Sold into a ghost marriage? Four-year-old and his thuggish father go on a killing spree.

Chapter 034 A Discovery in the Mountains! The Poor Have Their Way of Life

"Dad, how much food is left?"

Niannian squatted in front of the stove, poking at the opening of the half-full bag of grain with her finger.

The bag deflated a bit—it had only been three days.

Gu Yanqiu squatted at the doorway chopping wood. With a "crack," the axe struck down, splitting the wood in two.

"Stop counting. Your dad knows what he's doing."

Niannian didn't listen to him.

She reached into the bag and felt around—her fingertips touched the bottom of the bag much faster than yesterday.

I ate six pounds in three days.

Two pounds a day.

If we eat sparingly, it will only last for about twenty days.

It's not yet time to plant crops in the spring.

Gu Yanqiu also knew.

But he didn't show it in front of his daughter.

After he finished chopping the firewood, he leaned the axe against the door frame and dusted off the sawdust from his hands.

"Go to the brick kiln today to see if there are any day labor jobs left."

The brick kiln in Baiyang Commune—I worked there for half a month last time and earned seven yuan and twenty cents.

But after the training course started, he was constantly attending classes and stopped doing his work.

The training courses now have a three-day break every ten days—today happens to be a rest day.

He needs to make the most of these three days and get as much done as he can.

"Niannian, you're home alone. Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone."

"understood."

Niannian watched her father leave the hospital.

She stood at the doorway, watching Gu Yanqiu's figure walk away along the dirt road.

The wind in February was still cold.

But unlike the bone-scraping heat of the first month of the lunar calendar, a touch of warmth crept in from behind the distant mountain ridges, causing the withered grass by the roadside to sway slightly.

Spring is coming.

Nian Nian plugged the door bolt in.

She didn't stay inside.

—The back hill.

The back wall of the dilapidated house is right next to a gentle slope.

The slope was covered with miscellaneous trees—Quercus glauca, locust, old elm, and a few unidentified low shrubs.

The fallen leaves piled up thickly under the tree, making a "rustling" sound when stepped on.

Niannian discovered this slope through a crack in the wall.

Two days ago, when she was stuffing straw into the cracks in the wall to block the wind, she smelled a odor—not the smell of soil, nor the smell of withered leaves.

It has a musty smell with a faint fishy odor.

When she was a child—when she lived in the city—her mother took her to the farmers' market.

The vegetable markets of those days were small, with two rows of wooden plank stalls displaying vegetables, eggs, and dried goods.

Her mother pointed to a pile of dark things and told her, "This is wood ear fungus. It grows on rotten wood."

He then pointed to a pile of grayish-white things next to him and said, "These are frozen mushrooms. They grow on the mountains in winter."

Niannian was only two years old at the time.

But she remembered it.

She remembered what the wood ear mushrooms looked like—dark brown, thin, like a human ear stuck to a tree trunk.

I also remember what frozen mushrooms look like—grayish-white caps, slender stems, emerging from cracks in rotten, dead wood.

I also remember something my mother once said: "Don't eat mushrooms with small round umbrellas and white skirts, they're poisonous."

I also remember one thing—

When her mother took her past a traditional Chinese medicine shop, there was a row of bamboo trays drying in the sun at the entrance.

Various slices were laid out on the bamboo tray—some white, some yellow, and some brown.

The old man at the pharmacy pointed to one of the brown slices and said—

"The best quality He Shou Wu, wild from the mountains, can sell for 80 cents a pound."

Niannian stepped on the fallen leaves and climbed up the gentle slope.

Her shoes were still the same worn-out pair—the wound on the soles of her feet had scabbed over, and it would hurt if she walked fast.

But it doesn't matter.

I climbed about fifty steps.

A crooked oak tree.

The south-facing side of the tree trunk—

It was pitch black.

Niannian stopped walking.

fungus.

She crouched down and looked closer.

Dense, dark brown flakes clung to the cracks in the bark, half-dry and half-wet—after a winter of freeze-drying, they had naturally dehydrated most of their moisture.

The colors are correct.

The shapes are correct.

It tastes right.

She reached out and touched it—it was hard and dry.

With fingernails, you pick up a piece of bark and pull hard—"snap!"—and a small piece of bark comes off.

I held it under my nose and smelled it.

That faint musty smell—it smelled exactly like the market I remembered.

Niannian's heart skipped a beat.

She looked up—up along the oak tree—and there were at least seven or eight such old trees on the entire slope.

