Huang Family Fort

The air was thick with a greasy smell, a mixture of grain dust, oil, and the distinctive odor of old wooden cabinets.

The shop in Qing He Miao's hometown was no exception.

Bags of rice and flour of every kind were piled on the counter and floor, and there was a large mechanical scale for weighing livestock.

The shopkeeper was a capable-looking middle-aged man.

Shops like this were usually dirty and messy.

But these days, anyone who could open an oil and grain shop was no ordinary person.

When he saw Qing He Miao enter, he hurried over with a warm welcome. Once he learned that Qing He Miao had come to buy grain, he pointed to a row of bagged rice and said:

"Buying rice, young man? Take a look at this brand. It just came in, tastes great, and stays fragrant after it's cooked!"

Perhaps because Qing He Miao looked young, the man had started trying to pull the wool over his eyes right away.

Rice from beyond the Great Wall ranked among the best in the country.

For locals, rice from nearby growing regions was generally a safe choice. Its quality was consistent, and they were used to the taste.

Buying an out-of-town brand, on the other hand, was not only more expensive but also like opening a mystery box.

It was basically a thankless effort.

Qing He Miao only glanced at it before shaking his head.

"Boss, do you have loose rice? Not the kind that comes in bags."

"Loose rice? Sure do!"

The shopkeeper immediately turned toward the inner part of the shop, where several huge open burlap sacks stood filled with gleaming white rice.

"Here, these are all newly harvested rice. But they cost about the same as the bagged kind, so they're not much cheaper."

Qing He Miao frowned slightly at that. Without even looking, he asked:

"Do you have anything cheaper?"

The shopkeeper scratched his head and made a couple of rounds through the shop before patting a sack in another corner.

"This one's early-season indica rice. Quite a bit cheaper than the last one. It yields a lot when cooked and keeps well. Big canteens, construction sites, and large families looking to save money often buy it. The texture just isn't as fine, and it's a bit coarse."

Qing He Miao went over to check the price. After silently calculating for a moment, he was still hesitant.

"What else do you have?"

The shopkeeper gave him a closer look. After a moment's hesitation, he kicked a bulging woven sack.

"Then there's only this. Cornmeal, already ground. It's the cheapest and fills you up, but if you eat it for too long, it gives you heartburn, so you need to have it with something else."

Qing He Miao looked around the shop and confirmed that there was no grain with a lower price tag.

"Forget it."

He sighed and pointed to the sack of early-season indica rice.

"Boss, I'll take the loose early-season indica rice. Don't put it in those thin plastic bags."

He pointed to some empty burlap sacks piled in a corner.

"Do you have any more of those old sacks? Pack it in those for me. By the way, if a sack like that were tied tight and buried in the ground for a while, the grain inside wouldn't go bad, would it?"

Cornmeal was cheap, but it needed extra processing before it could be made into food ready to eat.

That world might not have the means for it, so he wouldn't consider it this time.

Besides, even cornmeal would still be too expensive over the long term with so many mouths to feed.

He had been a child of a poor family in both lives, yet he still lacked some experience.

Next time, he would have to go straight to a vegetable shop and look at coarse foods like potatoes and sweet potatoes.

"Come now, of course it'll be fine in a cellar. Just remember to tie the sacks tight."

The question caught the shopkeeper off guard. He paused, then worked it out.

"You want five sacks, right? Tell you what, for a little extra delivery fee, I'll bring them to your home and save you the trouble of carrying them yourself."

This was the only town serving the surrounding townships, and the people at the shop knew the roads to every village.

"All right, then deliver them to Miaotaizi Village. You know the hill behind the little temple in the village, right? Just take them to the foot of the hill and leave them on the ground. But I was asking if they'd be all right buried in the soil."

Considering how conspicuous it would be for one person to carry five huge sacks all the way back from town, he chose to pay the extra money.

Qing He Miao counted out the bills and paid, wincing a little at the expense.

Fortunately, money was worth a lot in this era, while rice was still relatively cheap compared with later years.

In particular, most of the varieties sold in grain shops in this era had been promoted to ensure people had enough to eat, making them even cheaper.

But the little money he had on hand definitely wouldn't be enough to sustain it.

Nor would he ever rely entirely on his own contributions and let others drag him down.

He had to find ways to increase income and cut expenses.

It wasn't that Qing He Miao hadn't considered buying bran or something similar.

That stuff was really cheap.

But as times changed, grain shops in the previous era might have carried it, while those in the past few years had gradually stopped selling it.

It wouldn't become widely available again until later, when healthy eating took off.

