While Henry was explaining the different herbs to his son, Ethan quietly plucked a few of the ones his father mentioned. Whenever his father wasn't looking, he secretly stored them in the pagoda space.
Henry, in high spirits, carried a bamboo basket and a back basket. He planned to supervise the fruit-picking today and bring some fruit home.
The lychee season had arrived, and it was time to send gifts to a few close relatives. Henry wasn't one to give gifts randomly—only to family members he was close to.
He picked several herbs for treating bruises and cuts, placing them into the basket.
Ethan learned to recognize purple-backed cow herb, three-pronged tiger vine, five-finger ox plant, and flying spider grass.
He stored samples of each in the pagoda space, so next time he came up the mountain, he could easily collect them again.
The only regret was that the path they took today didn't have all the herbs used for healing injuries. Among them, the five-finger ox plant was the only one that could be used to make soup—it was good for the stomach, both its leaves and fruit.
When they reached the lychee grove, Aunt Jian's son, Jian Ern (and his wife), were already there with a group of villagers, busily picking lychees.
The trees were tall, and some villagers had to climb up to cut the branches, while others used long bamboo poles to pull down the fruit.
Seeing baskets filled with clusters of big, red lychees, Ethan's mouth watered. He rushed over, eager to grab some and eat.
Henry saw how impatient his son was and quickly called out,
"Slow down, son! Be careful up there! Hey, you little rascal—there are plenty of lychees here. You think we'll run out?"
As he spoke, Henry noticed a few villagers cutting branches above. He suddenly grew worried that one might fall and hit his son.
He hurried over, grabbed Ethan, and pulled him back just in time. The spot where they had been standing only moments ago was struck by a large falling branch!
Cold sweat broke out on Henry's forehead. He shot a sharp look at the villager in the tree but didn't scold him—he was just grateful that nothing had happened.
Thank goodness he had moved quickly.
After the scare, he sternly said to his son,
"Don't go too close, understand? See how dangerous that was? If you want lychees, I'll have someone bring over a basket. There's no need to pick them yourself—you're just a child!"
Ethan, with the soul of an adult inside him, understood that his father's anger came from worry.
He nodded obediently. "Okay, Dad. Let someone bring the lychees here."
Henry nodded, his expression softening. His son was still young—he had to teach him patiently and couldn't be too harsh for fear of scaring him.
Neither father nor son noticed the villager in the tree glaring down, his eyes flickering with regret.
That villager had actually hoped that the branch might fall and hurt the boy. If the captain lost his only son, his family line would end, and the villager's own family might have a chance to marry into their household and inherit their property.
The captain's house was large, his relatives worked in the provincial city, and his family had food and influence.
The villager's surname was Deng. The Deng family had more people in the village than the Jian family, but they weren't wealthy—just ordinary farmers who relied on field work for their living.
Everyone knew that Henry, the village captain, had seven daughters before finally having a son—and even that boy was frail. The villagers often gossiped behind his back, saying that Henry must have done something terrible in a past life to be "cursed" with no heirs.
"Jian Ern, come here and fill this back basket. Take it to my house later," Henry ordered.
Henry wasn't misusing public resources—he always paid for the fruit he took, especially when he sent lychees as gifts to family in the provincial city.
"Alright, Captain!" Jian Ern ran over, grabbed the basket, and hurried away.
Henry added, "Jian Ern, bring a bunch of lychees over for my boy!"
"Alright, little one, have some!" Harrison's wife's son, Harrison Jr., said enthusiastically as he handed over two big, bright red bunches of lychees.
Tom took the two bunches but didn't let his son eat them all. He picked one lychee, handed it to Milo, and told him to peel it himself.
Milo peeled off the red skin and saw the milky white flesh inside. He took a bite — the seed was tiny, and the juicy sweetness instantly filled his mouth. Looking up at Tom, he asked curiously,
"Dad, what kind of lychee is this? It's so big and sweet!"
Tom peeled one for himself and began explaining the family's lychee trees.
Pointing to two trees that looked almost the same, he said,
"Son, do you see that lychee tree over there? That one's called Nuomi Ci, one of the best varieties in our county. And the other one is called Fragrant Lychee.
There's even an old legend about it — they say an emperor once traveled here, got tired, and rested under that tree. When he hung his royal robe on a branch, it left green marks on the tree — the 'dragon's shadow.'"
Milo studied the trees carefully. With his sharp eyes, he couldn't spot any green marks that looked like a dragon.
"Dad, you're making that up, aren't you? That tree doesn't have any dragon shadows."
Tom laughed heartily.
"Son, if that were the legendary lychee tree, would I still just be a team leader? I'd have been promoted long ago! A tree like that would've been dug up and taken away long before we ever got to enjoy its fruit."
Milo nodded. He understood now — in times like these, everything followed strict rules. In their village, as long as people worked hard, they could feed themselves.
No chemical fertilizers or pesticides were used; everything was planted by hand without scientific methods or improved varieties. When the weather turned bad, harvests were poor. Families with few workers and many kids often went hungry.
Everything was rationed — even if you had money, you couldn't buy what you wanted. Farmers rarely got enough ration coupons for anything extra.
From his father's words, Milo sensed the hardship behind it all. There wasn't much grain or money left these years — only what their ancestors had saved.
No matter how chaotic the world was, people still had to eat.
Milo tasted the two different lychee varieties but only ate a few before his father stopped him. Tom muttered something about lychees being "hot" — one lychee equals three fires — and said they'd have to brew cooling tea when they got home.
Tom had only brought his son up the mountain to watch people work. After giving some instructions to the overseer, he had a basket of lychees carried down the mountain and held Milo in his arms as they descended.
While in his father's arms, Milo kept looking around the mountains — there were banana trees, plantains, plum trees, pear trees, and orange trees.
The plums had already been harvested and sold. The pears were still growing. The oranges were tiny, and the banana and plantain trees still had fruit hanging.
Earlier, his father hadn't let him get too close to the lychee trees, so he couldn't secretly collect any lychees into his space. He felt a little disappointed. He needed to find a way to make his parents understand that he had the ability to store food safely.
But how could he explain that? He had to come up with a believable reason soon — one that would convince them he could "save" the family's supplies.
"Dad, did we sell the eggs from our chickens?" Milo suddenly asked, an idea forming in his mind — maybe he could start by storing eggs!
"If we don't sell them, what would we do with them? The weather's getting hotter; the eggs would spoil," Tom replied. Normally, he was very frugal and rarely allowed eggs on the table — except for his son.
They had dozens of chickens, so there were always plenty of eggs. Most were taken to Milo's uncle to sell.
"Dad, what if we stored some? We could make salted eggs or preserved eggs!" Milo suggested eagerly.
Tom frowned. "Why bother with that? We already have fresh eggs to eat. Why waste salt and effort making preserved ones? Who eats so fancy in our house?"
His first instinct was always to avoid waste — wasting effort, wasting ingredients — that was unthinkable to someone as frugal as him.
"Dad, what if there's a drought outside? Even if we have grain and we sell it all, what if the crops fail and we don't have enough food later?" Milo said worriedly.
"You're just a child. Why are you thinking about such things? Leave that to the adults!" Tom said dismissively.
Like most grown-ups, he thought kids shouldn't worry about such matters. All their questions just seemed like nonsense.
Milo sighed inwardly.
There was no talking sense today.
(End of Chapter)