Zhang Xilin sat on a donkey cart loaded with wheat, Zhang Qiling led the donkey in front, and Mo Shanshan walked beside him carrying a water flask and dry rations. Accompanied by the setting sun, the family finished a day of farm work and returned fully loaded.
Although it was very peaceful now, there was no guarantee when the masked man might suddenly appear.
Therefore, after dinner, Mo Shanshan sat in meditation to begin her cultivation. A cyan Burning Heaven Talisman slowly materialized along with her hand seals, making a sound like the turning of a mechanism or the clashing of iron chains.
Though called a talisman, in Zhang Xilin's view, it was completely different in method from the talismans usually drawn by ordinary Daoist priests.
Not to mention that Mount Longhu itself was a major sect of talismans, and he had seen talismans from various schools, including the Tongtian Lu—one of the Eight Wonders—the talismans used by Mo Shanshan clearly belonged to none of them.
The path of talismans had a long history, circulating among various Daoist sects for thousands of years, with countless types and varieties. Strictly speaking, however, the art of the "talisman" was not exclusive to the Daoist school; many sects dabbled in the Dao of talismans.
Yet regardless of the sect, to truly draw a good talisman, the right time and favorable location were both indispensable. The process of drawing a talisman could be simply understood as a process of "borrowing power" from heaven and earth, taking at least several hours or even days. Of course, this did not include the Tongtian Lu. The borrowed power was then channeled outward through the drawn talisman, with one's own Qi and the talisman acting as the medium throughout the process.
As for the talisman path cultivated by Mo Shanshan, she used herself as the medium to communicate with heaven and earth, replacing the talisman-drawing process with hand seals. It was entirely as she willed, and the power of the talismans depended completely on her own cultivation.
Zhang Xilin watched Mo Shanshan's focused state of cultivation from the side, then looked at Zhang Qiling, who was staring blankly at her. An idea popped into his head, and he spoke up, "Yude, how about Dad teaches you a martial art?"
Zhang Qiling stopped staring at Mo Shanshan, turned his head, and looked at him with a gaze full of doubt.
***
Thanks to the family's hard work, coupled with the fact that they did not own all that much land, the entire process of harvesting the wheat was completed very quickly.
Wheat had to be harvested in a rush while the weather was good to prevent rain from causing dampness and mold.
Because the family had finished harvesting their wheat early and it was still a long time before the second round of farming, the villagers, with the idea of improving neighborhood relations, decided to invite the mainstay of the Old Zhang family—Zhang Yude—to help with the harvest, after which the households would chip in and send some grain as a thank-you gift.
Actually, the villagers did not have much land either; their own family members rushing through the work with help from relatives and friends would have sufficed. The real reason they invited the Old Zhang family to help was a disguised form of relief.
Yet clearly, the villagers had underestimated the strength of the Old Zhang family's mainstay. Under the scorching sun, Zhang Qiling brandished his sickle, transforming into a merciless harvesting machine. He pulled far ahead, leaving even veterans of farm work far behind.
Seeing him finish one plot and immediately rush to help others, an elderly man nearby hurriedly pulled him down to rest.
After all, he was only here to help; they couldn't possibly treat him like a hired farmhand!
Fearing he would feel embarrassed about resting alone, the old man called out for everyone to take a break together.
For a time, everyone sat along the ridges of the fields, leaving only a few old-timers with too much pride trying to keep up with Zhang Qiling's pace.
Having some leisure time, they chatted about this and that, mostly trivial neighborhood matters. They even dragged Zhang Qiling into the conversation, though before long, the talk turned to Zhang Qiling himself.
"Yude, you and your wife shouldn't wait until you're older to have a child as soon as possible, should you?" an old man nearby said as he puffed on a dry tobacco pipe. Because Zhang Xilin had intentionally kept things hidden, he was called Zhang Yude both inside and outside the home, though his childhood nickname, Aling, was sometimes used.
