Chapter 104: Making Pickled Chili Bamboo Shoots
Time flowed like a river, and the people living in the cowshed had already been there for a month.
Their daily tasks were herding cattle, collecting cow dung, and cleaning the cowshed. They ate and lived there as well.
No matter how clean the cowshed was kept, it still had a smell.
Neither villagers nor educated youths interacted with the cowshed people. Even if they bumped into them in the mountains, they would avoid them from afar.
Mu Lantu also kept his distance. With the medicine he had given them, the five had recovered their health to the state before their struggle sessions. From then on, they had to rely on themselves.
The five were well aware of how good the medicine was, knowing they had struck incredible luck. They became even more cautious. A few times when they saw Mu Lantu, they only greeted him with eye contact and small gestures, not daring to approach in case they brought him trouble.
That day, Miao Jiaze and Du Xuewen came over, delighted.
“Brother Xu, Brother Mu, our house is breaking ground tomorrow! Preparations are all ready!”
“Do you need us to help?” Mu Lantu asked.
Xu Huazhang had already finished his monthly procurement tasks and had been staying at home recently.
He and Mu Lantu had dug up lots of wild vegetables and spring bamboo shoots, and gathered plenty of mushrooms. They were just laying them out to dry.
Xu Huazhang also offered, “We still have three jin of cured fish at home. If you need it, we’ll lend you some.”
“Yes, yes!” Du Xuewen quickly replied. “We’ve gone to the county town several times and only managed to save two jin of meat. That might not be enough.”
Building a house was heavy work. At noon they would have to provide food for the workers, and they had to treat them well. Two jin of meat was far from enough.
Mu Lantu went to the storage room and brought out the cured fish, along with about two jin of dried string beans. “Return it when you have more later.”
Miao Jiaze accepted them. “Alright, we won’t stand on ceremony. But Xuewen and I discussed it—this time we won’t ask you or the other educated youths for help. We’ll only ask the villagers. When the housewarming feast comes, then we’ll invite everyone.”
Helping to build a house was good news for villagers. It was a chance to get some meat dishes. For men used to farm labor, strength was the least costly resource.
“Alright. How big will the house be?” Mu Lantu asked, carefully spreading half-dried vegetables so they could get more sun.
Miao Jiaze chuckled. “We’re too lazy to think much. We’ll copy your house, just the back courtyard will be different—we’ll add a back door. Are you opening one for your yard? If so, we can ask the workers to knock it out now.”
“Let Lantu decide,” Xu Huazhang said as he picked up vegetables that had fallen and put them back in the bamboo tray.
Mu Lantu shook his head. “No, we’re used to it.”
The only inconvenience was that since Miao Jiaze and Du Xuewen were building on their west side, when winter came they couldn’t toss snow over the west wall anymore. But they could still throw it over the back wall. It wasn’t a big problem.
“Brother Mu, could we borrow another jar of your pickled chili bamboo shoots? You use about five jin of shoots per jar. Jiaze and I will return ten jin later.”
“Alright. If you hadn’t promised double repayment, I wouldn’t have agreed,” Mu Lantu teased.
He brought out another jar of pickled chili bamboo shoots for them.
It was his proudest creation—sour and spicy, good enough to eat plain with rice, and even better stir-fried with eggs or meat.
Xu Huazhang also loved it and had invented a new way to eat it—pickled chili bamboo shoot hotpot. Fragrant, spicy, sour, incredibly delicious, with even the soup tasting heavenly.
In recent days, the two of them had been running into the mountains just to dig bamboo shoots. They had already secretly made nearly fifty jars and stored them in the system space.
The reason Du Xuewen knew how good it tasted was that in early spring, Mu Lantu had given every educated youth except Xie Xiaojun a jar, each about one jin, as a thank-you gift for the help during the snowstorm.
Mu Lantu and Xu Huazhang had decided that was more practical than inviting them to a meal, since one jar could last quite a while.
No exaggeration—it was so flavorful that a single chili or bamboo shoot could accompany two steamed cornbreads.
Just thinking about pickled chili bamboo shoots made Mu Lantu drool.
“Huazhang, how about we have stir-fried eggs with bamboo shoots for lunch?”
Xu Huazhang nodded. “Add some hazel mushrooms too.”
Miao Jiaze and Du Xuewen only licked their lips, quickly turned away with their goods, afraid they’d stay to freeload.
Around eleven o’clock, lying in their dorm, they caught a whiff of the sour-spicy aroma from next door.
The other educated youths were also drooling. They had tried making pickled chili bamboo shoots before, but none tasted as good as Mu Lantu’s.
Of course not—his chili, onions, ginger, garlic were all grown with spiritual spring water. How could it not be delicious?
This year, Mu Lantu and Xu Huazhang’s backyard garden was even richer in variety. Not only was the ground fully planted, but they had also built planting troughs on shelves, making full use of the space. Anything that could grow there, they grew.
The only thing to watch out for was climbing plants like gourds, pumpkins, cucumbers, and beans—they couldn’t be allowed to spread into the neighbors’ yards.
Xu Huazhang had also transplanted a jujube tree, a pear tree, and two old grapevines from the mountain into their backyard. This summer they would have grapes, in autumn jujubes, and in winter frozen pears.
