Chapter Four: A Mind Full of Schemes

If a wild rabbit isn’t stewed properly, that indescribable gamey smell—unless one has truly tasted it, no description can convey it. Qin Jun took just one bite and immediately vomited.

At that moment, Qin Jun questioned his own existence. Was he not hungry enough? How could he not even eat meat when he was so accustomed to it? But truly, he just couldn’t stomach it.

His reaction was precisely witnessed by Chu Yu, who naturally found it amusing. This shared experience marked the beginning of their collaboration, though to this day it remains unclear who benefited more and who lost out.

Take today, for example: Chu Yu helped deal with the weasel and even prepared the rabbit stew. Even the corn cakes stuck to the pot came from Chu Yu’s household. Of course, all the seasonings and spices used were hers as well.

After eating four or five pieces of rabbit meat, Qin Jun’s craving was slightly appeased, and only then did he begin his meal properly. He grabbed a rough ceramic bowl from nearby and ladled half a bowl of soup with a wooden spoon.

The broth was somewhat thick and scarce; at most, only one bowl remained in the pot. A single rabbit didn’t yield much—about ten pieces of meat remained, since only half a rabbit was stewed.

He didn’t continue with the meat but instead took two corn cakes, golden and crisp on one side, broke them up, and soaked them in the broth, eating slowly.

This time, Qin Jun ate more slowly and with greater enjoyment. The once hard, golden corn cakes, having absorbed the rich meat broth, tasted far better and more satisfying.

Bit by bit, he etched this long-missed flavor into his heart.

When he finished, a faint warmth filled his stomach. As for being full, that was impossible.

Reluctant to eat more, Qin Jun took a bowl of hot water from a clay pot on the stove and carefully washed the bowl clean of any remaining broth, swallowing it all.

Now, warmth radiated not just from his stomach, but through his entire body, causing him to sweat.

Having filled himself just enough to stave off hunger and cleaned the bowl, Qin Jun ladled another half bowl of broth. After some thought, he added four pieces of meat to the bowl—these were meant as a gift for his grandparents back at the old house.

As for his own family, he decided against bringing any meat home; even if he took the whole rabbit, no one would eat more than a few bites.

“Are you full? Not going to eat any of this ready-made meat?” Chu Yu asked cheerfully, having finished preparing the rabbit skins and pointing to strips of meat hanging from iron hooks.

“No, if you want some, you can have half. Help me sell the rest,” Qin Jun replied.

“Are you sure? You’ve seen my cooking skills,” Chu Yu chuckled.

Qin Jun hesitated slightly—after all, it was still meat.

“How do you plan to handle it?” he asked, reluctant to waste it. Even if he didn’t eat it himself, he could take it home to satisfy his family’s cravings.

“Braised or spicy both work, but those methods always leave a bit of a gamey smell. If you can wait, I suggest air-drying it first. Then roasting it will bring out a much better flavor.”

“Then air-dry it!” Qin Jun decided immediately, without further thought.

“Alright, it’s my job then. But remember, two rabbits are my fee,” Chu Yu said happily.

Watching Chu Yu’s cheerful demeanor, Qin Jun simply picked up his bowl and left.

This boy had learned from his father to guard his culinary secrets fiercely; no matter what, he feared others stealing his techniques. Qin Jun planned to leave promptly to avoid any such concern.

As he stepped outside, Qin Jun reminded him, “Keep a close watch on the skins. Don’t let anyone sneak them away.”

“Don’t worry, most people aren’t that superstitious!” Chu Yu laughed, munching on rabbit meat.

Qin Jun shook his head and briskly left the youth compound.

The sky had brightened, and the entire compound exuded a rare sense of solidity and permanence, thanks to its brick and tile construction.

Stepping outside the compound, he saw nothing but low, dilapidated thatched cottages.

Though nearly thirty years had passed since the founding of the nation, the farmers had little accumulated wealth.

If there was any wealth, it was perhaps the rapidly growing population.

After the land redistribution in ’81, the entire region of Qilu became a vast construction site, with houses being built everywhere.

