Chapter 97: I Want to Make Compost
Old Wen didn’t even have time to stop him.
When the village chief heard Wen Xiuyi’s words, his face lit up. “Really? We can get one too?”
Wen Xiuyi felt embarrassed letting the chief keep working for them, so he took over his spot and said, “Of course. Things are made to be used. This is to make life easier for everyone—no need to keep it secret. I’ve already told Carpenter Zhang that villagers can get a discount. If you want one, just tell him I sent you.”
The chief was stunned. This generous version of Wen Xiuyi felt like a completely different person.
“That’s wonderful! With this, everyone’s work will be much easier.” Even if not every family had an ox, a village could share one or two.
He immediately announced the news in the field.
“The Wen family is truly generous! This curved-beam plow—everyone can get one. Soon our village will have two oxen to share. Let’s thank Uncle Wen and Brother Xiuyi!”
Villagers cheered and thanked them repeatedly.
Old Wen felt the chief was setting him up. When had he agreed to lend out Da Huang? But hearing all the praise, his vanity swelled.
“We’re all neighbors. Everyone faces hardships sometimes. Once our fields are done, we’ll help others in turn.”
The moment he finished speaking, he wanted to slap himself. Pride had betrayed him.
The younger generation struggled to hold back laughter. They knew the old man too well.
But Li Shi quickly spoke up, tossing down wheat stalks. “Borrowing our Da Huang isn’t free! You’ll need to provide his feed.”
Everyone laughed and promised they would.
Sure enough, Luo Shi soon heard about everything. That evening, she mocked, “The Wen family really are living bodhisattvas.”
Wen Yao teased, “Grandma, my surname is Wen too.”
Luo Shi threw a vegetable leaf at her, laughing. “Yes, yes, I’m the outsider and the villain.”
Despite the teasing, she secretly approved. The respect from villagers reminded her of the time Wen Xiuyi passed the imperial exam.
Still, father and son were scolded thoroughly when they returned home.
Meanwhile, Da Huang enjoyed bran-mixed fodder and a milk candy from Wen Yao before happily resting.
With Da Huang, their efficiency doubled. In four days, all the fields were plowed, and villagers began borrowing the ox and plow. Luo Shi ensured fair compensation.
But Wen Xiuyi hadn’t let them throw away the collected wheat stalks, roots, and dead leaves. Now he finally explained: they would use them to make compost.
“How did we fertilize fields before?” he asked.
Old Wen replied, “Burn wheat stalks for ash, sometimes use diluted manure.”
Wen Xiuyi realized why yields stayed low—poor soil nutrients meant little harvest, and families relied on outside work to survive.
He explained several composting methods. The family fell silent. Lifelong farmers were now being taught by someone who had never farmed.
Old Wen finally asked, “Will this really work? No one’s done this before.”
Wen Xiuyi swallowed his thoughts and said, “Trust me this once. If next year’s harvest doesn’t improve, I’ll pay all our grain tax myself.”
