Chapter 38: The Fish Fry Arrive Before the Pond Is Even Dug

The young woman drifted away with a faint, elegant air. Though her winter clothes were bulky, Xu Damao could still discern her graceful, tall silhouette, leaving him feeling both covetous and regretful. All his lingering thoughts eventually dissolved into a long sigh.

"Sigh, such a beautiful girl, why does she have so much baggage? Why not just live her own life, mind her own business, and be content with having food, drink, and a place to stay? Why must she insist on supporting her younger brother, singing, dancing, and chasing after some ethereal artistic indulgence?"

Xu Damao rode his bicycle home, feeling dejected. The more he thought about it, the more miserable he felt.

At any rate, he had made up his mind: he would not be going on any more matchmaking dates for a while. This one had truly wounded his pride.

"I’ll just go home and drink," he muttered. "Once I’m drunk and flat on my bed, I’ll have everything I want—maybe that girl from just now will show up on her own. I’d finally get to see if what’s underneath those thick cotton clothes is as good as I imagined."

Thinking of alcohol, Xu Damao couldn't help but curse under his breath, "Damn it, Duan Chengliang, coaxing my little hen away. If he hadn't, I could have had a fragrant bowl of chicken soup and half a bottle of liquor, and all my troubles would have vanished."

***

At noon that day, Duan Chengliang didn't have time to bathe, and he had Lao Feng bring his meal over because there was more work to be done.

Recently, the loading team had been swamped. As everyone worked at full capacity, their tools inevitably took a beating. In the past, if a shovel broke, one would have to grit their teeth, swallow their pride, and head to the warehouse to beg for a new head, enduring the inevitable scolding and penalties.

But not anymore. Now they had Duan Chengliang. Look at the shovel Lao Feng was using; after Duan repaired it, hadn't it held up perfectly through these past few days of hard labor?

Duan Chengliang looked at the three shovels the workers had placed before him and said, "I can fix them, but you’ll need to find a way to get me some salt."

Lao Feng asked curiously, "What do you need salt for?"

"To quench the shovel heads after I forge them."

Lao Feng and the others didn't understand, but they saw that Duan Chengliang was firm. Lao Feng said, "I'll go grab a handful from Sha Zhu; he comes by our place often enough to pick out the good coal. I’ll bring the salt to you after I finish eating. You get everything ready."

Duan Chengliang bent down, picked up a basket, and said, "In that case, I’ll go shovel some coal first. Be quick."

Finally, another opportunity to tuck some coal into his interdimensional space. Whenever Duan Chengliang collected coal, scrap iron, or steel, his primary rule was to be cautious.

There were simply too many prying eyes around. The mobilization campaigns of the past few years had sharpened everyone’s vigilance and suspicious nature. In Duan’s view, the eyes of his fellow workers were sharper than any security camera.

Because of this, even with the wonder of his space, he dared not act recklessly.

Only by doing it openly, as he was now, was the right way to go. He would top up his supply whenever the chance arose; standing guard over a massive coal yard, opportunities were plentiful. As long as he had enough for his own use, that was fine.

This time, repairing the three shovels became a form of entertainment for everyone during their break. The happy workers gathered in a circle, chatting and laughing as they watched the spectacle.

They truly did see something unusual. The beginning was the same as when he fixed Lao Feng’s shovel—nothing special.

But at the end, they watched as Duan Chengliang plunged the red-hot, forged shovel heads into the salted water he had prepared. With a loud "hiss," a plume of white smoke billowed upward.

And that wasn't all. He then took the shovels, held them over the burning coal fire one more time, and, without further forging, simply set them aside to cool.

All three shovels were treated this way.

Lao Feng asked curiously, "Duan Chengliang, this is a bit rare today. Is there some special trick to it?"

Duan Chengliang looked at the repaired shovel heads, which were clearly of better quality than new ones, feeling a surge of accomplishment and satisfaction.

Facing Lao Feng’s question, Duan Chengliang gave a smug smile. "You wouldn't understand. This is called quenching and tempering. I dare say, now that I’ve repaired them, these shovels are sturdier and more durable than they were originally."

Lao Feng asked, "The one you fixed for me two days ago, why didn't you do this?"

Duan Chengliang spread his hands and said, "I didn't know how back then. I just learned it."

Lao Feng immediately dismissed it. Think about it—in just two days, what kind of technique could advance so rapidly? It couldn't be anything of real value.

Regardless, the onlookers could see that Duan was clearly more skilled at repairing the shovels this time than when he worked on Lao Feng's. The three shovels were finished in no time—the meal Lao Feng had brought over was still warm.

He possessed the aura of a warrior who had defeated a general while his wine was still warm.

The real joy, however, was in his space. The other workers had gone to the tool shed to nap or play cards. Duan Chengliang sat alone in the duty room by the stove, eating his meal while contemplating what to choose from the interdimensional space this time.

Last time, he had received half a jin of flour for fixing one shovel. This time, he had three chances. For the first one, he clicked on the icon representing currency. To understand the space’s mechanics, one had to be innovative and willing to experiment.

A great harvest indeed. Two jin of fine grain coupons. Estimating the value, the repair of one shovel head was worth about 60 cents, which was exactly the value of two jin of fine grain coupons. Look at that—skills were valuable. Repairing a shovel used to earn him a dime or two; now it had tripled.

He was just in need of grain coupons; this was like being handed a pillow the moment he felt sleepy. Duan Chengliang felt the space was reliable—it seemed tailor-made, providing exactly what he needed.

He clicked again. Hey, this time he got 3 jin and 4 liang of coarse grain coupons. Although he didn't know how the space calculated values, seeing the odd amount made it feel quite charming.

For his final chance, he looked at the icon flashing to represent a living creature and, gritting his teeth, he clicked it.

"Holy..." Inside his consciousness, he felt a pattering sound, like rain, as five or six finger-length fish landed in the courtyard of his space. They fell right onto the dirt and began flopping around.

"Oh no, oh no!" The fish pond wasn't even dug yet, and he already had fingerlings.

Duan Chengliang felt anxious. He wasn't sure if the fish would die quickly without water in the space. He had to follow standard procedure: he had to find a way to get water and put the fry in it immediately. Then, he had to finish digging the pond today to house them.

He had no heart left to finish his meal. He set down his lunchbox and scanned the duty room, spotting Lao Feng’s washbasin on the tin cabinet. "Forget it, I'll borrow it for a bit and return it tomorrow. As for him not finding it today? Hehe, I’ll let him worry for a while."

Duan Chengliang checked the doorway, stepped inside, grabbed the basin, and entered the space. He pumped half a basin of water from the well and set it on the ground, then hurriedly picked up the fish one by one and placed them into the basin.

Watching the six little fish finally begin to swim around happily, huddled together in the basin, Duan Chengliang breathed a sigh of relief. If they had died, they were too small to eat—that would have been a real waste.

By now, he recognized that the fish were likely carp. Freshwater fish farming was a technique that hadn't yet been mastered in this era. That was why, at the Beixinqiao food market, freshwater fish were rarely seen at the aquatic counters; most were sea fish or seafood.

It wouldn't be until next year, or perhaps 1960 or 1962, that agricultural scientists would truly crack the code for freshwater fish farming. Only many years later would fresh freshwater fish become a regular dish on the average person's table.

In this day and age, if you wanted to eat freshwater fish, you had to go to the rivers, ditches, or lakes and fish for them yourself. They were all wild. While not as fatty as farmed fish, the meat was firmer and more delicious. The only catch was that big fish were hard to catch.

Duan Chengliang thought that perhaps he might even have the chance to spar with "Third Master" over fishing techniques in the future.