Throughout the 1980s, eighty to ninety percent of the thatched huts in the villages were replaced by brick-and-tile houses.

Seeing so many ramshackle houses within arm’s reach still felt somewhat novel.

If he had a camera, Qin Jun truly wanted to capture these scenes that once only appeared in dreams.

As he walked, he reflected, soon arriving at his grandparents’ home, adjacent to his eldest uncle’s family.

In Qilu, the term “eldest uncle” was rare; people usually said “big uncle.”

He pushed open two faded wooden doors, deeply grooved and weathered.

Just by looking at these doors, one could feel the house’s long history.

These doors, like ancient wood weathered by centuries of wind and water, bore deep grain patterns etched into shallow channels.

Entering the courtyard, a typical northern quadrangle, he saw a stone mill in the center, used to grind cornmeal and sweet potato flour.

Looking up, he noticed smoke curling from the chimney, indicating his grandparents were already awake.

He approached the main room, pushed open the door painted green, and stepped inside.

Closing the door, warmth immediately enveloped him.

Exhaling, his body relaxed.

“Cough, cough, cough…” But just as he caught his breath, a fit of coughing overtook him.

Adjusting to the darkness, Qin Jun realized the room was thick with smoke, as if it were on fire.

Once his eyes adjusted, he saw quite a few people inside.

“Grandpa, big uncle, second uncle—you’re all here?”

In the cramped, low thatched cottage, four grown men huddled around the stove for warmth.

His grandmother was nowhere in sight—likely out early, probably making pancakes!

His uncles were warming themselves while smoking dry tobacco pipes.

No wonder Qin Jun had choked—the dense secondhand smoke was overwhelming.

“You’re up so early, Xiao Jun?” his grandfather, Qin Dashan, smiled kindly.

Second uncle Qin Zhizheng grinned, “Bringing meat broth to your grandfather again?”

Qin Jun set down his rough ceramic bowl. “Made it with some friends—just one rabbit.”

“One rabbit? That’s hardly enough to share. Still, it’s good you thought of your grandfather,” eldest uncle Qin Zhiqi said.

“Why get up so early? You can get up later; it’s too cold in the mornings,” Qin Dashan said with a gentle smile.

“He’s been waking up from the cold for several days now,” Qin Jun’s father, Qin Zhihe, explained.

“You need to build a house,” Qin Zhiqi took a slow drag on his pipe.

“Not just your family, all of us should build new houses. The younger generation is growing up and reaching marrying age. Without a proper house, how can they find a spouse?”

Qin Zhizheng also had several grown sons yet to marry; he was worried too.

Qin Zhihe spoke again, “I’m not here to borrow money today, but to seek advice on what we should do.”

Qin Dashan chuckled coldly, “No one has money to lend now. Even if they did, it’s all going into building houses. Who’d lend you anything?”

“Ah,” sighed Qin Zhihe, looking to his eldest brother.

Qin Zhiqi quickly replied, “Don’t even think about the work team. Every household is in the same boat. Even if the team had a mountain of gold, it couldn’t withstand villagers borrowing from each other.”

“What then?” Qin Zhizheng was anxious.

Silence fell again. What else could they do?

Who building a house doesn’t borrow from relatives and friends? But now, who isn’t short on money?

Qin Dashan said nothing. The three brothers exchanged glances, none speaking.

Qin Jun found it amusing. These four old men in his family were all foxes in their own right—each fully aware of the others’ thoughts.

Of course, none harbored ill will, but subtle schemes abounded.

Take his father, Qin Zhihe: though he said no borrowing today, he was clearly hoping the others would chip in to help first.

No doubt, Qin Zhihe wanted to prioritize building their own house so Qin Jun’s second elder brother, Qin Feng, could get married smoothly next year.

Clearly, the other two families also had eligible sons awaiting their own houses and brides.

Seeing the three sons silent, Qin Dashan spoke again.

“I think everyone should do what they can. Whoever has money to build a house, the others will come help. But don’t expect to pool money for one family’s house first. Don’t even mention it—no need to risk the harmony among brothers.”