They weren’t the only ones. Many families in the village had their own fruit trees.
Xu Huazhang had also prepared spring fruit for Mu Lantu—strawberries. He had gotten the seeds through a colleague from his mother.
The strawberries were already turning red. In about a week, the first batch would ripen.
Each was bigger than a ping-pong ball, and even Wangcai loved them. Mu Lantu checked the backyard twice a day, Wangcai at least four times.
The next day was sunny. Du Xuewen and Miao Jiaze’s house construction began.
The villagers helping had heard they had saved up plenty of meat, so they worked with extra enthusiasm.
Mu Lantu and Xu Huazhang only glanced at the work before heading up the mountain again.
They carried a basket each on their backs, another large basket in hand, while Wangcai had a pouch tied to his neck.
By now Wangcai stood almost as tall as the old hunter’s wolfdog, but with a sturdier build.
Mu Lantu measured his height every ten days or so. He hadn’t grown much recently—this was likely his final size, strong like a young calf.
“Youth Mu and Youth Xu must be going to dig bamboo shoots again,” one worker said.
“Probably. Youth Mu’s pickled chili shoots are amazing. Last time the postman came to deliver a letter, my boy went to call him, and Youth Mu gave him a bowl. It was so good with rice!” another added.
Everyone laughed, with no jealousy. Mu Lantu and Xu Huazhang were skilled and daring, digging shoots deep in the mountains. It didn’t affect the villagers’ livelihood.
Zhang Weiguo chuckled, sharing a rumor he’d heard: “I heard Miao Jiaze and Du Xuewen borrowed a jar of shoots from Youth Mu. Looks like we’ll be eating well at noon.”
Unaware their bamboo shoots had become famous across the brigade, Mu Lantu and Xu Huazhang headed deep into the mountains like two busy bees, digging shoot after shoot.
Sometimes they came across herbs. Once, Mu Lantu found a patch of wild ginseng, the oldest likely over fifty years old. But they didn’t touch it.
Not because they were noble, but because Mu Lantu had already stored much better-quality ginseng from ancient times. No need to compete for limited resources here.
Also, Mu Lantu didn’t want to expose his knowledge of herbs and medicine for no reason.
“Baby, come look—there’s a group of little people in white dresses!”
Xu Huazhang squatted beside a thick bamboo stalk, poking at something with a twig.
“Little people in white dresses?”
Amused, Mu Lantu went over and froze.
“Bamboo fungus!”
How could there be bamboo fungus here? It usually grew in autumn, in central and southern regions.
Mu Lantu didn’t dwell on it. Perhaps this area had a special microclimate.
“That’s bamboo fungus?” Xu Huazhang rolled up his sleeves. “It’s rich in nutrients, aromatic, and delicious. Since ancient times it’s been one of the ‘Eight Culinary Treasures.’ Baby, let’s dig them all up.”
Though not skilled in herbs, he was well-read.
Mu Lantu rolled up his sleeves too. “Yes, otherwise the wild animals will ruin them.”
There were over two hundred stalks at a glance—plenty to harvest.
[Ding, you dug up a bamboo fungus. +1000 points.]
[Ding, you dug up a bamboo fungus. +1000 points.]
[…]
“Bamboo shoots, you’re too useless. Sharing the same name as bamboo fungus, yet not even worth one of its fingers,” Mu Lantu grumbled as he dug quickly.
Xu Huazhang chuckled. “Baby, at least bamboo shoots let you make pickled chili shoots. They’re not that bad.”
Mu Lantu laughed too. “True.”
Wangcai came to help. Worried he’d ruin the fungus, Mu Lantu stopped him.
“Wangcai, stick to bamboo shoots.”
Instead, Wangcai went off chasing wild chickens and rabbits.
It was spring, breeding season—not really the time for hunting. Mu Lantu should’ve stopped him, but didn’t. Later, he could just buy a few live ones from the system mall to make up for it.
After harvesting the bamboo fungus, Mu Lantu kept three jin outside and stored the rest away.
They also dug up all the tender bamboo shoots in that patch, then continued deeper into the mountains.
By half past eleven they returned.
At home, the workers were already eating.
Aunt Chunhua was cooking. Mu Lantu glanced at the dishes—four in total: stewed cabbage with pork and vermicelli, stir-fried eggs with chili bamboo shoots, stir-fried chives with peppers, and cold wild greens. Staple was steamed buns made of mixed flour. Not bad.
Everyone was eating happily.
Miao Jiaze and Du Xuewen invited Mu Lantu and Xu Huazhang to join, to save them the trouble of cooking separately.
They politely declined.
Since the neighbors had many guests, Mu Lantu and Xu Huazhang just heated a few buns, cooked a pot of coarse corn porridge, and from the space brought out braised chicken and twice-cooked pork.
In the afternoon, they continued making pickled chili bamboo shoots.
Outside came the familiar sound of a bicycle bell—the postman, Xiao Deng. His bell was distinctive: one ring, then two.
“Xiao Deng’s here, thanks for the hard work!” Zhao Chengxin greeted him.
“Baby, do you have a letter? I’ll go get it.”
“There should be. I asked Comrade Gong Juren to send me some fabric.”
Spring had come. Time to make a couple more spring outfits for him and Xu Huazhang.
