Chapter Five: Strive Forward with Vigor and Speed

Ping'an Village...

It was already mid-morning, and the sun blazed fiercely overhead. By the time Lu Kun and his whole family returned home, some villagers had already started preparing lunch.

He estimated that it was about eleven o’clock and hastily called for Big Ya to rinse the rice and make lunch.

Yes, that’s right—he called for Big Ya, who had just turned seven this year.

Things were different now than in later generations; in the countryside at this time, a seven-year-old child was already considered half a laborer. Raising pigs, feeding chickens, washing dishes, cooking—she was nothing short of a little household expert.

Perhaps these chores seemed unbelievable to children of later times, but to rural folks now, it was perfectly normal.

Yesterday, Lu Kun had deliberately left some rice in the jar, just for this meal today.

“Dear, how do you deal with these river snails?” Liu Liping, who had never handled them before, asked.

“Just set them aside for now. First, collect all the ironware in the house, especially if it’s rusty, and leave the rest to me.”

Lu Kun’s body was sore and weak. The exertions of yesterday had left him exhausted, and without timely nourishment, he was practically useless now.

Though Liu Liping was puzzled by her husband’s request for ironware, she didn’t question it and quickly went inside to search.

Er Ya was a sweet child, her small fists thumping gently on Lu Kun’s back in a soothing massage.

Lu Kun and Er Ya played freely together, their cheerful laughter echoing through the little courtyard.

Inside the house, as Liu Liping searched for scissors, a hatchet, and a kitchen knife, a gentle smile of contentment spread across her face at the sound of laughter outside.

Busy cooking, Big Ya listened longingly to the playful voices in the yard, her little face full of envy.

“Here you go.”

Liu Liping handed over several pieces of ironware all at once, startling Lu Kun, who quickly pulled Er Ya aside and set to work.

To make authentic Five-Spice River Snails, there was a crucial step—purging the sand.

River snails are full of sand, and if you want them to taste good, you have to find a way to get them to spit it out.

In the countryside, there was a special trick—putting ironware, especially rusty pieces, into the water with the snails.

Of course, the “Empire of Gourmands” had devised all sorts of other methods too: adding salt, sesame oil, or salad oil to help the snails purge the sand.

Lu Kun wanted to do better, but he simply didn’t have the means. Never mind sesame oil or salad oil—even salt was a precious commodity they hesitated to use.

At that time, salt production was mostly state-controlled, with only a few regions allowing its free trade. For farmers, a bag of salt was hardly cheap.

Still, every net has its holes. In recent years, the village store by the entrance sometimes sold loose salt—unpackaged, sold by weight. Everyone in the village knew its dubious origins, but since it was less than half the price of the properly packaged “official salt,” no one said anything.

Purging sand from river snails wasn’t a quick task. Lu Kun figured it would take at least four or five hours to get most of it out, and to do a thorough job, he’d have to wait until tomorrow.

He scooped up half a basin of water, washed the bucketful of river snails two or three times, added the ironware, and left the snails to purge themselves.

With his hands washed clean, Lu Kun picked up Er Ya and played horsey with her, laughing as they headed out the door.

“Just leave the snails there. I’ll come back for lunch. No need to look for me.”

He left these words behind so that his wife and daughter wouldn’t fret when they finished their chores and couldn’t find him and Er Ya.

“Papa, Papa, where are we going?” Er Ya sat on his shoulders, swaying back and forth.

“We’re going to Uncle Stone’s house,” Lu Kun replied, striding toward Stone’s house.

On the way, when he met fellow villagers, Lu Kun simply greeted them with a friendly smile, keeping the conversation brief.

It was partly because his memories were faint—he could barely recall most people’s names and didn’t want to get involved in lengthy chats.

“Have you eaten yet?”—this simple greeting was never wrong.

From their responses—“I’ve eaten,” or “Not yet”—and the follow-up questions like “Where are you taking Er Ya?” or “Where are you off to, brother?”—Lu Kun pieced together the villagers’ relationships with him.

No one minded his brevity. In earlier years, Lu Kun had been a bit of a troublemaker; it was only after marrying and having children that he began to settle down.

Most honest villagers didn’t have close ties with him; only those of his own generation had deeper bonds.

Stone’s house was at the edge of the village, with few neighbors around. Tall weeds grew at the door, and moss covered the threshold. The ramshackle wooden gate, in the damp and rainy season, reeked of decay.

Knock, knock.

Lu Kun knocked on the door. He knew Stone would be home at this hour.

Stone was a loyal friend, always there for his brothers—a bit roguish, perhaps, but never troubling the villagers; in fact, he often helped them.

Stone hadn’t married yet, but life was comfortable enough—sleeping by day, going out at night.

No one in the village really knew where he went, except Lu Kun. Stone worked as a pimp.

For every deal he brokered, he’d get fifty cents from the girl, or even three or four yuan from a generous client. It added up to over a hundred yuan a month—a very comfortable living.

Lu Kun and Stone had been sworn brothers since they were toddlers running around in split-crotch pants. Thanks to Stone, Lu Kun had even had a few free visits to the “ladies.”

But luck eventually runs out. Not long ago, someone reported Stone, and he ended up in jail for over half a year. He’d only just been released, thanks to his uncle’s efforts and a fair bit of money changing hands.

“Who is it?!”

Stone opened the door, his hair a tangled mess, eyes bleary with sleep.

“It’s me, Kunzi,” Lu Kun said, setting Er Ya down.

“So it’s you, you rascal!” Stone grinned, swinging the door wide.

“Hello, Uncle Stone—hug!” the little girl greeted him, remembering the uncle with the centipede-shaped scar on his left temple.

Every time she visited, he always gave her sweet water with sugar.

“Good girl, Er Ya. Come in, I’ll get you some sugar water.”

Before Lu Kun could say anything, Stone scooped up the girl and headed inside.

Lu Kun followed without ceremony.

“You’re a rare guest these days. Usually it’s me coming to your place. Finally, you’ve come to see me for once.”

Stone knew about the troubles in Lu Kun’s family and worried that losing his son might crush his spirit.

“I can’t just stay home and grow mold. The weather’s nice, so I thought I’d come see you,” Lu Kun chuckled.

“Oh, come on. You never come to the temple for nothing. If you need something, just say so—no need to be shy.”

Stone was well aware of Lu Kun’s situation and wanted to help his childhood brother.

“Don’t worry. If I really need help, you’ll be the first to know—I won’t hold back,” Lu Kun laughed.

“That’s settled, then. Don’t keep everything bottled up. Remember—we’re brothers!” Stone raised his eyebrows and flashed a broad smile.