I had previously bought all sorts of seeds. With the stream for irrigation, I didn't have to worry about the crops not growing well.
Rapeseed, wheat, paddy rice, potatoes, and sweet potatoes all had to be planted.
Rapeseed oil pressed from our own homegrown plants has a beautiful color and fragrant aroma when cooking. I've gotten used to eating this kind of oil.
Wheat was quite easy to grow. After sowing, it didn't require much care; I just had to wait for the ears to ripen to a golden yellow before harvesting. It was much more convenient than paddy rice.
But the trouble is, everyone in the family prefers white rice, so I still had to plant a little more paddy rice.
Sweet potatoes and potatoes could be stored for a long time. When there was nothing else to eat, they were delicious steamed or roasted in a fire.
Along the stream bank, I planted some taro and konjac. With enough water, I could get a small harvest.
Farming in the space was different from the real world. There was no need to watch the seasons; here, as long as you planted, you would have a harvest, and the yields were high.
The bok choy in the yard had long since grown old; keeping it served no purpose. I didn't like to eat it, and Grandfather couldn't chew it. I picked some for Fatty Bang and left the rest for the pigs, cows, and goats to give them a change of diet.
After some thought, I still replanted some bok choy in the space, so that Grandfather would always have something fresh whenever he wanted to eat.
I brought Banh Nep into the space, and he was very happy. After all, being a creature from this place, he was very familiar with it.
His body was too small. As I transplanted rice seedlings barefoot in the paddy, he excitedly extended his snow-white paws to probe the muddy water's surface. I startled, afraid he would plunge headfirst into the paddy and drown.
Banh Nep was very clever. Seeing me look at him, he obediently squatted on the edge of the paddy, his big, round eyes watching me without moving.
The moment I turned my back to transplant more seedlings, he started to fidget again.
Fortunately, he aimed well, leaping across the ditch and landing with a "splat" in a mud puddle on the bank. When I fished him out, his pure white fur was no longer its original color.
Seeing my cold expression, his dark eyes shifted away slightly. He licked my palm ingratiatingly with his tongue, seeming embarrassed.
After causing trouble, I had no idea what he had to be embarrassed about.
That evening, I boiled water and tossed him into a small wooden tub. This time, he was very well-behaved, letting me turn him every which way without a single yelp. His attitude of admitting fault was excellent; this point deserved praise.
The temperature in the deepest part of the cave was very low. I stored the rest of the smoked meat from before in there. When I took some out these past few days, the taste hadn't changed.
It had been a long time since we had meat. Never mind Banh Nep, even I was craving it a little.
Grandfather sliced a piece of smoked meat, crushed some garlic, sliced ginger, and cut up some leeks and bell peppers.
He heated the oil, stir-fried the aromatics until fragrant, then added the meat. The smoked meat was already salty, so he couldn't add much more salt.
He also stir-fried a plate of fermented bean paste and a plate of pickled mustard greens. Eaten with corn porridge, it was just right for dinner.
Seeing Grandfather slicing the meat, Banh Nep had already appeared at the kitchen door, his eyes staring intently.
When he saw me bring the food to the table without putting any meat in his bowl, he looked at me with an expression that was both resentful and wronged. Perhaps thinking he had made a mistake, he didn't dare to bark for meat as he usually did.
I beckoned with my hand, and Banh Nep immediately ran over on his short legs.
I instinctively stroked his head. As if being comforted, he contentedly rubbed against my palm.
I had prepared Banh Nep's meal long ago. How could I bear to let the little guy go hungry?
Seeing me bring out his food bowl, Banh Nep wagged his tail happily, licked my palm, and blinked his eyes.
Banh Nep's food bowl was twice the size of his body. Every time I saw him completely obscured by it, I worried he would knock the bowl over and fall right in.
After a few days, all the seedlings in the paddy were transplanted. I just had to wait a while until the rice plants were about seven or eight inches tall, then transplant them one more time, and the busy work would be over.
Lately, Grandfather had been coughing a lot at night and was also easily tired during the day.
At noon, he suddenly fainted. I was extremely worried.
After settling him down to rest, I hurried over to the neighboring village to ask the village healer to come take a look.
This village healer was named Minh. Although he had not attended a formal medical school, he had studied under an old herbalist in the village and also knew a little about Western medicine. He had treated patients in all the surrounding villages, and his medical skills and ethics were both very respectable.
Uncle Minh stroked the few whiskers on his chin and took my grandfather's pulse, his expression grave and silent.
I was anxious. If there was a serious illness now, I was afraid we wouldn't make it to the town in time.
Seeing how worried I was, Uncle Minh didn't beat around the bush and said directly, "The old gentleman just has a chronic heart condition. It's not immediately life-threatening. Just don't let him get angry, and take good care of him."
I nodded, waiting for the rest of what Uncle Minh had to say.
Uncle Minh nodded and looked around my house once.
"All I have left here are a few local herbal remedies. You give me twenty-five kilograms of white rice, and I'll trade them with you."
So that's what he was waiting for.
Twenty-five kilograms of rice wasn't a lot. I measured out half a sack for him. Uncle Minh smiled so wide his eyes crinkled.
He placed the packet of herbs on the table, his expression very serious.
"I originally had some Western medicine, but Cuong's wife already bought it all for her father."
Uncle Minh tapped his bamboo pipe on the table and leaned in conspiratorially.
"You might not know this, but for the past two days, the children in the village have been falling ill one after another. And it's a strange illness, let me tell you. The kids vomit violently, can't keep anything down, and they're wasting away."
Just as Uncle Minh was about to say more, an old auntie ran over, her eyes red-rimmed and her voice hoarse.
"Uncle Minh, please come and see my family, quickly! My little Na has been vomiting so much she's barely recognizable!"
Hearing this, Uncle Minh tucked his pipe into his waistband, hurriedly pulled the auntie along, and rushed out the door.