Cultivating the Vegetable Garden

Chapter 13: Opening a Vegetable Garden

Before the sense of solidity from repairing the house had faded, Chen An turned his gaze to the plot of land that held the promise of his future. The roof kept out wind and rain, solving the problem of shelter; this plot would solve the fundamental issue of food. In the Primordial World, a stable food source was a more crucial survival cornerstone than sturdy walls.

Morning dew still clung to the glistening blades of grass as Chen An, carrying his increasingly comfortable stone axe and the repaired hoe, stood at the edge of the plot. Before him was a waist-high tangle of vigorous yet obstructive weeds, interspersed with scattered stones of various sizes. This land had lain fallow for too long, and nature's power had reclaimed dominance.

This would be a hard battle—a contest with the earth itself.

He didn't start immediately. Instead, like a general about to march, he carefully surveyed his "battlefield." He mapped out the approximate planting areas, deciding on the traditional ridge-planting method for better drainage and management. With a blueprint in mind, action had direction.

First, he swung the stone axe—not to chop wood, but like wielding a giant scythe, sweeping horizontally to cut down the thick, tough-stemmed weeds in swaths. The weight of the stone axe proved its worth; without needing a razor-sharp edge, its mass and momentum easily severed the stalks. A rustling shua-la shua-la sound filled the air as patches of weeds fell, revealing the damp soil and tangled root systems beneath.

But this was only surface work. The real challenge lay in the roots. These weeds of the Primordial World possessed an unimaginably tenacious vitality, their roots plunging deep into the earth like a wire mesh gripping the soil. Simply cutting the stems and leaves would see them sprout anew in a matter of days.

Chen An set down the stone axe and picked up the hoe. Gripping the handle tightly, he stepped forward into a lunge and drove the hoe blade deep into the root-choked earth, then used leverage to pry backward with a sharp jerk. A grating ga-zhi sound of snapping roots rang out as a large clod of soil, thick with tangled roots, was flipped over.

He bent down, carefully peeling the intertwined roots from the soil clod with his bare hands, shaking off the dirt, and tossing them aside. This process was extremely tedious and physically draining. Before long, his back and waist ached, and his fingers were raw from the rough roots. Sweat quickly soaked his coarse cloth clothes, and beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, leaving dark spots on the freshly turned soil.

But he didn't stop. He knew well that the hardship now was for ease later. Incomplete clearing would bring endless trouble. Like a tireless machine, he repeated the motions of swinging the hoe, turning the soil, and clearing the roots. Monotonous, but necessary.

After clearing the weeds and roots from one area, the next step was deeper plowing. He used the hoe to turn over the compacted soil, clod by clod, bringing the raw subsoil to the surface to be weathered by sun and air. Each time the heavy hoe fell, it carried his full weight, biting deep into the earth.

The dull puh... puh... sounds were the main rhythm of the labor. The turned soil released a rich, primal fragrance—the scent of dormant fertility awakening. The black earth glistened with a moist sheen under the sunlight, and nameless insects scurried in panic from their overturned nests.

During the process, he frequently encountered stones buried in the soil. Small ones, he picked out and tossed to the edge of the plot, planning to use them later to build a border. For larger ones, he first had to loosen the surrounding soil with the hoe, then lift them out by hand. These stones were cold and heavy, like the hard bones of the earth.

As noon approached, the sun grew scorching. Chen An stopped, walked to the well, scooped up some cool well water with a broken pottery shard, and drank deeply. The cool, sweet water instantly soothed his parched, burning throat, and that faint warm current once again eased the fatigue in his muscles.

He sat on a large stone he had just hauled out to rest, his gaze sweeping over the small patch of cleared land. Suddenly, he noticed some unusually smooth, darker-colored small particles mixed in with the ordinary clods of turned soil. Curious, he picked up a few and examined them closely in his palm.

These particles were dark brown, translucent, like some kind of resin fossil, or perhaps... concentrated spiritual energy crystals? He couldn't be sure, but his intuition told him they might not be ordinary. He carefully gathered these particles and set them aside. In the Primordial World, nothing was too strange; anything unusual was worth noting.

After a short rest, he threw himself back into the fight. Sweat streamed like rivulets from his forehead and temples, dripping onto the freshly turned fertile soil. New blisters formed on his palms; they burst and rubbed against the hoe handle, sending sharp stabs of pain. But he gritted his teeth, a fire burning in his heart. It was the fire of hope. He could already see the vision of this land in the future—lush green vegetables thriving under the sun.

Once the large-scale deep plowing and clearing were done, he began more meticulous finishing work. He used the back of the hoe to break up large clods, and picked out remaining roots and small stones by hand. Then, using a thick tree branch as a rake, he leveled the soil and shaped it into neat rows of ridges with clear furrows between them.

This process required patience and care. He tended to the land like a craftsman refining a work of art. When he finally patted the last ridge firm with his hand, a neat, loose, clean plot of land, ready for planting, lay before him.

The setting sun cast its golden rays over the newly opened ground. Chen An stood at the edge of the field, covered in mud and sweat stains, so exhausted he could barely straighten his back, yet his face beamed with irrepressible joy and a sense of accomplishment.

The once barren, overgrown plot was now orderly and brimming with potential. The turned soil gave off a pleasant earthy scent, and the lines of the ridges cast long shadows in the sunset, exuding a sense of order.

He carefully took out from his pocket the few packets of vegetable seeds sealed in plastic bags. In the fading sunlight, the printed vegetable images on the packaging looked somewhat surreal. Bok choy, small radishes, lettuce... these ordinary seeds from another world were about to begin their extraordinary journey on this fertile Primordial soil.

He was too tired today for sowing. He needed to let the turned soil settle a bit, and also to recover his strength.

He put the seeds away, shouldered his tools, and turned back for one last look at the land that had absorbed an entire day's effort. The evening breeze carried a hint of coolness, along with the faint, distant prelude of the Primordial night's restlessness from beyond the yard.

But at this moment, Chen An's heart was filled with calm. With his own hands, he had created the conditions for survival from nothing. The shelter was solid, the garden ready for planting, the tools suited to his hands. Though the road ahead was still long and unknown, at least he had firmly planted his first solid footprint.

Returning to the newly repaired stone house, he lit a fire and boiled some hot water. His weary body was wrapped in warmth as he watched the dancing flames, silently reciting in his heart: Tomorrow, sow hope.

(End of Chapter 13)