Clara let out a long sigh.
She had spent the past few weeks racking her brains trying to find ways to make money. And after all that, the only result was turning two ox tendons into slingshot bands. That was it. Nothing else came of it.
"…Should we give it a try then?" she said uncertainly.
Old Walter Liew slapped his thigh. "Settled then! You and Lester work it out among yourselves. I'll head home first."
The freshly harvested wheat still needed to be laid out to dry. And once dry, it had to be milled.
But that wasn't even the end of it—what really needed to be done now was finding the village head and borrowing an ox to plow the fields. That was the most urgent task.
Without an ox, and relying solely on human labor, plowing over a hundred acres of land would wear anyone to death.
Lester watched his father's retreating figure until he disappeared from sight before turning back into the courtyard.
He and Clara exchanged a glance. As if knowing what she was about to say, Lester jumped ahead and blurted, "Darling, how about we just sell those two acres of wheat?"
Clara stared at him, thinking, Wow, genius idea.
"Have you even looked at that weed patch? Who'd want it?" She hadn't gone to check on that field in months, but even without looking, she could guess it was more weeds than wheat.
"We'll go take a look tomorrow morning," she instructed.
"…We?" Lester blinked. "Not just me?"
She shot him a look.
Lester chuckled weakly. "Alright, sure."
As if he had a choice.
Clara glanced up at the sky. She had to admit—rural landscapes were beautiful. The sky was an unmarred shade of blue, wildflowers blanketed the hills in every color, and the spring breeze carried a freshness that felt like it could cleanse one's soul.
The couple headed to the kitchen together—one to start cooking, the other to find the farm tools.
Clara rummaged around and pulled out two rusty sickles and a pair of shoulder poles. There was also a single hoe. That was all the farm tools they had.
She had been to the old Liew estate many times and remembered that their tool shed had all sorts—rakes, broad-faced hoes, even a few tools she didn't know the names of.
Just for tilling alone, they had a range—ones for weeding, trenching, breaking new ground.
Clara brought out the whetstone, filled a basin with water, and placed a small wooden stool beside the drainage channel at the kitchen door. She sat down and started sharpening the rusted sickles.
The scraping sound of metal against stone made Lester's scalp prickle. It sounded less like someone preparing to farm and more like someone preparing for battle.
It was clear she was very, very reluctant to work the land.
And to be fair… so was he.
After thinking for a bit, Lester gathered his courage and raised the idea again. "How about we just sell the land? Even if no one wants it for much, we can sell it cheap. And you—you can hunt! Come autumn, head into the mountains, bag a bear, and we'll eat and drink like royalty for a year. Why go through all this suffering?"
"Lester Liew." Clara turned her head slowly, gaze sharp as a blade, still sharpening the sickle as she spoke in a frosty tone. "So you've decided to freeload off me for life, huh?"
Before he could answer, she flung the sickle into the water basin with a loud clang and stood up.
"Tomorrow you go cut down every stalk of wheat from those two acres of land. Miss even one, and I'll kill you."
With that, she marched to the center of the courtyard, grabbed a staff the thickness of a grown man's arm, and headed for the training yard in the back. In moments, she was swinging it like a storm, wind howling through the air.
You want to sponge off her? At least have the skills to back it up.
Lester stood there, gripping the spatula in his hand, not knowing whether the smoke in his eyes was from the damp firewood or the burning injustice in his heart.
With a loud clang, he threw the spatula into the hot wok.
This life is unbearable!
Always killing, killing, killing—might as well let her kill me and be done with it!
The screech of metal-on-metal echoed through the kitchen.
Clara narrowed her eyes. Oh? Mutiny now, is it? She appeared at the kitchen door within three seconds, swinging that thick wooden staff.
But before she could speak—
"Darling, you're hungry, aren't you? Food's almost ready. Why don't you rest in the main hall while I serve dinner?" Lester was already flipping vegetables in the wok with a bright, harmless smile.
Inside the kitchen, the food was sizzling. He wore an apron and held the spatula like a master chef. He even gave her a charming little smile.
When Lester wasn't acting up, that face of his alone could make people drop their guard.
Clara huffed. "Hmph. At least you know your place."
She turned and walked off.
Lester wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve and quickly resumed cooking. Before long, a plate of stir-fried chrysanthemum greens was served up.
Then he fried up some eggs—meat and vegetables, well balanced. His wife loved that kind of meal.
After dinner, with the sun just barely touching the horizon, Clara sent the kids to the bottom of the hill to pick wild greens—good for digestion, she said.
She herself brought out the seed packets Martha Liew had given her last year, took a hoe, and went to the two small vegetable plots in the front yard to figure out how best to plant them.
Honestly, the amount they'd been spending on vegetables lately was outrageous.
Worse, even if you had money, no one else had spare veggies to sell. Most of what they ate came from kind neighbors giving them a handful here and there.
In the countryside, it was clear—if you wanted greens, you had to grow them yourself.
Clara tilled the soil in both plots, breaking up clumps to loosen the dirt. Once done, it would be ready for planting.
But she only managed to finish tilling by the time the sky went completely dark.
They were frugal with oil lamps, and torches just made the walls blacken with soot. With the house newly renovated, she was loath to damage it, so she called it a day.
The next morning, just before dawn, Lester woke up—but his body refused to leave the warm bed.
Only when he heard Clara coughing a warning from her room did he force himself out.
He steamed the dough he left to rise overnight, then used the wait time to sweep the front and back courtyards, clean the main hall and the washroom. By the time the steamed buns were ready, he was just finishing up.
The rest of the household was still asleep. He snuck a hot bun for himself, then packed four more in a cloth pouch, filled a bamboo tube with water, grabbed the shoulder pole and sickle, and left with the solemn look of a man marching to his execution.
He didn't return until dusk, just as the sun was about to set.
Clara had kept busy too—training as usual, planting the veggie seeds, and even making a trip to the latrine to scoop out some "golden fertilizer" to give her seeds an extra boost.
She stuffed cloth into her nose to block the smell and poured the stuff around the new sprouts, silently praying they'd grow fast.
Lester caused quite a stir the moment he returned to the village. Clara didn't even need to leave the courtyard to hear the commotion.
The kids dashed out, and Clara set down her fertilizer scoop to follow.
Mother and children stood at the gate, watching as Lester—head wrapped in a sweatband, all grace gone—struggled up the slope with a full load of wheat and weeds, panting with every step.
The villagers working nearby were stunned.
"Is that really Lester Liew?"
A closer look confirmed it. Yep. The two bundles he carried were an even mix of wheat and weeds.
Because only he—only he—would be clueless enough not to tell them apart.
(End of Chapter)
Enjoying the story? Get early access to new chapters on my Patreon: patreon.com/c/TinaWriterXD
Thank you for your support! 💛