Chapter Twenty-Six: The Ambition of the Second Brother-in-Law

There was a small grove of chestnut trees on the mountain near Niuniu’s home. Niuniu said her mother-in-law had told her that these chestnut trees were planted by their ancestors many years ago. When famine struck in those days, the people in the mountains didn’t die of hunger as much as those in the lowlands, simply because the mountains offered more to eat. This chestnut grove had once saved the lives of people in their village.

Further up the mountain, they discovered a large patch of seabuckthorn trees. However, the berries of this seabuckthorn were small, lacking sweetness and moisture, so there was no need to develop them.

As they continued deeper into the mountains, they found mostly trees that had grown for over ten years, and several giant trees so large it would take three or four people to encircle them. Yet two of these giants were already dead, with several slender saplings growing beside their stumps.

Unlike the area near the village, which was dominated by bamboo groves, the mountains were home to a diverse mix of trees. The most common were green oak and pine, though there were others Chen Xin could not identify.

The abundance of green oak had its advantages. This wood was the most suitable material for cultivating mushrooms and fungus. Combined with the local water quality and climate, which were ideal for fungal growth, there was potential to develop mushroom and fungus farming here.

The tea gardens could also be planned. If the soil here truly contained a rich amount of selenium, then selenium-rich tea would be a high-end economic crop.

Moreover, orchards could be established below the mountainside. The local red tangerines were famous, and planting them on a large scale could yield fresh fruit for sale. There was also the possibility of building a canning factory in a convenient location down the mountain to produce canned fruit.

Of course, the establishment of such a factory should be handled by the town or even the county, since Zhang’s village alone could not supply enough fruit trees to keep a fully operational production line running at full capacity. At least two or three production lines would be needed for the factory to turn a profit.

Chen Xin had no intention of bringing up the canning factory idea just yet. She wanted to use this idea to win some benefits for the Zhang family; she couldn’t simply hand it over, or else the Zhangs would hardly benefit at all.

Chestnuts, fungi, and tea trees—the three were enough to support the village’s development in the short and medium term. Once everyone had money in hand, they would naturally start thinking for themselves and seek opportunities. That was how the village could develop independently, rather than relying entirely on external guidance.

With a general understanding of things, Chen Xin relaxed completely and joined the children in roaming the forest. Their luck was good; they caught several wild pheasants.

After the accumulation of autumn, these wild pheasants were plump and robust, their bodies rich with fat—the perfect time for their flavor.

Two old pheasants and three young ones—more than enough for a hearty meal that night.

When the group returned to the village with pheasants and freshly dug winter bamboo shoots, it was just about time to prepare dinner. The Zhang family’s courtyard was empty except for the village chief and the secretary, who were chatting with Uncle Zhang. They appreciated Chen Xin’s help and planned to take Zhang Debing with them when they went to the town.

“Didn’t Xin give Dawai an idea to apply for bamboo rat breeding? I think it’s doable—let Dawai go with us and see if the town has any support funds. If there are, you can raise a bit yourselves, and it should work out.”

Zhang Debing was washing cured meat and sausages nearby. He heard the village chief and looked up to speak, but before he could, he saw Chen Xin and the children approaching the gate, their hands full.

“Big brother, cook extra rice tonight. We caught some wild pheasants on the mountain. Let’s cook them for dinner and have everyone eat here.”

It would only cost a bit more fuel and rice; the Zhangs weren’t stingy about such things. Zhang Debing hurried off to wash rice and set up the pot, while the neighbor, Little Fourth, began rallying the children to help with slaughtering the chickens.

Chen Xin planned to prepare the pheasants in two ways. She would use one hen for soup, stewing it together with bamboo rats caught in the bamboo grove behind the house a few days ago and with dried mushrooms. The broth would be milky white and fragrant, lacking the coarse texture of wild pheasant meat, complemented by the tenderness of bamboo rat and the fresh aroma of mushrooms. A bowl of this soup would warm anyone from within.

The cock pheasant and three young birds were to be braised in beer.

There was a local beer here; drinking it wasn’t very pleasant—Chen Xin had tried it once and nearly gagged from the bitter taste. But it was perfect for cooking, especially for braising rabbit and chicken—much better than using cooking wine.

While the children helped slaughter the chickens, Chen Xin started preparing the seasonings. Pickled millet chilies and tender ginger from the fermentation jar were essential, then garlic and broad bean paste minced and set aside in bowls. Star anise, mountain cinnamon, bay leaves, and Sichuan peppercorn were the traditional spices used in the mountains for meat dishes, along with homegrown Erjingtiao peppers, sliced diagonally in both green and red for a vibrant look.

She used the large stove and big pot, heating oil until hot, then sliding in the chopped chicken pieces to stir-fry slowly, sprinkling a bit of salt. Once the moisture evaporated and the oil began to come out, she added broad bean paste, spices, minced garlic, pickled chilies, and ginger, stirring until fragrant. When the chili heat emerged, she poured in beer until it covered the chicken, added a splash of soy sauce for color, and a little sugar for taste. After the water boiled, she lowered the heat to a medium simmer, letting the chicken stew gently.

When the sauce reduced and oil began to bubble, she tossed in the chopped green and red peppers, stir-fried until just cooked, and then served the dish in a bowl.

This dish was rich in oil and flavor, needing no scallions or cilantro for aroma—just a sprinkle of toasted sesame seeds for extra fragrance.

While she stir-fried the chicken, the other stove was already simmering the chicken soup. It was a big pot, not much meat but plenty of mushrooms, with chunks of bamboo rat added. The aroma soon filled the air, making everyone’s mouth water.

The cured meat had already been cooked earlier; now it was sliced and arranged for steaming to heat. Chen Xin also made lotus root sandwiches, half deep-fried to a golden crisp and served with a dip of dry chili powder, soybean powder, and Sichuan pepper powder; the other half she prepared as fish-fragrant lotus root cakes. After finishing the lotus root cakes, the leftover sauce was mixed with rice, delicious enough to make one want to swallow their tongue.

The other home-style dishes were ordinary enough, but anything made by Chen Xin tasted twice as good as anyone else’s.

After the meal, there was nothing particularly rare about the ingredients, yet all the pots and bowls were cleaned out—only the bowl of beer-braised pheasant remained, with leftover spices and chilies that couldn’t be eaten.

They had eaten bamboo rat before, but why did it taste so much better tonight? If there had been doubts about raising bamboo rats before, Zhang Debing had now made up his mind. He was nearly thirty; if he didn’t give it a try now, he might never have another chance.

Second Brother-in-law’s thoughts were similar to Big Brother’s; he even felt that bamboo rat breeding could be organized in several locations, each controlling its sales range, so there wouldn’t be everyone rushing in at once and creating harmful competition.

“Second Brother-in-law is right. It’s best if the government and research institutions step in to manage and control things. Otherwise, when people see something profitable, everyone jumps in, and the result is only harm to the farmers. Effective control of unhealthy competition and maximizing benefits are the best outcomes. But I think, if your research institute could tailor development plans according to local conditions and climate, it might be more persuasive. Otherwise, forbidding others from doing it without providing alternatives would only make the common people vent their grievances on you. What starts as a good intention could end up causing widespread resentment, and that wouldn’t be good at all.”