Time Travel: My Comfortable Life After Going to the Countryside

Each ruby-like ginseng seed stands upright at the top of a slender stem, with palmate compound leaves whorled in the middle of the stem.

Ginseng fruit!

My gaze followed the stem downwards, and my mental energy probed deep into the soil... The main root was thick and long, with a beautiful shape, and it was definitely not young.

Liu Xiangyang felt a surge of warmth in his heart, took a deep breath to calm himself, and remained composed.

He squatted down, carefully cleared away the surrounding weeds, took out a red string and copper coins, and gently tied them to the ginseng stem.

"I've found you."

After doing all that, he stepped back a few paces, looked at the sky, found a spot nearby, cleaned the campsite, and started a campfire.

Tonight, watch the ginseng.

A skewer of deer tenderloin sizzles over a fire, the fat crackling and the aroma filling the air. The meat is tender and juicy, a pure and satisfying wild flavor.

After the meal, he took stock of his spoils: the deer antlers, blood, meat, and hides stored properly in his space, the medicinal herbs in his basket, and then, by the light of the fire, he glanced at the ginseng fruit tied with a red string not far away.

With a broad smile, leaning against the rock, warmed by the campfire, he thought, "This trip was truly worthwhile!"

As dawn broke, a thin layer of mist still hung over the forest.

Liu Xiangyang was already awake. He didn't get up immediately. In the dim morning light, he looked towards the direction where the red rope was tied at the base of the rock. A night had passed, and the red rope was still there, while the copper coin remained unmoved.

He sat up, stretched his neck and shoulders. The campfire was just a little dark red ember, emitting wisps of smoke. The mountain forest was exceptionally quiet in the early morning, with only the crisp, short chirps of the early birds.

Instead of starting a fire to cook, he went to the mountain stream and carefully washed his hands. The cool, clear water flowed through his fingers, carrying away the last bit of dirt and dust.

Then, he took out the specially prepared tools from his space—a small, sharp deer bone shovel, several finely shaved bamboo skewers, a small bundle of soft linden bark fibers twisted into thin rope, and a clean, washed and dried coarse white cloth.

He placed his tools on a flat bluestone by the stream, then took out his brown paper notebook from his pocket, turned to the pages that recorded the taboos and methods of ginseng harvesting, and silently read through them. In fact, he already knew the steps by heart.

He closed his notebook, put it away, took a deep breath of the crisp air, and walked back to the ginseng plant tied with a red string.

He didn't squat down immediately, but stood there, quietly watching that patch of bright red and emerald green. The thin mist flowed slowly through the forest, the light was soft, and it was very quiet all around, so quiet that he could hear his own steady and powerful heartbeat.

Then, he slowly squatted down, his movements as gentle as if afraid of disturbing something. He first laid out the coarse white cloth neatly next to the ginseng, then picked up the deer bone shovel and gently tested its sharpness on his thumb.

He started to take action.

Instead of digging directly from under the red rope, they first cleared away the loose soil and fallen leaves in a larger area around the ginseng stem, carefully parting them with their hands to reveal a small patch of clean ground around the base of the ginseng stem. The movements were extremely light and slow, making almost no sound.

Then, he gently probed the soil beside the stem with the deer bone shovel. He was completely focused, his eyes slightly narrowed, all his senses concentrated on his fingertips and the small tip of the shovel.

With a spoon and a pick, a small clump of damp black soil was peeled off and placed in a corner of a white cloth.

A tiny bit of pale yellow, slender ginseng rootlets are visible underneath.

His breathing slowed down further.

He moved with even greater care, replacing the deer bone skewer with a thinner bamboo stick, and began to carefully remove the surrounding soil bit by bit, following the direction of the ginseng tendril. The ginseng tendril was fragile and could break if too much force was applied, so he did it with even more patience than when embroidering.

Time seemed to lose its meaning. The sun rose higher, dispelling the thin mist in the forest. Sunlight filtered through the leaves and fell on his focused profile and arms. Fine beads of sweat gradually appeared on his forehead, but he didn't wipe them away, letting them slide down his temples.

As the topsoil is peeled away layer by layer, the outline of the ginseng's main root begins to appear.

It is not the common "human" shape, but a more stretched and slender "spirit" shape. The rhizome is slender and covered with old stem marks, like scales of time. The main root is thick and full, with an old yellow skin and clear and deep iron wire patterns that extend all the way to the shoulder.

"At least... sixty or seventy years ago." This thought quietly slipped through his mind, carrying a slight, barely suppressed tremor, but his hand movements remained perfectly steady, even more so than before.

The most difficult part was cleaning the crisscrossing roots, especially the "pearl tendrils" and "leather tendrils." He had to ensure they remained intact without damaging the main root. He practically used the tip of a bamboo skewer to "trace" them, gradually freeing the roots from the embrace of the soil.

The process was extremely long. Sweat soaked the back of his shirt, and his fingers holding the bamboo skewers became stiff from maintaining fine motor skills for so long. But he only moved his wrists occasionally before continuing.

When the last important fibrous root was completely peeled off, the entire old ginseng, like a sleeping old man, lay peacefully in the cleared, sloping pit, fully displayed on the white cloth, the sun was already close to noon.

The rhizome is long and graceful, with obvious jujube-shaped adventitious roots, a robust main body, clear and strong fibrous roots, and faint pearl-like spots. Its quality far exceeds expectations.

Liu Xiangyang let out a long, slow breath, and his tense shoulders and back relaxed slightly. He put down the bamboo stick, washed his hands again with the stream water, and then carefully placed the whole old ginseng into the birch bark box that had been prepared and lined with damp moss and soil from the original pit.

He closed the box lid, tied it with a thin rope, and instead of immediately putting it into his spatial storage, he held it in both hands and examined it carefully for a moment.

It was heavy, not just in weight, but also in the weight of a promise. Dr. Han's unwilling eyes seemed to flash before my eyes again.

He carefully placed the ginseng box in the safest spot in the space before starting to fill and compact the dug pit, trying to restore it to its original state. This was a rule left by the older generation of ginseng harvesters, and it was also his way of giving back to this mountain forest.

After doing all this, he felt hunger and deep exhaustion wash over him, not from a lack of physical strength, but from the exhaustion caused by intense mental concentration.

He walked back to the camp, rekindled a small fire, and heated up the leftover venison from the previous night, eating it slowly with some cold water.

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