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墨書 Inktalez
The twilight enveloped the threshing ground, where a long table made of twenty or so square tables was filled with coarse porcelain bowls. Aunt Wang, accompanied by the women, brought out tenderly stewed wild boar meat mixed with freshly harvested potatoes, the aroma wafting half a mile away. Seventh Uncle trembled as he removed the clay seal from the wine jar, amber liquid rippling in the bowl.
"This first bowl today," the old man raised his earthenware bowl high, tears glistening in his murky eyes, "is for our fellow villagers who died in battle!"
The sound of wine splashing onto the earth was like a sigh. Lin Dahe looked down at the reflection swaying in his bowl—an unfamiliar face marked by sunburn, no longer the fair-skinned graduate from the laboratory. The system's countdown hovered at the edge of his vision: [23:41:29], glaring red.
"The second bowl," Seventh Uncle suddenly turned to Zhou Liangzhang, who was tied next to the grinding stone, his voice suddenly sharp, "is for this scoundrel's conscience!"
Laughter erupted from the crowd. Zhou Liangzhang's jowls quivered as mud and grass clung to his silk robe. Aunt Ma was tied to a wooden post beside him; her foot was festering and emitting a foul odor.
"According to clan rules," Seventh Uncle's knuckles rapped on the table, "those who collude with bandits and harm the people shall sink into the pond!"
Several young men immediately stood up, eager for action. Just as Lin Dahe was about to intervene, the one-armed veteran slammed his waist knife onto the table with a clang.
"Hold on." He leisurely revealed a gilded badge, "This person is involved in a major case with the court and needs to be escorted to the yamen for interrogation." The tip of his knife lifted Zhou Liangzhang's chin. "Especially regarding... those matters concerning several officials from the Ministry of Revenue."
Zhou Liangzhang's pupils suddenly constricted, and he felt warmth spreading in his pants. Lin Dahe keenly noticed that when the veteran mentioned "Ministry of Revenue," Seventh Uncle's brow twitched ever so slightly.
"Drink! Drink!" Peddler Zhang timely broke the silence, filling each bowl from the wine jar. This man, always wearing a silly grin, walked with a noticeable limp in his left leg—a result of an arrow wound from last year's border skirmish.
After three rounds of drinks, Lin Dahe brought out his precious potato seeds. These tubers had survived through war and were now sprouting purple-red shoots that looked like countless tiny hands under the torchlight.
"Five pounds for each household." He explained storage tips while distributing them. "Remember not to store them with apples..."
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Cui Xiaoman squatting on the steps of the ancestral hall, diligently recording something with a charcoal pencil in her notebook. Villagers receiving seeds paused before her to report their names and acreage. One woman handed her two dyed red eggs; she declined but ended up tucking them into her cloth pouch.
"Are you keeping accounts?" Lin Dahe leaned over to ask.
Cui Xiaoman hurriedly closed her notebook, but Lin Dahe had already caught a glimpse of its contents—it was far more than just a simple list; it detailed each household’s land orientation, soil characteristics, and even annual harvest records!
"My father said..." she blushed slightly, "a good doctor should know their patients' backgrounds."
Suddenly, a system prompt popped up: [Detected potential romantic development; current favorability 72/100]. Lin Dahe's hand trembled, nearly knocking over the oil lamp. In the flickering light, he noticed some dried grass stuck in Cui Xiaoman's hair—leftover from yesterday at the battlefield’s grinding stone.
"You have..." he reached out instinctively but was startled by a sudden scream just as he was about to touch her hair.
"Ah—!"
Peddler Zhang came rolling into the threshing ground in a panic, blood gushing from a new wound on his left arm: "The donkey cart! My donkey cart has been stolen!"
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