Chapter 10: Barley Commune

The next morning, when Wan Shun got up, Yu Yan was already out working in the fields again.

On the table were rice porridge and pickled vegetables, along with a bowl of steamed egg custard—breakfast specially prepared for Wan Shun by Yu Yan. Two wild eggs, both consumed by Wan Shun; Yu Yan herself hadn’t touched any.

Wan Shun sighed. Such a restless old woman—never able to stay still, even when injured.

After breakfast, Wan Shun slung her basket on her back and shouldered her hoe, heading up the mountain.

It had rained at midnight, but not heavily, and the shabby thatched hut hadn't leaked. Still, the mountain paths were slippery, and Wan Shun, fearing her only pair of shoes would get dirty, took them off and walked barefoot.

She was agile, darting up and down like a monkey—quick and nimble, unaffected by the terrain, moving at a remarkable speed.

After the rain, the mountain woods were teeming with mushrooms. She found them easily; in no time, her basket was half full.

As the sun rose, more people appeared on the mountain. Wan Shun didn’t want to engage in idle chatter with the other women, so she shouldered her basket and ran deeper into the woods, away from the crowds.

She stopped in a bamboo grove, pulled out a hemp sack, and began digging for bamboo shoots. The shoots were plump and tender after the rain, a cheerful sight. Yet, many others came digging, and with intervals so short, even a large bamboo grove yielded only half a sack before she finished.

She weighed it—twenty or thirty pounds, better than nothing.

After packing up, she searched for bamboo rat burrows. Bamboo rats were delicious, though hard to catch. Nowadays, many wild animals were protected by law, and after the lessons of her previous life, Wan Shun was determined to be a law-abiding citizen.

Bamboo rats were her best option now. Upon finding a burrow, she blocked one end, dug at the other, covered it with the sack, and caught two hefty bamboo rats, each weighing over a pound.

After an hour of wandering, she found three burrows and caught five large bamboo rats.

The sun was already high overhead, about ten o’clock. The moisture in the woods evaporated, leaving a sticky, hot dampness that made the mood irritable.

Wan Shun, carrying her haul and the sack, descended the mountain via a small path. Luck favored her—she caught a wild rabbit, fat and weighing four or five pounds.

Once down, she found a creek, washed her feet clean, put on her cloth shoes, and headed toward the commune.

The road to the commune was a main avenue, paved with gravel, already dried by the sun and not muddy, but there were few people about.

With the rise of the migrant worker trend, young people eager to venture out had gone south or north to work far from home, seldom returning all year. Those left behind were mostly elders and children; this era saw an abundance of left-behind children, like the big simpleton Wang Bing.

The elders were constantly busy tending their few acres of land. Unless it was a festival or something important, they rarely went to town, so the roads were usually deserted.

The sun overhead blazed fiercely, but Wan Shun was unfazed. Compared to the cold of prison, she felt truly alive under the sunlight.

Her steps were light, and she soon reached the commune.

The individual economy of the 1990s developed rapidly. The tall buildings of Damai Commune seemed to spring up overnight; shops lined every street and alley, especially food stalls.

Life had improved, and people shifted from mere survival to the pursuit of quality living. The demand for food, clothing, shelter, and transportation soared.

Jiangdong Province, with its flat terrain and fertile soil, was ideal for agriculture, especially barley cultivation, and Qijiang County, under its administration, was even more so.

Damai Commune was centrally located in Qijiang County but was divided into east and west by the Qijiang Mountains, which hindered transport and development, causing it to lag behind other areas.

Because of the mountain barrier and inconvenient transport, people here had always been self-sufficient, wasting what could have been a prime location.

In recent years, the state strongly supported rural development, paving roads so mountain folk could venture out. After household responsibility was implemented, many outsiders came in, attracted by the land and leasing it.

Families working elsewhere rented their land to contractors. With centralized production and management, agriculture boomed, driving the economy, population growth, industry, and commerce.

Damai Commune became the rising star of Qijiang County, expanding rapidly in the past two years.

Next year, it would become Damai County, and later, Damai City—a prosperous, agricultural second-tier city.

But Wan Shun hadn’t witnessed that; by then, she was in prison.

For now, it was still Damai Commune, but compared to other communes, it already showed signs of prosperity and advantage.

Four main streets formed a grid, lined with shops, interspersed with many smaller lanes.

Wan Shun enjoyed strolling around the commune and knew it well.

Carrying her goods, she headed straight for the northwest corner at the center of the grid, to a stir-fry restaurant at the crossroads, with two storefronts.

The owners were a couple in their thirties, both plump and round-faced, radiating cheerfulness. They greeted everyone with a smile and treated people warmly, attracting plenty of customers on charm alone.

Their skills were excellent, too. Despite fierce competition, they had only grown stronger over the years.

Back in 1983, when household responsibility was introduced, the newlyweds, against family opposition, rented out their land. With the rent, they leased a small storefront in the commune to sell noodles. Wan Shun was their first customer, but she hadn’t paid for her meal.

At that time, the free economy was just beginning, and they didn’t know if their venture would succeed or if they’d return to the crackdown of years past—nervous and uncertain.

Wan Shun, then three years old, had just arrived at Damai Commune. Her family hadn’t fed her, and she hadn’t yet met Jiang Yingzhi. Hungry, she wandered everywhere until she reached the commune.

The couple pitied her and gave her a bowl of noodles.

Young Wan Shun ate heartily, her sweet mouth full of praise, repeatedly saying it was delicious.

Their anxious hearts calmed considerably thanks to her words.

Over the years, Wan Shun often came here to eat; the couple only occasionally accepted payment.

They were like family, having watched her grow up.

Wan Shun was the witness to their rise, their very first customer.

Now, the couple were among the commune’s few wealthy households—glorious ten-thousand-yuan earners of their time.

It was before lunchtime; the restaurant was empty.

The couple and their hired hands were busy preparing food, chatting and laughing, showing no airs of proprietorship.

Wan Shun watched from afar, her thoughts drifting.

She could almost recall the taste of her first bowl of noodles.

The proprietress, He Fang, glanced up unconsciously and spotted Wan Shun standing at the street corner.

Her expression lit up with joy, and she quickly hurried over. “Oh, Xiao Shun’s here! In this sweltering heat, why are you standing outside? Come in and cool off! Husband, bring out a bottle of soda and move the fan. Xiao Shun’s here!”

He Fang had a booming voice; her words carried across the street.

Wan Shun’s lips curled with a long-lost sense of warmth.

Boss Liu Shu was even plumper than she remembered, walking with difficulty; even the short walk from the kitchen to the hall left him breathless. Upon hearing Wan Shun had come, he hurried out, bustling.

“Girl, you’re finally here! Come inside, I’ll get you a cold soda. Don’t let the heat get to you.”

Without waiting for her reply, he pulled her into the shop, opened a bottle of soda, and shoved it into her hand.

He Fang shot him a look—she was still talking to someone.

She quickly followed, calling out, “Xiao Shun, did you have breakfast? Everything here is ready. Let your uncle fix you a bowl of noodles.”

Wan Shun’s favorite was still Liu Shu’s noodles. In her previous life, before she died, what she longed for most was that very bowl.

“Alright, thank you, Uncle and Aunt. It’s been ages since I had Uncle Liu’s noodles—I've been craving them.”

Liu Shu was proud of his craft. “You’ve got good taste, girl! I braised some beef last night—it’s delicious. How about a bowl of beef noodles?”

“Perfect.”