Zhang Qiling's gaze shifted slightly, his eyelids fluttering gently, and he said indifferently, "It's still early. No rush."
"True, you're still young."
The exercise of praising children seemed to have a long history on this land, but since Zhang Qiling had no children to praise, they had no choice but to praise him personally.
"This lad Yude is truly nimble at work and willing to endure hardship. Just wait, the good days are yet to come!"
"That's a fair point. The land doesn't lie."
"If you hadn't married so early, I would've wanted to introduce my niece to you."
***
"Alright, alright, stop teasing the young fellow." The old man knocked his pipe against the sole of his shoe, and seeing that the older men nearby had finally given up on trying to catch up with the pace, he said with a smile, "Oh my, you old fellows are giving up just like that? Try a bit harder and maybe you can eat dust in his wake! Old Yu, where is that drive you had when fighting the Japanese devils in your youth? Bring it out!"
The atmosphere began to liven up. When they returned to the fields to resume work, the group divided into three factions.
One faction was led by the veteran farmers, each fighting their own battle in an attempt to surpass Zhang Qiling.
Zhang Qiling formed a faction of his own.
The remaining faction was led by the pipe-smoking old man, working at a leisurely pace—commonly known as "coasting."
The wheat in the fields was swept clean amidst the unconscious competition of both sides.
At this moment, the sun gradually slanted westward. Zhang Qiling carried a large sack of new grain, melons, and vegetables given by the villagers back home.
Time passed day by day. After finishing the second round of farming, the end of the year approached in the blink of an eye.
Since Mo Shanshan wrote a fine hand, the task of writing Spring Festival couplets naturally fell to her. Moreover, as she was quite popular, neighboring residents who saw this also brought gifts to their home, asking her to help write couplets.
For a time, the small courtyard was crowded with people. With many people came liveliness, and they exchanged greetings over one another.
A few old men squatted under the eaves smoking dry tobacco, while Zhang Xilin and another person chatted idly with them. Mo Shanshan stood at a table in the courtyard writing couplets.
"In past years, Old Yu always wrote the couplets. This old boy is literate. In his early years, he even fought the Japanese devils, and later followed the main army across the, what-was-it river," an old man said, taking a puff of his pipe.
"The Yalu River!"
"Right, right, right!"
Zhang Xilin put on an expression of surprise and said, "Really?!"
"Really, really. He chopped off the heads of dozens of little Japanese devils. This old life of mine was even dug out from a pile of corpses by him."
As they spoke, the man in question walked in carrying a basket of eggs, scolding with a smile as he walked, "I knew you old fogies must be bad-mouthing me behind my back."
Zhang Xilin hurried up to meet him, saying, "How could that be! Old Liu, we were just having Old Yu tell us about the days when you fought the Japanese devils."
The smile on the face of the old man called Old Yu did not fade in the slightest, but Zhang Xilin acutely noticed a flash of desolation in the depths of his eyes, so he quickly changed the subject.
"You shouldn't have brought anything! What's all this for over such a small matter."
"Just take it!" With that, he shoved the eggs into Zhang Xilin's hands and joined the other old men for a casual chat.
A few middle-aged women gathered around Mo Shanshan, who was writing couplets, and chatted in low voices.
The topics they discussed mostly revolved around gossip about various households, their own children, romantic matters, and of course, exchanging cooking experiences.
Mo Shanshan listened with her face flushed red, writing while occasionally answering various questions.
Seeing her reaction, one woman leaned in close to her and said in a secretive tone, "Let me tell you, don't let a man's honest appearance fool you; actually, they've got plenty of sly tricks up their sleeves! Your husband is handsome, too, so you'd better keep a close eye on him."
Zhang Qiling had been spacing out, but upon hearing this, he couldn't help raising his head and giving the woman who spoke a deep, piercing look, as if he wanted to see right through her.
Mo Shanshan responded while writing, her voice as faint as a mosquito's, "He wouldn't."