A Mortal’s Immortal Gourd
Chapter 7: Harvest

Early the next morning, Ergouzi carried a hoe and a hatchet and arrived at the foot of Shekou Mountain.

Shekou Mountain was covered in large rocks, small rocks, fine rocks… and from the cracks between the stones, a few crooked little trees grew stubbornly.

Near the foot of the mountain, there was a cave shaped like an open snake’s mouth. A clear spring flowed from the cave, tumbling through the rocks and forming a small stream.

Beside the stream, there was a narrow mountain path.

The path was barely one or two feet wide, and in some places not even a foot. He had to squeeze sideways through the stone gaps.

The mountain was tall and the road slippery, even harder to climb than the one where he’d planted rice seedlings. After stumbling and scrambling, he finally reached the top.

From the summit, looking down, he could see some slightly flatter stone pits scattered around the mountaintop and mountainside.

These pits were surrounded by stones on all sides, with a hollow in the center to catch rainwater and soil. Locals called them "stone nests."

One of the larger stone nests was encircled by giant rocks, with a flat area in the middle, about three mu in size. The one mu of new farmland cleared by Old Stubborn Mule was here.

Coming up to such a rocky mountain to clear land—Old Stubborn Mule was a bold and determined man. The name fit him well.

Unfortunately, he worked himself to death, rising early and sleeping late, skipping meals, and barely managed to clear half of it before dying.

Ergouzi stepped into the stone nest and dug away the thick snow with his hoe, revealing the black soil beneath.

The soil was so rich—no wonder it had caught Old Stubborn Mule’s eye.

He first cleared the snow from one mu of land, then scattered rice seeds and watered them.

In the following days, Ergouzi made daily trips to Shekou Mountain, moving firewood, straw, and all his household valuables over.

Meanwhile, the rice seedlings on the other mountain were ripening. After harvesting, he pulled out all the rice stubble and burned it clean to erase any trace.

After over ten days of work, he finished harvesting all the seedlings on the mountaintop—even the wild vegetables were moved over.

This harvest yielded over ten dou of unhulled rice, filling three large sacks.

Ergouzi lay on the rice, counting on his fingers. If he ate one sheng per day, this would last him nearly half a year.

Besides, the one mu of land on Shekou Mountain was also nearly ready for harvest—he could expect to collect at least four shi of rice.

As long as he didn’t overeat, he’d have enough food for the entire year.

Once people have food, other thoughts start to surface.

He glanced down at his pants, which were torn to shreds and full of holes—not only drafty, but barely covered what needed covering. Even tied with several strings, they wouldn’t stay up.

He wanted to buy a new pair of pants.

He also wanted to buy an iron pot. Without one, he had to roast rice over tiles every day—it made his throat dry, mouth inflamed, and caused constipation.

Sometimes he felt he was being too picky. Back when he ate pig feed, he never got inflamed. Now that he had proper food and drink, all sorts of ailments were showing up.

A person shouldn’t live too comfortably.

Since he’d be living here long-term, he needed to build a thatched hut—this time bigger than before.

If he had extra money, he’d even get some wooden planks to make a bed. Sleeping on thick grass was still cold, and damp…

Ergouzi shook his head, trying to clear away all the unrealistic thoughts in his mind.

He’d only had two full meals and was already forgetting who he was, daring to think about splurging—imagining eating meat every day.

Five days later, the one mu of rice in the stone nest ripened and was harvested, yielding over four shi.

But just as he was planning to go to town to sell the grain and buy pants, a problem troubled him.

With so much rice lying around, what if someone stole it?

Even if no one did, rats and sparrows in the mountains would steal plenty.

He wondered if he could store the rice in the gourd and carry it with him.

The gourd was already filled with lots of water—would the rice get soaked and rot?

But such doubts could be tested.

He first tried putting a small amount of rice in the gourd and poured it out the next day.

He discovered that sometimes what came out was water, sometimes it was rice. The two hadn’t mixed inside the gourd.

As long as he thought of rice, only rice would come out—not a drop of water.

If he thought of water, only water came out—not a single grain of rice.

He spent three days enlarging the gourd until it was taller than a man, with a mouth wider than a bowl, and loaded most of the rice into it.

He only kept two sacks, intending to take them to Sanchazi Town to sell and buy a pair of pants.

Three days later, he finally shrank the gourd back to its original size, then hoisted the two sacks of rice and set off for Sanchazi Town.

Carrying a load of rice for twenty li left him exhausted like a dead dog. He had to rest several times along the way.

Finally, he staggered into the market, dropped his load with a thud, pulled out the gourd, and drank a huge gulp of water.