It had been growing for many years without anyone tending to it, and the trunk was full of cracks and rotten holes.

On every tree—it's there.

One extra tree can yield a whole bunch of fruit.

Even the smallest pieces are about the size of a palm.

She began to pick.

There was no basket—it was held in the hem of a cotton-padded coat.

I picked a tree, then moved on to the next one.

The dried wood ear mushrooms were incredibly light—a whole bag of them didn't feel heavy at all.

But Nian Nian knew—this thing was valuable.

The supply and marketing cooperative buys dried black fungus for three cents a pound.

Three cents—enough to buy one and a half pounds of cornmeal.

Keep climbing.

He climbed another twenty steps—

At the base of a fallen old elm tree, beneath a pile of dead leaves on the shady side—

Grayish-white mushroom cap.

Frozen mushrooms.

Niannian squatted down and brushed aside the withered leaves.

Clumps and clusters.

The caps are small, grayish-white with brownish tinges, and the stems are slender—they are naturally dehydrated after being frozen for a whole winter.

She looked closely—there was no white dress. There was no small round umbrella.

It's not a poisonous mushroom.

Carefully pull it out.

The base is surrounded by a ring of white mycelium—like fine cotton thread.

I picked a handful and scooped it up in my sleeve.

Frozen mushrooms are more expensive than dried wood ear mushrooms—the supply and marketing cooperatives buy them for at least 40 cents per pound.

Further up—

Niannian tripped on a dirt mound.

She looked down—a thick vine was emerging from the soil, twisting and turning like a frozen snake.

At the break in the vine, a brown cross-section was revealed.

Niannian squatted down and looked at it for a long time.

The image flashed through her mind—an old man in a traditional Chinese medicine shop, pointing to brown slices in a bamboo tray.

Vines. Brown. Thick. Cross-section shows ring patterns.

She dug at the soil with her hands—

A fist-sized tuber was attached to the bottom of the vine.

The surface is dark brown and covered with cracks.

Break off a small piece—it's reddish-brown inside, with veins.

I'm not entirely sure.

But her intuition told her—this is Polygonum multiflorum.

That intuition didn't seem like something you could "guess".

It's more like... she already knew.

She memorized the location of the Polygonum multiflorum.

It didn't move.

Cover it again with a few withered leaves.

This thing—Dad has to dig it up.

The roots were too deep; she didn't have the strength.

Niannian carried a full armful of dried wood ear mushrooms and frozen mushrooms, and climbed down the slope along the same route.

Back in the dilapidated house.

She piled those things on the stove.

A pile of dark, dried wood ear mushrooms.

A handful of grayish-white frozen mushrooms.

There were also a few unidentified dried grasses—I picked them along the way; they might be medicinal herbs, or they might not.

Niannian separated the wood ear mushrooms and mushrooms and laid them out to dry on the wooden board next to the stove.

Waiting for Dad to come back.

Gu Yanqiu returned in the evening.

The brick kiln has no work today.

Spring has arrived, and the brick kiln needs to change its molds, so operations will be suspended for three days.

He came back empty-handed. He didn't look well.

Push open the courtyard gate—

I saw a small pile of dark stuff on the stove.

"Nian Nian?"

"dad!"

Niannian crawled out from behind the stove and grabbed Gu Yanqiu's sleeve, pulling him towards the stove.

"Look—"

Gu Yanqiu glanced down.

stunned.

He reached out and picked up a dried wood ear mushroom—turned it over, and smelled it under his nose.

"Where did it come from?"

"The back mountain."

"You went up the mountain?"

"It's on the slope behind us—not far."

Gu Yanqiu frowned slightly – going up the mountain was dangerous.

But soon, his attention was drawn to the pile of dried goods.

"This is genuine black fungus...and the quality isn't bad."

He flipped through the frozen mushrooms next to him.

"Matsutake mushroom? No—it doesn't look like it. This is a type of elm yellow mushroom, freeze-dried... The supply and marketing cooperative buys these."

He crouched down to take a closer look.

"Niannian, how do you know this is edible?"

Niannian tilted her head and thought for a moment.

"My mom once told me when she took me to the market that you can't eat things with little round umbrellas or white dresses. These—don't have white dresses."

Gu Yanqiu raised her head and looked into her daughter's eyes.

Those eyes—clear and bright, like two freshly washed black grapes.

Four and a half years old.

Memories from when I was a little over two years old.

I can still remember it now—and I can actually use it.

