Daily Life in the Countryside After Being Reborn
Chapter 131 - 83: The Prosperous Little Mountain Village (Third Watch)

Chapter 131: Chapter 83: The Prosperous Little Mountain Village (Third Watch)

During her time in Yunteng, Xiao Xian had never come into contact with alcohol, but once, after a meal, her grandfather was in a good mood from drinking and dipped the tip of his chopsticks in the wine, allowing Xiao Xian a taste of the flavor. From that taste, the little girl developed a liking for it. Not daring to drink openly, she simply found herself hovering around her grandfather’s wine cup more often after meals.

The peanuts fried in rapeseed oil, with their crispy red shells, would burst with flavor in your mouth, satisfying the glutton within Xiao Xian. "Grandpa, what is wine made from?"

"It’s made by fermenting rice. Didn’t Sister-in-law Lian bring over some rice at the end of last year, saying she was going to steam the rice to make wine? Didn’t she also give you several rice dumplings to feed you, little glutton?" Zhu Shijun saw Xiao Xian eyeing his cup of wine and tapped her tongue with his chopstick.

"Grandpa, should we also save a few pounds of rice to make wine for you to drink?" Xiao Xian’s plots of land at the head of the village were demonstration fields this year. Although the yield per acre was slightly lower than last year, the growth was still more vigorous than other rice fields in the village. The village chief and Zhu Shijun had pondered for a while but couldn’t figure out the reason for the higher yield.

"Making wine isn’t a simple matter; you must first choose good rice." Zhu Shijun was about to start explaining when he suddenly set down his chopsticks and his furrowed brow relaxed.

"Xiao Xian, you truly are your grandpa’s lucky star," Zhu Shijun embraced his granddaughter, his laughter booming, and he was indescribably happy.

The village’s rice was sold in just a few days, fetching a price two yuan higher per kilogram than the Agricultural Grain Station. With all the rice sold, the village netted over a hundred thousand yuan. What pleased the village chief most was that not a cent was spent on transportation for the more than ten thousand kilograms of rice from the village.

Fifteen days after the autumn harvest, the village children were abuzz with excitement. In their lifetimes, they had never seen such large iron-clad trucks, each bigger than Uncle San Gouzi’s. Five blue heavy trucks arrived, taking all the village’s rice down from the mountain. The words "National Wine" were written on the sides of the trucks.

"Mr. Zhu, they say that tobacco and alcohol are one family. The rice you sent for trial is very good, with a higher glucose content than rice from the north-east. From now on, we’ll take all the rice produced in this village," said a ruddy-faced man in his fifties who had come with the trucks, looking as if he was perpetually drunk on wine.

When he arrived, he had brought two bottles of wine for Zhu Shijun to taste. Xiao Xian sneaked a peek at the red, yellow, and black box containing the two bottles of wine. Once opened, the aroma lingered, and later, her grandfather mentioned while drinking that it was called "sauce fragrance."

People say that the business world is more ruthless than officialdom, but Zhu Shijun didn’t think so. The friends he made at the cigarette factory certainly hadn’t forgotten this old man.

After the rice was sold, the village had accomplished a big task. According to the money to be distributed per household, even Granny Zhao, who had the least land in the village, received over two thousand yuan. The old lady’s cloudy eyes shone with disbelief when she saw the money, and she counted it over and over with her poor arithmetic skills, exclaiming, "In all my life, I’ve never seen so much money; it can’t be fake." The villagers teased her, "Granny Zhao, it’s real. With this money, you can build a big tiled house. Even if there’s a flood, you won’t have to worry."

Granny Zhao spat, then tottered off on her feeble little feet to hide her money.

Not long after the grain was sold, the village chief announced over the village loudspeaker that San Gouzi was running for the position of village party secretary.

It was expected that San Gouzi’s election would be as inevitable as leaves turning yellow in autumn and persimmons ripening red in winter. After all, in such a remote and impoverished village as Ge Village, the positions of village chief and party secretary had always been held until old age, with no one else willing to take on village affairs. But then an unexpected twist occurred.

"Qian Duoduo is coming back to run for election? No, you mean his uncle Qian Yongcai? Didn’t he leave the village a long time ago to become a contractor and make a killing?" Granny Zhao, now with money and a new set of dentures, sat at the entrance of the village chatting with others.

"Exactly, and he even said that if he gets elected, he’ll take the lead in fixing the village roads," added the idle men of the village, energized by the news.

A big tree attracts the wind. The wealth of the village had drawn attention.

When the fathers of Qian Yongfu and Qian Yongcai died, Qian Yongcai left the village, becoming one of the first to venture out. Early on, he took over a stalled project in Jinan, made money, and became a contractor. After more than a decade, he had amassed a modest fortune. If it wasn’t for his brother Qian Yongfu’s death, which brought him back to the village, he wouldn’t have known that his hometown had started growing rice and sold it for a substantial amount.

Not long after Qian Yongfu’s funeral, Qian Yongcai discussed with his nephew Qian Duoduo that being a private contractor wasn’t profitable anymore, as the country was encouraging the development of barren hills and wasteland, and it might be possible to sell it for a good price.

Later, a document from the town announced that any villager over the age of 18 interested in participating in the village elections could run for village party secretary. Thereafter, Qian Yongcai returned to the village with a flashy woman in her twenties.

The first thing he did upon his return was to take out ten thousand yuan and slap it in front of the village chief, saying it was to subsidize a few families in the village affected by natural disasters.

"The village chief said, at the beginning of next month, during the National Day holiday, there’ll be a big village meeting at the entrance of the village. Both San Gouzi and Qian Yongcai will give speeches to see what they can do for the village," the villagers passed the word around.

Xiao Xian thought, do they even need to choose? None of the Qian family ever turned out good; it should be Uncle San Gouzi who becomes the party secretary. But what the villagers thought in their hearts was uncertain.

That night, San Gouzi put on his best clothes, took a "speech" written by Zhu Shijun, and stammered through it once.

(To be continued. If you like this work, we welcome you to Qidian (qidian.com) to cast a monthly ticket and a recommendation ticket. Your support is my greatest motivation.)