and the stems were thicker than most rice he had ever seen.
He suddenly remembered that his father's face didn't look good when he returned from court last autumn.
That day, his father took off his court robes and threw them on the rack. He sat down and drank several bowls of cold water before speaking.
The Ministry of Works and the Ministry of Revenue argued for three whole months over the irrigation canals in Guanzhong, producing a whole basketful of memorials, but not a single new canal was dug.
His father said that in Guanzhong, some places have good harvests, while others have poor harvests year after year, the soil is sour, and nothing can grow.
The Ministry of Revenue said it had no money to repair the canal, while the Ministry of Works said that without a canal there would be no water, no water would mean no harvest, and without a harvest, the Ministry of Revenue would have even less money.
It's a dead end, no matter how you look at it.
But the person squatting on the edge of the field in front of me didn't argue.
He would squat there, gently touching the stalks of the rice seedlings, and tell them that each plant had six branches and how much grain could be harvested per acre.
There were no memorials, no arguments, just a real acre of land and a type of rice that could yield twice as much grain.