Naturally, Lester Liew couldn't outrun Logan Liew, who was younger and faster. As expected, his stash of secret money got confiscated—and he even took a punch to the face for good measure.
Holding his swollen cheek, Lester dared not complain. That night, he dutifully fetched hot water for Clara's foot bath and served her with all the care of a palace maid. "Darling, don't be mad. It was all a misunderstanding. I was just teasing Logan, who knew he'd take it seriously?"
"How could I possibly not pay? Ask around the whole village—whenever I buy vegetables, even if the seller isn't home, I make sure to deliver the money the next day!"
Clara didn't say a word. She leaned back with her eyes closed, soaking her feet, and dozed off in pure comfort.
Lester gritted his teeth. So all his sweet-talking went straight into the void!
The next morning, Clara woke refreshed and full of energy. After her morning workout, she grabbed the sack of rice seed that Lester had brought back from the old house and poured them into a basin. She added water to soak them, hoping they'd sprout quickly. If she had pest-repelling medicine, now would've been the time to add it too.
Lester had never farmed before and didn't know the proper process. He simply did whatever Clara asked.
So when he saw that the rest of the village was scattering germinated seeds directly into the paddies, he panicked and ran home, shouting like a madman.
He found Clara standing in front of the seedling trays they had worked so hard to assemble. Each wooden tray was filled with rich soil from their own fields, and the germinated seeds were already planted—twenty trays in total, all sprouting with fresh, bright green shoots that looked full of life.
Adam, Ben, Chad, and Deb came to check on the seedlings every day like they were raising a litter of precious pets. Afraid the sprouts would get cold at night, the six of them had woven straw mats and covered the entire rack, turning it into a snug little nursery. They'd put so much love into it.
And now Lester came and told them it was all wrong?
To a farming family, grain was everything. The four kids were on the verge of tears.
But Clara had never let them down before. She furrowed her brows, calmly shushed Lester's panicked yelling, and asked steadily:
"So the villagers all scatter their sprouted seeds directly into the fields?"
Lester nodded wildly.
"And Father and the others—have they already finished seeding the rest of the fields?"
"Not yet," he said. "There are still several dozen acres left near the house." Those plots were the best and required proper fertilizing before seeding, so they were left for later.
Clara remained unfazed. "Good. Go back and tell them not to scatter anymore. We need to raise seedlings first, then transplant them. The seedlings we raise can be selected for the strongest ones, and transplanting them later makes the plants sturdier and more resistant to lodging. Yields will be higher."
"Huh?" Lester blinked. "Where'd you get this from? Who told you that?"
He'd never seen this method before. All his life, people just plowed the fields into muddy flats, scattered sprouted seeds, and then irrigated as the plants grew until harvest.
"I learned it from agricultural experts," Clara snapped. "You think you know more than they do? Just go already! If the harvest fails because you dawdled, I'll beat you to death!"
At the mention of a beating, Lester bolted like a startled hare and vanished in the blink of an eye.
The four kids dashed after him too, worried he'd misdeliver Clara's instructions and make her the village laughingstock.
Sure enough, at the old Liew house, Lester was just saying, "Stop sowing," without a single explanation.
Thankfully, Adam stepped forward and carefully repeated everything Clara had said. Only then did the family understand the logic.
Still, Caleb Liew frowned. "I've never heard of planting rice like that. Can it really work? If we miss the season, those prime fields will yield nothing."
Caleb was the most experienced farmer in the family. If anyone else had suggested this, he might've weighed the pros and cons. But Clara? The woman who didn't even know how to plow a field a month ago? He couldn't bring himself to trust her.
"Believe it or not, I delivered the message," Lester huffed. "Do what you want."
And with that, he gathered the kids and swept out like a whirlwind.
On the way back, Adam said, "I think Stepmother's right. Dad, let's listen to her."
"I didn't say I wouldn't," Lester huffed. Could he even disobey her?
Ben, Chad, and Deb giggled and joked that if Clara's plan failed, they'd just eat wild greens.
Adam patted the slingshot hanging from his waist. "When autumn comes, Stepmother promised to take me hunting. We'll have meat to eat by then."
Lester felt a little bitter. He muttered, "If your stepmother told you to eat poop, would you?"
Deb nodded earnestly. "I'd eat it."
Chad chimed in right away. "I can eat poop too!"
Ben laughed until he cried. "You two are idiots!"
Lester scoffed, "You're all idiots."
Adam looked at the whole silly bunch and sighed deeply. He really felt sorry for Clara.
Clara's transplanting method quickly turned them into the village's oddballs.
While everyone else's rice shoots had already sprouted in the paddies, their family was only beginning to transplant.
Clara and Lester brought wooden boards to the fields, which had been drained of water, leaving only a shallow layer behind. Clara carried over the ten-centimeter-tall seedlings, and the whole family stood barefoot on the boards, inserting the shoots into the soil in neat, tidy rows.
It took them three days to plant just two acres.
And then—spring rain arrived.
People often say spring rain is worth its weight in oil. Sure enough, Clara's seedlings grew visibly taller every day. After two weeks, they were already a head taller than the surrounding fields.
And unlike other paddies, where seedlings grew in tangled clusters, Clara's fields were orderly and pristine—visibly different.
At first, people laughed at Lester and his family's antics. Some even ran to Old Walter Liew, urging him to knock some sense into his son.
But even he couldn't do anything. Clara's words had almost convinced him too.
Still, most villagers stuck to tradition. It was too risky to gamble with food.
Frank Liew, seeing they only planted ten acres and out of respect for Clara, didn't object either.
But as the two acres of transplanted seedlings grew tall and strong, doubts began to quiet.
When Clara's family began transplanting those sturdy, knee-high seedlings into the rest of their fertilized fields—rows upon neat rows that stood tall against wind and rain—the villagers had only one lingering doubt left:
All this effort—would the harvest be worth it?
(End of Chapter)
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