Courtyard House: Rebirth of a Shopkeeper in 1937

Back home, the siblings first carried the chicken coop back to the backyard and put it back in its original place. Then they led the charcoal into the livestock pen and added some hay and water. After finishing these tasks, they went into the kitchen—where their mother was busy at the stove. Seeing them return, she smiled and said, "Hungry? I've saved some food for you." Xingbao's gaze inadvertently swept over the kitchen beam, and his heart skipped a beat—the two pieces of wolf meat he had saved that morning to save face were gone. His father sighed beside him, "When the security team came, they saw the meat on the beam and took it. Luckily, they didn't ask any further questions." Xingbao nodded, secretly relieved: thankfully, he had hidden the valuable cured meat and grain well, otherwise the loss would have been much greater.

Xingbao had barely finished eating when he heard his friends' voices outside the gate: "Xingbao! Xingbao! We've come to help you transplant the banyan saplings!" Xingbao shoveled a few mouthfuls of porridge down, put down his bowl, and ran outside—several children were standing at the gate, some carrying small buckets, others carrying small hoes, their faces full of anticipation. His older brothers also quickened their eating, picked up the hoes from the corner of the wall, and followed Xingbao to the small vegetable garden in the backyard.

In the small vegetable garden, the banyan sapling, about a meter tall, grew vigorously, its branches and leaves lush and green. The eldest brother and a few other boys squatted down and carefully dug around the sapling with hoes, removing the sapling along with the clods of soil around its roots. The second brother found an old, worn-out basket in the woodshed, lined it with dry straw, and together they placed the sapling inside. Two tall boys lifted the basket, and the group marched in a large convoy towards the open space at the bend in the river.

Along the way, many villagers saw them and, upon learning that they were transplanting branches from the old banyan tree at the village entrance, many volunteered to join in, carrying buckets of water and offering their help. The group grew longer and longer, with people of all ages chatting and laughing, creating a lively atmosphere like a temple fair.

Upon reaching the open space at the bend in the river, everyone chose a spot near the beginning of the bend, close to where the current was strong. Two uncles picked up shovels and quickly dug a pit of suitable depth. The group carefully placed the banyan sapling into the pit, and everyone bent down to fill it with soil and compact it.

They took turns carrying buckets of water to water the sapling, soaking the soil around it. Taking advantage of the chaos, Xingbao dripped a drop of spiritual spring water directly onto the trunk. From afar, Xingbao watched as the water slowly seeped into the trunk and disappeared without a trace. The banyan sapling's branches and leaves swayed gently, as if it had absorbed enough nutrients.

Just then, someone pointed at the sapling and exclaimed, "Look! The sapling seems to have grown taller!" Everyone gathered around to look—in the sunlight, the banyan sapling was indeed an inch taller than before, its branches and leaves were greener, and even many new buds had sprouted in an instant. Everyone was stunned, and Old Wang murmured, "The old banyan tree has a spirit! It has recognized this place!" The others nodded in agreement, their eyes filled with joy—now, everyone felt that it had accepted this place by the river bend as its home, and that this sapling could grow into a large, shady tree like the old banyan tree.

Seeing everyone's happy faces, Xingbao felt a warmth in his heart—not only had he relieved one of his worries, but he had also given the villagers something to look forward to; it was truly a win-win situation. As the sun gradually set, everyone packed up their tools and walked back to the village, chatting and laughing. In the open space by the river bend, the banyan sapling stood in the evening breeze, ready to once again protect this small village as before.

Days passed, and the children had more to do, watering the banyan tree. Xingbao secretly added a drop of the sacred spring water to the sapling. Before they knew it, the rice in the experimental field in front of the house had quietly entered the heading stage. The emerald green rice stalks were much taller than before, their tops slightly curved, hiding the plump rice ears, like shy little girls wrapped in leaves. The jointing and heading stage is crucial; it not only determines how many grains each ear produces, but also the number of effective ears per acre, and even directly determines the final grain weight. Even the slightest negligence could affect the harvest.

During this period, Xingbao devoted most of his energy to this rice paddy. Every morning, he would first go to the edge of the field to check the water level. If the water was low, he would divert water from the nearby ditch to ensure that the paddy field always maintained a suitable water level so that the rice roots could fully absorb water. Every few days, he would carry well-rotted farmyard manure and spread it little by little along the paddy field ridges, his movements so gentle as if he were afraid of hurting the rice ears. But looking at the dwindling amount of farmyard manure in the bucket, Xingbao was worried: the rice would need additional fertilizer later, and the existing fertilizer was definitely not enough; he had to find a way to make his own fertilizer.

But here's the problem—in his past life, he'd seen methods of composting and fermentation in videos, knowing how to use straw, weeds, manure, and fallen leaves to make good fertilizer. But now he was just a child, and he couldn't just spout off these techniques out of thin air. It felt like "dumplings in a teapot"—he had a bellyful of ideas but couldn't get them out, making him scratch his head in frustration. He even felt that his agricultural knowledge was still too limited, and even fabricating a reason like "accidental discovery" seemed weak.

That afternoon, Xingbao squatted by the field again, his fingers gently brushing against the rice husks, still pondering about fertilizer. His gaze unconsciously wandered, sweeping from the paddy field to the ridge, and then landing on the small ditch by the door that was always filled with water—fallen leaves, withered grass, and the occasional kitchen scraps dumped by villagers floated in the ditch, and a layer of dark silt had accumulated at the bottom, with a faint smell of decay emanating from it. A few earthworms slithered in and out of the mud, living freely.

"Huh!" Xingbao's eyes suddenly lit up, and he stood up abruptly. "Isn't this ready-made compost?" The organic matter in the ditch slowly decomposes in the water, turning into fertile sludge. Earthworms can also help loosen the soil and speed up the decomposition. It can be used as fertilizer and you can also raise earthworms to feed the chickens. It's a win-win situation! He had been struggling with composting before, but composting is actually much simpler, and you don't even need to find a special place to pile it up.

He walked quickly to the ditch, squatted down and examined it closely: the silt was light black and soft to the touch. The ditch had only been cleaned recently, and the accumulated fertilizer was not enough. However, "I can't waste this ready-made stinky water!" He thought to himself. The rice needed topdressing, so he scooped out the fertilizer water from the ditch and poured it directly into the field, which would not only replenish nutrients but also avoid wasting resources.

However, he still wanted to confirm. His grandfather had farmed all his life and must know the ins and outs of composting. When his grandfather returned from the fields, he could ask him how he usually composted, and if there were any areas for improvement, such as how to speed up decomposition or how to avoid excessive odor. This way, he could refine his ideas with his grandfather's experience and make the "using ditches for composting" approach seem more reasonable, so that it wouldn't seem like a child suddenly knew so much.