If he wanted to buy it now, he would probably have to go to the feed store next door.

More importantly, this was beyond the Great Wall, where bran was relatively uncommon.

Rice bran might be available, though.

But that stuff would only get more and more expensive in the future, even rivaling actual rice in price during certain periods.

He'd better not bother with it.

"You're..."

The shopkeeper took the money and counted it, clear hesitation showing on his face.

In all his years in the business, this was the first time he had heard a delivery address like that.

Qing He Miao had long since prepared an explanation. He deliberately put on a mysterious air and said:

"Oh, it's fine, boss. I'm a chuma disciple. This grain is for my family's old immortal. It has a special use."

He offered no further explanation, leaving the man to use his imagination.

Sure enough, the shopkeeper froze for a moment before realization dawned on his face.

"Oh! You're that 'Half-Immortal Qing' from Miaotaizi Village, aren't you? I've heard of you, I've heard of you! How could I not recognize you? All right, all right, don't you worry. I guarantee I'll get it there and put it down safe and sound!"

People in the countryside were naturally half skeptical of such supernatural matters, yet respectful of them.

The shopkeeper instantly found the strange request reasonable, and his manner grew even more courteous.

Seeing that his explanation had worked, Qing He Miao didn't linger. He turned and left the oil and grain shop.

Rather than head straight home, he turned onto another street in town and went into a supermarket.

After looking around, he bought a whole case of the cheapest bagged pickles at wholesale.

Once he had paid, he held the case in his arms and climbed aboard the somewhat battered three-wheeler the oil and grain shop usually used for deliveries.

With the engine puttering and the vehicle jolting along, he set off on the road back to the village.

Even with his cultivation, the daytime wind was still so cold it scraped against his face like a knife.

Belching black smoke, the three-wheeler passed through the town's sparsely lined streets and turned onto a country dirt road.

"Let me off here, sir. Sorry for the trouble."

Qing He Miao jumped down and spoke to the driver.

He didn't head directly toward his home. Instead, he directed the driver onto a road on the other side of the village entrance.

They passed the small hill on that side, and with one hill connected to the next, they circled around the area where his home stood, finally reaching a slope on the back hill.

The village lay on the opposite side of the hill. People rarely came here, aside from the occasional shepherd or firewood gatherer.

Chapter 32: Huang Family Fort

Though the driver was puzzled, he was only a shop employee responsible for delivering and unloading the goods, so he asked no questions.

He deftly unloaded the five sacks of rice and stacked them on an open patch of ground.

It was too cold to linger, so the driver started the three-wheeler and puttered away along the same road.

Once the three-wheeler disappeared around a bend in the mountain road and its engine could no longer be heard, Qing He Miao rubbed his hands and got to work.

The wilderness beyond the Great Wall was really cold in this era!

Even with his cultivation, he couldn't withstand it.

First, he dragged the rice sacks and the case of pickles farther to the sides of the road, where they would be better hidden, and gave them some simple cover.

Once that was done, he looked around to make sure no one was watching. With a thought, his figure vanished from the spot, and he entered the "Drawing Rivers and Lakes: The Degenerates" instance.

Ever since the day he had drawn the instance, he had prepared an excuse for his parents so he would have plenty of time to explore it.

He told them he would be going up the mountain often over the next few days to practice while he was on winter break.

His parents were already accustomed to his cultivation.

Besides, in the countryside, even ordinary children often ran all over the hills during school breaks, so they let him be.

The scenery before his eyes changed, and that more primal atmosphere washed over him once again.

Qing He Miao steadied himself, got his bearings, and strode openly toward the settlement he remembered.

The moment he appeared at the edge of the settlement, countless gazes turned toward him.

This time, before he could reach the long trench he had left last time and begin his so-called "recruitment," someone came out to meet him.

It was a middle-aged man of about forty or fifty. Though his clothes were plain, they were relatively neat and clean, and two sturdily built men followed behind him.

One look was enough to tell they weren't like the people around them who couldn't get enough to eat.

"Greetings, Daoist priest."

The middle-aged man stopped about five paces from Qing He Miao and cupped his fists in a courteous salute.

"I am Huang Liu, a humble steward at Huang Family Fort. I heard that you revealed your divine powers a few days ago and intend to build a Daoist temple here and leave behind a Daoist lineage. When my master heard of it, he specifically sent me to pay his respects. If you would do me the honor, might we speak in private?"

Qing He Miao's heart stirred. He knew a local power had come to see him.

He had expected this.

In fact, it could be said that the commotion he had deliberately caused earlier had, to some extent, been intended to draw out people like this.