A feeling he couldn't quite describe welled up inside him.

Heartache, pride, and a hint of... something he didn't say.

"There's more." Niannian pulled his hand and walked towards the back door.

"On the slope—I found a kind of root. Dad, come and take a look."

The two climbed up the gentle slope.

Niannian led Gu Yanqiu to the location of the vine.

Push aside the dead leaves.

Gu Yanqiu squatted down, looked at the vines, and then at the exposed tubers.

I broke off a small piece and rubbed it between my fingers.

"This is... He Shou Wu?"

There was a hint of uncertain surprise in his voice.

He wasn't an expert in medicinal herbs, but he had lived in the village for twenty-six years.

He Shou Wu (Polygonum multiflorum) is something that older generations all know.

"How did you recognize me?"

Niannian shook her head.

"I don't know either. I just recognize it."

She herself was somewhat confused when she said this.

The feeling was strange—it didn't feel like something I had "studied".

It's more like they "already knew it."

Just like the eyes recognize colors and the tongue can taste saltiness—it's innate.

Gu Yanqiu glanced at her.

I didn't ask any further questions.

He turned his attention to another direction—

Polygonum multiflorum.

The old Chinese medicine doctor at the brigade's clinic once said that good quality Polygonum multiflorum can sell for 80 cents to 1.2 yuan per kilogram.

He used a shovel to dig out the roots of the Polygonum multiflorum.

Not one tree—it's a clump.

Four tubers of different sizes are connected together, the largest of which is as big as a bowl.

Added together, it must weigh two or three pounds.

Gu Yanqiu carried the he shou wu back into the house and placed it on the stove.

It was placed together with wood ear mushrooms and frozen mushrooms.

He looked at the "harvest" on the stove and rubbed his hands together.

"Nian Nian".

"Um?"

"Tomorrow—Dad will take you on a proper walk around this hillside."

Niannian's lips curled up slightly.

"How many days will it take?"

"Three days. I have to go back to the training center the day after tomorrow—these three days, my son and I will be completely immersed in the mountains."

Niannian sat in front of the stove, swinging her legs.

She looked down at the pile of dark, dried wood ear mushrooms.

Then I looked at those few bumpy He Shou Wu (Polygonum multiflorum) roots.

I looked outside again—the sun was setting.

Golden-red light shone through the cracks in the broken door, bathing the pile of mountain produce on the stove in a warm hue.

Like gold.

It's not gold.

But it's more substantial than gold.

The next three days.

The father and daughter turned the gentle slope behind the dilapidated house upside down.

Dried wood ear mushrooms – more than seven jin were harvested.

Frozen mushrooms—I picked five pounds of them.

Three more He Shou Wu plants were dug up, making a total of four large ones, weighing about four or five kilograms.

There were also some wild medicinal herbs that I recognized—the dried roots of Polygonatum sibiricum and Atractylodes lancea—not many, but worth a few cents.

They were all laid out to dry on wooden planks in the yard.

The courtyard is open-air, but there is a low wall—it's not very clear from the outside.

Gu Yanqiu packed the dried goods into an old burlap sack and stuffed it behind the stove.

"I'm going to the market the day after tomorrow—I'll carry it to the county supply and marketing cooperative to sell."

When he said this, he had a look on his face that Nian Nian rarely showed.

It's not happiness.

It's an expression of finally seeing the road ahead.

Niannian leaned against the stove.

Holding a half-dried wood ear mushroom in my hand—thin, dark brown, like a slightly curled little ear.

She held it up to look at the light coming from outside the door.

Light shines through the thin edge of the wood ear mushroom—like amber.

"dad."

"Um."

"How much can I sell this batch of mountain produce for?"

Gu Yanqiu did the math in his head—wood ear fungus was 30 cents a pound, so seven pounds would be 2.1 yuan. Mushrooms were 40 cents a pound, so five pounds would be 2 yuan. According to the clinic, he shou wu (Polygonum multiflorum) was 80 cents to 1.2 yuan a pound—but he wasn't sure about the price.

"At least... seven or eight yuan. I dare not say more."

Niannian nodded.

I didn't ask any more questions.

But she glanced out the window.

Outside the low wall of the dilapidated house—

A figure flickered.

It quickly shrank back.

Niannian remained silent.

She recognized the silhouette of the figure.

It was Sun Xiufen—peeking over from the other side of the compound, her eyes glowing green through the low wall.

Niannian narrowed her eyes slightly.

I put the wood ear mushroom back on the wooden board.