Days slipped by under heavy pressure, and the village head's deadline for collecting the Winter Tax drew nearer, making the atmosphere in the Zhang household increasingly tense. Zhāng Shǒutián developed sores on his lips and sighed all day long, while Zhōu Shì, burdened by worry, had secretly shed tears several times. The few pieces of shredded silver they had exchanged, along with all the copper coins saved at home, were counted and recounted, yet still fell far short of the tax amount due.
"Husband, perhaps... I could go and beg my elder sister-in-law?" Zhōu Shì hesitated for a long time before finally suggesting in a small voice.
Zhāng Shǒutián's face darkened. He slammed the table hard. "Absolutely not! I, Zhāng Shǒutián, would rather sell everything I own than suffer that kind of cold shoulder!"
Seeing that his parents were about to argue, Zhāng Yuǎnshēng, who had been observing silently, spoke up. "Father, Mother, how much are we still short?"
Zhāng Shǒutián glanced at his younger son and replied irritably, "How much? We are short a full two taels of silver! Why are you, a child, asking about this?"
Two taels of silver. Zhāng Yuǎnshēng quickly calculated in his head. All his previous plans—composting, improved seeds, new crops—were too far off to solve the immediate problem. He needed fast money.
His gaze returned to the kitchen. In the corner were piled less-than-perfect radishes and mustard greens bulbs harvested after autumn, knobbly and uneven, originally intended to be cut and made into salty preserved vegetable chunks for their own consumption. Next to them, in a broken jar, were a small amount of coarse salt, sugar they usually couldn't bear to use, and a small packet of red dried fiddleheads they had acquired by chance. Locals mostly used it as a medicinal ingredient, unaware it could be used in cooking.
A thought flashed through his mind like lightning—a quick-make pickle with a unique flavor he had tasted in the countryside in his past life! Its taste was sweet, sour, slightly spicy, and wonderfully crisp, entirely different from the common salty and briny preserved vegetables here. In this winter season lacking flavor, it would surely be a rare delicacy to whet the appetite!
"Father," Zhāng Yuǎnshēng looked up, his eyes shining, "I have an idea. Perhaps I can quickly earn some money."
Zhāng Shǒutián and Zhōu Shì were both taken aback.
"Don't be ridiculous!" Zhāng Shǒutián waved his hand impatiently.
"It's not ridiculous," Zhāng Yuǎnshēng insisted, pointing to the radishes and mustard greens bulbs. "I'll use these vegetables. I can make them into a delicious preserved vegetable that no one has ever tasted before, and sell it in the county town!"
"Preserved vegetables?" Zhōu Shì looked bewildered. "What household doesn't prepare a crock or two of salted vegetables in winter? How much money can that bring in?"
"Not ordinary salted vegetables," Zhāng Yuǎnshēng tried his best to describe. "It's a golden yellow, sour, sweet, and crisp appetizer with a slight spicy kick that city folk have surely never tasted. It's perfect with congee or rice!"
Zhāng Shǒutián was skeptical. Normally, he would never listen to a child's words. But now they were at their wit's end. He looked at his son's eyes, which didn't seem to be joking, and recalled that he had indeed become calmer and more sensible after recovering from his illness.
"Can you really make it? And that medicinal-looking fiddlehead, can it be eaten?"
"Yes!" Zhāng Yuǎnshēng nodded confidently. "Just wash the vegetables, use salt to draw out the water, prepare the seasoning sauce, and let it ferment in a warm place in the kitchen for two to three days. Success or failure will be known in these few days. Trying it can't hurt."
Like trying to revive a dead horse. Zhāng Shǒutián gritted his teeth. "Alright! We'll trust you this time! If you need anything, have your mother help you get it. If it doesn't work out, your father will beat you!"
