Chapter 88 Trying to Escape

With so much land, relying solely on manpower to turn the soil—how long would that take? Standing by the fields, Wen Xiuyi was already regretting his decision. Was it too late to head to the docks now?

“What are you standing around for? Get to work,” Old Wen barked, giving Wen Xiuyi a kick, frustrated beyond measure. He’d known from the start—his eldest simply couldn’t be relied upon.

Wen Xiuyi’s mouth twitched as he pointed to the dozen or so acres before them. “Father, if it’s just us, how long will it take to finish?”

Old Wen tapped his hoe against the ground and replied, “With so many people in our family, we’ll finish in a few days.”

Wen Xiuyi was speechless. By the time they finished turning all that land, wouldn’t everyone be completely worn out?

What he didn’t realize was that, for generations, everyone here had managed like this, relying on nothing but their own hardworking hands.

Still unwilling to give up, Wen Xiuyi pressed, “Isn’t there some way to make it easier, save some effort?”

Old Wen paused, then looked him up and down. “You’re not thinking about slacking off, are you?”

“No, definitely not,” Wen Xiuyi hurriedly denied. “It’s just that with so much land, if we turn it one hoe at a time, when will we ever finish?”

Old Wen didn’t think much of it, only sighed that he’d protected his eldest too well growing up, and patiently explained, “This is how our ancestors have always done it. Hurry up and work, or your mother will see you and you’ll get scolded again.”

Sure enough, Mrs. Luo was Wen Xiuyi’s nemesis. The moment Old Wen mentioned her, Wen Xiuyi became obedient, resignedly grabbing his hoe and heading into the fields.

Though the whole family was said to be present, the real labor force consisted of Old Wen, Mrs. Luo, the three brothers, two sisters-in-law, and, among the younger ones, only twelve-year-old Wen Jin and ten-year-old Wen Fa helped out. The girls did lighter tasks, pulling up wheat roots from the soil, breaking apart large clumps with small hoes. As for Da Tou and Wen Ying, they simply ran about the field—more play than work.

Despite his considerable strength, and the muscle he’d built up at the docks, Wen Xiuyi felt exhausted after turning just a quarter of an acre. Any further, and his arms would surely give out.

At that moment, Professor Wen longed for modern agricultural machines—efficient, labor-saving, so much easier.

The old couple watched him closely. They’d expected Wen Xiuyi to collapse after just a few meters, but he’d managed much more, which was impressive for someone who’d never worked the land before.

“Big brother, rest if you’re tired. Old Third and I can handle it,” Wen Xiuzhu said, smiling at Wen Xiuyi just as he had when they were children. He urged him to sit and rest, taking over his spot himself.

This family was used to accommodating him. Wen Xiuyi looked at his parents, siblings, and their spouses—even the two children were working hard. He couldn’t bear to sit idle, so he gritted his teeth and pressed on. As for his hands? What hands? He could no longer feel them.

Wen Yao followed behind him, picking, turning, breaking, shaking.

“Professor Wen, how does it feel? Have you tasted the toil of the working people?” Wen Yao rubbed her aching waist, wishing she could lie down right there.

Wen Xiuyi looked at her. “Are you all right?”

“My back’s about to break,” Wen Yao replied helplessly, but she couldn’t stop. They had to adapt to this life.

Wen Xiuyi sighed deeply. “Let’s keep at it. Later, I’ll look into it. We can’t keep relying on manpower forever.”

Wen Yao’s eyes lit up. She’d almost forgotten what Professor Wen used to do.

“Dad, do you have an idea?” Wen Yao blurted out, accidentally slipping into her modern address. Luckily, no one was nearby to hear.

Wen Xiuyi shot her a glare before saying, “Back then, everything was done with machines. Even your grandparents’ generation all had oxen and farming tools. No one had to work as hard as this.”

Wen Yao tossed aside her wheat stalks and walked over. “Why not just recreate those old tools?”

Wen Xiuyi glanced at the others, seeing his family sweating and straining, his heart aching. He gritted his teeth and nodded. “When your brother comes home tonight, we’ll work something out.”

“Great. What about the soil? I can buy fertilizer, but how can we use it?” Wen Yao asked.

Wen Xiuyi smiled. His daughter and son were born in fortunate times, never needing to worry, with all kinds of fertilizers available. It was natural they didn’t know.

He patiently explained, “Before high-tech fertilizers, our ancestors had all sorts of composting methods—there’s a lot to it. Nowadays, everyone just uses manure, or burns straw for ash fertilizer. All of it counts. It’s part of the process. Even without chemical fertilizer, we can make good compost with what we have.”

“You know how to do it?” Wen Yao asked.

Wen Xiuyi gave her a playful glare and smiled. “What do you think your father does?”

Wen Yao teased, “A scholar? A farmer? Hahaha…”

“Cheeky girl,” Wen Xiuyi scolded, “All right, get back to work. I know what to do. Tonight, I’ll talk to your grandfather. Whether it works, we’ll have to try first.”

Father and daughter whispered together as they worked, only stopping to rest when they were truly exhausted.

Whenever that happened, Da Tou would come running, carrying a water bag larger than his head, to bring them water.

Drinking the water his son brought, Wen Xiuyi felt his fatigue melt away.

Near noon, Mrs. Luo called Wen Yao home to help with lunch. Wen Yao knew her grandmother just wanted her to rest.

Together, they made meat and vegetable cakes with whatever ingredients they had. The family ate on the field’s edge, with water and cakes, enjoying a rare moment of cheer.

They worked until the sun set before ending the day’s labor.

Even with so many working, they’d only managed to prepare just over an acre.

Back home, Wen Xiuyi collapsed into his chair, unwilling to move another inch.

“Look at you—so little work and you’re acting like you’re about to die,” Mrs. Luo chided, though she went to the kitchen and boiled plenty of water. She brought hot towels for Wen Xiuyi, urging him to warm his hands and arms so they wouldn’t ache the next day.

Wen Xiuyi grinned as he applied the heat, finally feeling some relief.

Dinner was lavish. Wen Yao steamed a huge pot of rice, sliced some meat from the butcher’s gift, stir-fried meat strips, prepared a platter of marinated food, and cooked a vegetable dish as well.

In the past, the Wen family would never have lived like this—two meat dishes on the table at once? Not even for New Year’s.