Cultivating a Vegetable Garden

Chapter Thirteen: Cultivating a Vegetable Garden

The sense of security brought by repairing the house had barely faded when Chen An turned his attention to the plot of land that carried his hopes for the future. The roof solved the problem of shelter, while this garden would address the fundamental need for food. In the Primordial World, a stable food source was a more important foundation for survival than sturdy walls.

The morning dew still clung to the glistening blades of grass when Chen An arrived at the edge of the garden, carrying the stone axe that had grown increasingly easy to use and the repaired hoe. Before him stretched a waist-high thicket of vigorous yet troublesome weeds, with rocks of various sizes scattered among them. The land had lain abandoned for far too long, allowing nature to reclaim the upper hand.

This would be a tough battle, a contest against the land itself.

He did not start working at once. Instead, like a general about to march into battle, he carefully surveyed his "battlefield." He mapped out a rough planting area and decided to use the most traditional raised-bed method, which would make drainage and management easier. Once he had a blueprint in mind, he knew where to begin.

He first swung the stone axe—not to chop trees, but to sweep it sideways like a giant sickle, cutting down swaths of thick, tough-stemmed weeds. The stone axe's weight came into its own. It did not need an especially sharp edge; its sheer mass and momentum were enough to sever the stalks with ease. Amid the swishing sounds, the weeds fell in patches, revealing the damp soil and tangled roots beneath.

But that was only surface work. The real difficulty lay in the roots. The weeds of the Primordial World possessed vitality beyond imagination. Their roots plunged deep underground, gripping the soil like a wire mesh. Simply cutting off the stems and leaves would only allow them to sprout again within days.

Chen An set down the stone axe and picked up the hoe. Gripping the handle tightly with both hands, he stepped forward and drove the blade deep into the root-choked earth. Then, using the principle of leverage, he suddenly pulled it backward. With a teeth-grating creak, a large clump of earth, covered in dense roots, was pried up.

He bent down and carefully peeled the tangled roots from the clump of soil with his bare hands, shaking off the dirt before tossing them aside. The process was extremely tedious and exhausting. Before long, his lower back began to ache, and the rough roots rubbed his fingers raw. Sweat quickly soaked through his coarse cloth shirt, while beads of perspiration rolled from his brow and spread into dark spots on the freshly turned earth.

But he did not stop. He knew that the hardship he endured now would make things easier in the future. If he failed to clear the roots thoroughly, endless trouble would follow. Like a tireless machine, he repeated the motions of swinging the hoe, turning the soil, and clearing the roots. It was dull, but necessary.

After clearing the weeds and roots from one section, he began the deeper plowing. With the hoe, he turned over the compacted soil one strike at a time, bringing the raw earth from below to the surface so it could be weathered by the sunlight and air. Each time the heavy hoe fell, it carried the weight of his entire body, biting deeply into the soil.

"Puff... puff..." The muffled thuds became the main rhythm of his labor. The upturned earth released a rich, primal fragrance—the scent of dormant fertility awakening. The black soil glimmered with a moist sheen beneath the sunlight, while several nameless insects fled in panic from their overturned nests.

During the process, he often struck rocks buried in the soil. He casually picked out the small ones and tossed them to the edge of the garden, intending to use them later to build a boundary. For the large ones, he first had to loosen the surrounding earth with the hoe before carrying them out by hand. The stones were cold and heavy, as though they were the hard bones of the land.

As noon approached, the sun grew scorching. Chen An stopped and walked to the well. Using a broken pottery shard, he scooped up cool well water and drank deeply. The clear, sweet water instantly moistened his dry, smoke-parched 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 and surveyed the small patch of land he had cleared. Suddenly, he noticed several unusually smooth, darker-colored grains mixed among the ordinary clumps of soil. Curious, he picked up a few and examined them carefully in his palm.

The grains were dark brown and translucent, resembling fossilized resin—or perhaps... condensed spiritual energy crystals? He could not be certain, but his instincts told him they might not be ordinary. He carefully gathered the grains and set them aside. In the Primordial World, anything was possible, and every anomaly was worth noting.

After resting for a while, he threw himself back into the battle. Sweat streamed from his forehead and temples like rivulets, dripping onto the freshly turned fertile Primordial soil. New blisters formed on his palms, then burst and rubbed against the hoe handle, sending waves of pain through him. But he clenched his teeth, a fire burning in his heart. It was the fire of hope. He could almost see the future scene of lush green vegetables growing vigorously beneath the sunlight.

Once the large-scale digging and clearing were complete, he began the finer work. He used the back of the hoe to break apart the large clods, then picked out the remaining roots and stones one by one. Finally, he used a thick branch as a rake, leveling the soil and shaping it into neat rows of raised beds with clearly defined furrows.

This process required patience and care. He tended the land as though he were nurturing a work of art, refining it with meticulous attention. When he gently patted the final raised bed firm with his hands, a neat, loose, clean garden ready for planting finally appeared before him.

The sun sank toward the horizon, casting its golden afterglow over the newly cultivated land. Chen An stood at the edge of the plot, covered from head to toe in mud and sweat. He was so exhausted that he could barely straighten his back, yet his face was filled with irrepressible joy and a sense of accomplishment.

The garden, once desolate and chaotic, had become orderly and full of life. The freshly turned soil gave off a pleasant earthy smell, while the lines of the raised beds stretched long shadows beneath the setting sun, lending the scene a sense of perfect order.

From the pocket close to his body, he carefully took out several packets of vegetable seeds sealed in plastic bags. Beneath the sunset's afterglow, the vegetable illustrations printed on the packets looked somewhat unreal. Little White Cabbage, little radishes, lettuce... These ordinary seeds from another world were about to begin an extraordinary journey in this fertile Primordial soil.

It was too late to sow today. He needed to let the freshly cultivated soil settle a little, and he also needed to recover his strength.

He put the seeds away again, hoisted his tools onto his shoulder, and looked back one last time at the land that had absorbed an entire day of his effort. The evening breeze passed by, bringing a trace of coolness—and also the faint, distant prelude to the restless sounds of a night in the Primordial World drifting from beyond the courtyard.

But at that moment, Chen An's heart was filled with peace. With his own hands, he had created the conditions for survival from nothing. His shelter was sturdy, his garden was ready for cultivation, and his tools were easy to use. Although the road ahead remained long and unknown, at least he had firmly planted his first solid footprint.

He returned to the newly repaired stone house, lit a campfire, and boiled some water. Warmth enveloped his exhausted body. As he watched the dancing flames, he silently murmured, Tomorrow, I will sow hope.

(End of Chapter Thirteen)