The plan was thus settled. Although Zhōu Shì had no confidence, she found a clean, half-sized earthenware jar. Zhāng Yuǎnshēng carefully washed the ingredients, slicing the radishes and mustard greens bulbs into uniform thin pieces and pickling them with a little coarse salt to draw out the moisture. Relying on his memory, he mixed sugar, a little vinegar, and the crushed red dried fiddleheads, boiled and cooled the mixture, creating a pot of peculiar seasoning sauce.
In the following days, the kitchen became Zhāng Yuǎnshēng's "laboratory." He placed the drained vegetable slices into the earthenware jar, poured in the sauce, sealed the lid, and carefully observed subtle changes in temperature and smell daily.
His family found it somewhat amusing to watch him guard the earthenware jar like a treasure, yet they also harbored a sense of inexplicable anticipation.
Zhāng Xiǎoyú became his most enthusiastic little helper, responsible for reminding him of the time.
Finally, on the evening of the third day, Zhāng Yuǎnshēng carefully lifted a corner of the jar's lid. A rich, complex aroma of sourness mingled with a hint of stimulating spiciness wafted out, making their mouths water. He picked out a slice. The radish slices had become crystal clear and transparent, displaying an alluring warm yellow color.
"It's done! Mother, Sister, come and see!" Zhāng Yuǎnshēng called out in a low voice, suppressing his excitement.
Zhōu Shì and Zhāng Xiǎoyú gathered around, their eyes widening in surprise as they looked at the vibrant, brightly colored preserved vegetables in the jar. Zhōu Shì cautiously tasted a small piece. Instantly, multiple flavors of sweet, sour, salty, savory, and spicy exploded in her mouth, with a crispness unprecedented before.
"Oh my! This... did this really come from our radishes?" Zhōu Shì was incredulous. "I've never tasted anything like it! It's truly delicious!"
Hope, for the first time, like the fermentation culture in this jar, quietly sprouted in the Zhang family's gloomy state of mind.
The next morning, Zhāng Shǒutián personally carried two tightly covered wooden buckets, with a small jar of sample tasting tucked into his embrace, and headed to the county town market with a heavier heart than the buckets.
That day felt exceptionally long.
It wasn't until evening that Zhāng Shǒutián returned. The buckets were empty.
He walked into the door, his face a mixture of profound exhaustion and disbelief-fueled excitement. He took out a rather heavy money pouch from his embrace and slowly poured its contents onto the table.
With a clatter, besides copper coins, there was even a small piece of silver!
"All... all sold!" Zhāng Shǒutián's voice was hoarse but full of light. "No one recognized it at first. I, as Yuǎnshēng said, cut a small plate for people to taste! Everyone who tasted it said the flavor was novel and delicious! Then, the buyer from Yuelai Restaurant tasted it and declared that these vegetables were perfect for accompanying wine and whetting the appetite. He bought more than half of it on the spot! The rest was snatched up by the crowd that gathered... The price isn't as high as meat, but it's more than double the price of ordinary preserved vegetables!"
Zhōu Shì picked up the small piece of silver, her hands trembling. Although they were still a little short of the two-tael mark, this was money that had appeared almost out of thin air!
"Husband, this... this is really..."
"It is! It really is!" Zhāng Shǒutián suddenly looked at Zhāng Yuǎnshēng, who was standing by, his gaze extremely complex, filled with shock, joy, and a new light of re-evaluation. He reached out and patted his son's shoulder heavily. His lips moved, but in the end, he said nothing.
Everything was understood without words.
The success of this jar of pickled vegetables could not completely solve the Zhang family's predicament, but it was like a faint light piercing the heavy darkness. It proved that Zhāng Yuǎnshēng's "odd" behavior could indeed bring tangible benefits.
More importantly, it began to plant a seed in the hearts of Zhāng Shǒutián and Zhōu Shì—perhaps this son, who had become somewhat different after his fall, could indeed bring about some unexpected change.
The crisis of the Winter Tax was not completely resolved, but at least they saw a path forward, a way to struggle out.