Chapter Seventy-Six: Zheng, the Village Constable’s Comrade

The rain continued to fall, though its force had lessened considerably. Yet, as summer drew to its close, there was a hint of autumn in the air—a persistent drizzle followed after each brief downpour, never quite ceasing.

Zheng, the village chief, watched as the villagers gathered branches from poplar trees to place in their wheat stacks, curious about the practice.

He asked, "Young Wei, how is it that these poplar branches slow the sprouting and molding of wheat grains? And what does it mean that they keep the stacks from breathing? Wouldn't ventilation help them dry better?"

Wei Renshi recalled information he'd seen in poverty alleviation materials about emergency methods used in northern mountainous regions during rainy wheat harvests. The advice was that if rain struck during harvest and there were no drying machines, one could employ the natural low-oxygen method—sealing the wheat to create temporary oxygen deprivation, suppressing its life activity and preventing heating, sprouting, and rot.

Another method involved poplar branches with leaves, which, thanks to their vigorous respiration, could quickly deplete oxygen and moisture within the stack, inducing dormancy in the wheat grains and stalling their sprouting. Both were emergency measures to delay spoilage, not to forestall it entirely—only buying a few days to wait for clearer weather. In the long run, ventilation was still necessary, lest mold set in.

Yet such explanations were lost on Zheng, who had never heard of oxygen or moisture, nor understood their absence. Wei Renshi simply smiled and replied, "I learned it from somewhere else, but I can't say exactly why it works."

"Young Wei, you were a mischievous child, always running about Chang Valley. Your father couldn't keep up with you, and it was always me who caught you. I watched you grow up," Zheng said. "You weren't like this before—not even last year! Did you have some sort of fateful encounter?"

Wei Renshi tapped his head, "I had an epiphany. There are many useful things in books—most people don't see them, and some ignore them even when they do."

"Can books predict rain, then?" Zheng laughed.

"You can predict it too," Wei Renshi replied with a smile. "Swallows fly low, snakes cross the road, ants move their homes, and mountains wear hats. When the water jar sweats and frogs croak, heavy rain is soon to arrive. Uncle Zheng, remember these sayings—when you see these signs, it's likely to rain."

"That's real learning!" Zheng repeated the phrases several times, committing them to memory, then raised his thumb with a smile. "So it seems I can predict the weather myself from now on."

The two chatted as they waited to go help villagers from neighboring hamlets.

They waited until nightfall before Liu Shitou and the others returned, exhausted, from the nearby villages. Everyone was worn to the bone, having worked for two days straight and then rushed to help the neighbors harvest their wheat. At that time, their only thought was to cut the wheat quickly before it got soaked by the rain, caring for nothing else. Once the harvest was done and the adrenaline faded, they collapsed from fatigue.

Zheng had no time to ask about their efforts, instead urging everyone to go home and rest.

The next morning, Wei Renshi dashed out of his house. Though the rain had stopped, the sky remained overcast, refusing to clear.

On the third and fourth days, the water on the ground had almost dried, but the skies stayed gray. Anxiety began to spread through the village. Everyone wore worried faces, and the usual resilient optimism had disappeared.

As the sun sank toward the horizon, another day was nearly spent. A thin red line appeared at the edge of the sky, quickly blooming into a wide ribbon.

Wei Renshi noticed the rose glow outside his window and stepped out. In the golden light of sunset, his vision suddenly broadened—gloom swept away, replaced by a soft golden radiance that poured into his eyes and brightened his heart. The stifling heaviness of the endless rain vanished, leaving only golden light that enveloped everything in the world.

"The weather will clear!" Wei Renshi felt a surge of joy and ran to Zheng's house.

"Uncle Zheng, tomorrow will be sunny! Have everyone ready to thresh and dry the wheat!" He flung open Zheng's door and called inside.

Only then did he notice that Zheng was not alone in the courtyard.

Wei Renshi felt a moment of embarrassment, smiled, and said, "Sorry to intrude."

"Young Wei!" Zheng replied with a grin, "Come in, they're all friends here."

Wei Renshi entered. Besides Zheng, several strong men were present—some older than him, some younger, and even a young child.

Once Wei Renshi was inside, Zheng said, "Young Wei, I'm heading to your distillery later to buy a few jars of your strongest liquor. Do you still have any?"

"Uncle Zheng, just take what you need—no need to talk of buying. Old Sun and the others are at the distillery, and you can choose whichever you like," Wei Renshi replied.

Zheng was delighted and gestured to the others. "These are brothers from my days in the army—it's been years since we've met! I'm so happy!"

He paused, then asked, "By the way, what did you say just now? What's happening tomorrow?"

"Oh, I meant that tomorrow will be a bright sunny day. Best to have everyone prepare tonight so we can start threshing and drying wheat early in the morning," Wei Renshi explained.

"Good! I'll tell everyone right away," Zheng nodded.

"Big Head, we'll help with the threshing and drying tomorrow," said the oldest-looking man to Zheng.

Wei Renshi glanced at Zheng's neck and thought the nickname was well-deserved.

"Old Shi, what are you saying? As long as I have food, I won't let you go hungry," Zheng scolded, his brow furrowed. "I can't believe after all these years I didn't know how you were living. You should have come to me sooner!"

The man showed a hint of embarrassment and shook his head. "I could manage before. If not for these years of disasters, I wouldn't have had to flee."

The others heard and grew ashamed. "We've been a burden to Old Shi. Times are hard—after the disasters, we can't pay taxes. Having served in the army is useless. We all came to rely on Old Shi, and it's worn him down."

"We're brothers—what nonsense are you saying?" Old Shi retorted. "If not for the disasters ruining our land, we'd be doing fine!"

Wei Renshi was curious and interjected, "Do ex-soldiers still have to pay taxes?"

"Supposedly not. But the prefect sets up all manner of taxes beyond the usual two. So many schemes and names! That scoundrel doesn't care if you served or not—he won't collect the two main taxes, but he’ll take others!" one man spat bitterly, answering before Zheng could.

Wei Renshi understood now—these were Zheng’s old comrades, former soldiers, who had lost their land to disaster and were further oppressed by the local prefect's invented taxes. Unable to endure, they had fled here to seek Zheng’s help.

He looked them over—these men had survived their time in the army.

What did that say?

It meant they were resourceful!

Whether it was quick wit, skill, or speed—whatever got them through, it was still a talent.