Her Cultivation Diary
Chapter 856 - 846. Pickled Sweet Potato Vine

Chapter 856: 846. Pickled Sweet Potato Vine

In the village, as long as you want to work, there’s always endless work to be done. The only differences are whether you are in a hurry and how tiring the work is...

Just like this morning, elderly folks who couldn’t sleep came wrapped in thin cotton-padded coats to Lao Song’s family yard looking for work. Song Youde, who had just moved here a few days ago, had a complicated expression: "What, you plan to work all day for 20 yuan?"

"No way!" The old ladies were very carefree: "Even if you don’t give us that 20, wouldn’t we still come if you provide a meal?"

"Exactly! Didn’t you say we need to count the sorghum? When do we start?"

Nowadays, city folks also behave strangely, why buy sorghum and even count the grains... Lao Song’s family said 9.9 yuan with free shipping doesn’t make money, indeed, I heard that Wind Speed Express is quite expensive, probably just to boost popularity...

Sigh, doing business, whether online or offline, the beginning is always the hardest! They understand!

Wang Lifan just came out from the bathroom after a hot shower—One must say that Tantan’s new house is quite comfortable to live in, bathing is not cold at all, and even has a ventilation fan, which is much better than her old house.

It seems that listening to your children and enjoying life occasionally is quite nice.

Now, with a proper hair drying cap on her head because she fears the cold due to old age and wrapped in several layers of clothes, she then said:

"The packaging boxes haven’t come back yet, even if we count them, there’s no place to put them!"

Just then, Zhang Yanping came over, quickly saying: "We can count! We can count! We have the smallest kind of self-sealing bags at home, let’s start counting and packing, and when the boxes arrive in the afternoon, we can put them in!"

Since the online store business picked up, the house may not have everything, but agricultural tools and various packaging materials are in full supply!

If it weren’t for the large warehouse built up the mountain, we wouldn’t even have space for all this!

With work to do, everyone became efficient. Without needing Song Youde to instruct, some set up tables, others moved stools, Wang Lifan even filled several cups with fragrant tea from the hot water bucket nearby.

By the time the thawed fermented glutinous rice was taken out of the fridge, the residual alcoholic foam and the scent of the soft, fermented sorghum slowly blended into the tea aroma, barely noticeable.

At least, if you don’t come close, the aging folks with gradually dull senses couldn’t smell much.

Thus, early in the morning, the courtyard of Lao Song’s family became lively once again.

Seventh Uncle was also busy, washing sweet potato vines with Qiaoqiao.

Baskets of sweet potato vines were poured into the basin, with cool water splashing, washing away the invisible dust.

After just tidying up the kitchen, Aunt Lianhua saw her mother-in-law counting sorghum with everyone and smiled secretly, quickly stepping ahead of Qiaoqiao to wash.

Bright red rubber gloves scrubbed the sweet potato vines, with the sound of water splashing.

While washing, she said, "The water is cold in the early morning, you children shouldn’t touch it."

"Huh?" Qiaoqiao withdrew her hands, puzzled: "But Teacher Xin said girls shouldn’t be chilled by cold water..."

"I’m wearing gloves!"

Aunt Lianhua’s movements were particularly swift, and she had already scrubbed them once, now grabbing the sweet potato vines and draining the water into a winnowing basket beside her.

It’s hard to put into words her feelings for Lao Song’s family—

Her husband was irresponsible, only spending money and flirting with other women, not caring for his own mother all year round, let alone her.

"The words my children speak are sweet, but when it comes to their father’s mistress, they couldn’t care less," she sighed.

Aunt Lianhua never understood this in her whole life; she didn’t think she overly spoiled her children, so why did they turn out this way?

Because of this, she was stern; she refused to give money for their weddings, which led to a falling out with them. According to old village sayings, "A child’s mistakes are their own, a mother should still support them on important occasions..."

Had it not been for her mother-in-law—the only person who treated her well—falling ill and needing care, she wouldn’t have been able to endure.

Now, her children had their own families, her husband hadn’t shown up in a year, and she and her mother-in-law had become like mother and daughter...

And it wasn’t just talk; her mother-in-law even gave her all her earned wages! Money followed affection, and Aunt Lianhua was moved to tears several times at night!

It all started when Lao Song’s family began hiring workers, Aunt Lianhua’s heart was so full of gratitude, she wished she could do everything for them. If not for Qiaoqiao still needing to learn the craft, she wouldn’t let the kids work at all!

Her movements were deft, and after changing the water a few times, several big baskets full of sweet potato vines were clean.

Taking advantage of the mild morning sun, she spread them out in the corner to let the morning breeze dry them. Nearby were brightly colored red chili peppers, plump cloves of garlic, and ginger, freshly pulled and cleaned that morning.

After arranging all these, she didn’t rest but fetched a special kettle to boil water, filling a big old water tank to the brim.

As the sun rose higher, the temperature hovered around a comfortable mid-teens. Aunt Lianhua bustled about in the kitchen, working up a sweat despite the mild weather.

By the time the elderly folks at the table had finished packing a bundle of distiller’s grains, the water in the tank had cooled, and the raw rice in the winnowing basket had dried.

Then came Seventh Uncle’s lesson.

The night before, the large glass jars used for pickling, already washed and dried, were brought out by Qiaoqiao—one by one—from the room dedicated to storing pickled vegetables.

"Slice the ginger, not too thin—about this thickness should do."

"Check the jars for any moisture, best to wipe them completely clean first, then layer them with chili, ginger, and garlic."

At this point, Qiaoqiao realized, "It seems all pickling follows the same steps!"

Even though some ingredients differed, the critical points were the same—no oil, no raw water. And, importantly, lots of salt.

Before Seventh Uncle could say more, Qiaoqiao had already fetched several bags of pickling salt from the storeroom:

"Should I pour a lot?"

Seventh Uncle nodded with satisfaction; "You’ve pickled quite a few vegetables, just estimate it yourself."

This "estimate" was just like the "moderate amount" in all recipes—a hellish difficulty for kitchen novices. But for Qiaoqiao, it wasn’t that complicated; he just estimated as he felt.

He opened the bag and spread a layer. Turning his head, his bright eyes looked at Seventh Uncle:

"One layer of salt, one layer of sweet potato vine, right?"

Seventh Uncle pursed his lips but couldn’t help laughing: "Right! Just pickle it like that!"

Looking at the layers of winnowing baskets and the glass jars scattered around, Seventh Uncle couldn’t help but worry again, "How can we finish eating all this in one winter!"