He tucked the gourd back into his jacket and looked around the market.

Maybe because the New Year had just passed, most families were broke and had to bring out their bottom-of-the-chest belongings to sell.

Even people were being sold—boys and girls. Human traffickers roamed the crowd, picking and choosing like they were selecting livestock.

Someday, when he had money, he’d buy a sturdy little girl as a wife.

She could bear children at night and work the fields and cook during the day.

Next to his stall, an old man looked worried. On his stall were a few worn household items and an old hen.

Ergouzi picked up a shiny bamboo measuring cup.

“How much for this sheng?”

“One wen!”

Ergouzi fished out a copper coin from his jacket and bought the sheng.

It wasn’t hard to make—just needed bamboo and a saw. It wasn’t expensive either.

“Young man, how about I trade this hen for your rice?”

The old man stared greedily at the sacks of rice.

Ergouzi glanced at the hen in his arms. It was nearly bald—probably no good at laying eggs. He shook his head immediately.

Just then, someone came to buy seed rice, so Ergouzi turned his attention to selling.

With the ice melted and spring planting underway, seeds were in high demand.

In just half a day, both sacks were sold out.

He earned 2,600 wen—nearly twenty jin of copper coins.

So many loose coins made his ragged jacket bulge, but it was full of holes, and he couldn’t hold them in no matter how hard he tried. They kept slipping out.

In the end, he had no choice but to grab some straw, squat on the ground, string all the coins together, and tie them around his waist, then cover them with his jacket.

Leaving the market, Ergouzi felt the heavy weight at his waist. He kept touching it now and then, feeling like he was wrapped in riches.

This was the first time in his life he’d ever held so much money.

With coins in his pocket—even if the wind blew through his crotch—he still felt a lot more confident.

He went straight from the market to the tailor shop. There were no ready-made clothes, so he had to buy cloth and have them sewn.

“You need something tailored?”

The girl in front of him looked around his age, wearing a faded floral cotton jacket, with neatly sewn patches on the sleeves.

Looking at his own rags, Ergouzi felt a deep sense of inferiority. He instinctively lowered his head, blushed, and tugged his top down, drawing his legs closer together.

“Yeah! I’d like a cotton jacket and cotton pants. How much will it cost?”

“Fifteen wen for labor. Cotton is 100 wen per jin. As for fabric, we have a few types. Depends on what you choose.”

The girl then introduced the various fabrics in the shop.

The cheapest were kudzu cloth and hemp cloth—30 wen per foot.

Slightly pricier was cotton cloth at 40 wen per foot.

These were all undyed. If you wanted dyed ones, the price went up by 10–20 wen.

There was also a kind of fabric called satin that shimmered like pearls and gems—clearly luxurious.

The girl didn’t quote a price for that, and Ergouzi, being sensible, didn’t ask. He directly picked the cheapest.

“I’ll go with hemp cloth.”

Then the girl took out a measuring tape to get his size—shoulders, arms, legs, waist—each measurement made him blush even more.

“We’ll need nine feet of cloth and three jin of cotton.”

“With labor, that’ll be 585 wen in total.”

“Okay! Sure!”

Ergouzi blushed as he untied the big string of copper coins at his waist, counted out 585 coins, and handed them to the girl.

“Please count them. How long will it take to finish?”

“Five hundred eighty-five—perfect. My sister, my mom, and I will work together. Should be ready in half a day.”

“Great, I’ll come back later!”

Ergouzi said, clamping his legs together as he walked out of the tailor shop one step at a time.

Once he hit the street, he took a deep breath, touched the coins at his waist, and marched toward the blacksmith.

He bought an iron pot for 600 wen.

Then spent another 200 wen on a small knife.

The knife’s blade was five inches long, one inch wide, single-edged—great for carving small things.

And it could be carried for self-defense.

Making money was hard, but spending it was like water flowing away—especially for things like ironware and cloth, which were always pricey.

He spent 800 wen at the blacksmith. With the earlier 585 wen, more than half his money was already gone.

After buying everything he needed, he passed the butcher’s stall again and saw those slabs of fatty meat. He hesitated, then finally made up his mind to buy half a jin of pork fat.

As for the meat bun aroma wafting from the neighboring stall—he forced himself to resist.

He was just a tenant farmer—even a landlord couldn’t live so extravagantly.

With half a day left before the clothes were ready, he had nothing to do, so he wandered the streets holding the string of pork.

Having grown up, Ergouzi hadn’t visited Sanchazi Town many times—everything on the street still felt very novel.