For several days after returning, Khang did nothing but sleep. I only woke him for meals, after which he would become listless, like a person without a soul, and grope his way back upstairs to continue sleeping.
Having been neglected for a long time, the fields in the space had not yet been planted with rice seedlings. Fortunately, these past few days had been uncommonly peaceful, so I spent the entire afternoon busy in the fields, draining water, sowing seedlings, and then just waiting for the rice to ripen. The environment within the space was magical, and coupled with the special properties of the spring water, the crops grew as if blown by the wind.
The taro and dasheen I had planted earlier had already grown lush leaves; it wouldn't be long before they could be dug up and eaten. The wheat and several rows of cabbage were also growing very well, a vibrant and lively green.
The food sent to Vu's group last time had nearly emptied the reserve stock. Although what was left was enough for the few of us to eat comfortably, I still needed to store more to find a time to send to Luong's group later. With this weather, the crops they planted were basically a total loss; any little bit of help was better than none.
I had sown wheat in the damp patch of land next to the stream. It was too late to plant paddy rice now, and wheat was more drought-resistant. The potatoes and sweet potatoes in the space were all ready for harvest. In a few days, when I had time, I would have to dig up some fresh tubers to make a few delicious dishes for everyone.
Banh Nep was unusually well-behaved this time. Even when we returned, I didn't see it excitedly clinging to me. Banh Nep had grown much larger. Before, it was only the size of my palm; now, it was as big as a full-grown domestic cat. I don't know what my grandfather had been feeding it while I was away for it to grow so fast.
Besides staying at home, Banh Nep seemed to prefer playing in the space. Thinking back, it seemed that besides me, Banh Nep could also freely enter and exit the space, whereas others needed to have a blood relationship and be personally led in by me. It hadn't been acting cute lately either; it seemed to have suddenly matured.
I finally understood the bittersweet feeling of parents seeing their little child, whom they had raised, no longer cling to them. Our Banh Nep had reached "puberty," making this "father" feel a pang of sorrow.
Then again, Banh Nep looked both like a dog and not like a dog. But an ordinary person probably wouldn't notice this issue. Now, in the space, it was having a great time playing by itself, completely oblivious to my feelings.
The bird's eye chili plants in the yard were fully ripe, a deep red. I had to clear the space to plant another batch of vegetables. It would be a waste to throw them away. I remembered there were still a few ceramic jars in the storeroom, so I found them to make minced pickled chilies. Later, when making stir-fried taro with minced chilies, the flavor would be incredible.
"Phuong..."
Khang had just woken up from his nap and still looked dazed. He was wearing a loose tank top, squatting on the house's threshold, looking at me with half-closed eyes:
"What are you doing? Why are you washing those jars?"
"Washing them to dry so I can make minced pickled chilies for everyone. Then I'll make stir-fried taro with minced chilies for you."
Khang's eyes lit up. He licked his lips and nodded obediently, then added with a touch of regret:
"If only we had fish to make steamed fish head with chilies, that would be great."
I smiled. This fellow's mind was truly set on nothing but eating. It seemed his state had stabilized; enough sleep and he was full of energy again.
The sun was strong, and the jars would soon be dry. In the meantime, Khang and I prepared the other ingredients. I learned how to make minced pickled chilies from my grandfather; he would usually add some roasted sesame seeds and crushed roasted peanuts. We mixed all these ingredients with the finely minced chilies, put them in the jar, added a sufficient amount of salt, then sealed it tightly. After about half a month, the pickled chilies would be ready.
After finishing these tasks, we were both drenched in sweat. Khang grinned as he hugged his precious jar, showing no signs of fatigue. Seeing him so happy, I let him be.
After dinner in the evening, my grandfather went for a walk to Fatty Bang's house. The medicine I brought back last time had worked wonders after just a few doses; his body had been much healthier recently. At a glance, he even seemed to be getting younger. I guessed it might be related to that strange spring water, but since it wasn't a bad thing, there was no need to trouble myself over it.
Banh Nep had also run off somewhere. I only saw that its food bowl was empty, but it was nowhere in sight.
Khang and I sat bored in the house, just staring at each other. Khang couldn't sit still:
"If I lie down any longer, my bones will stiffen up. I'm going over to Bang's house to see what's up."
After returning home, I had been busy finding time for farming. I don't know when Khang and Fatty Bang had become quite close. Fatty Bang was talkative, and both of them knew how to joke around, so there was no fear of boredom.
Suddenly, I was the only one left in the house. I had to find something to do as well.
The flock of chickens in the backyard had soon hatched another brood, and the coop immediately became crowded. I would have to give Fatty Bang a few chicks to clear some space. Speaking of which, after raising them for so long, I had never eaten any chicken. I had to catch a rooster to stew in a soup for my grandfather and Khang, and also to satisfy my own craving. The cow and sheep tied in the yard had been getting hot for days, and I didn't have time to take them out. Tomorrow morning, I had to take them to the valley to let them roam freely.
I had slaughtered roosters as a child, so I was quite adept at it. I boiled water, dipped the chicken, plucked the feathers, and seared it over a flame to remove the fine feathers and give the skin a beautiful golden color. It was a home-raised chicken fed on rice and grain, so its innards were very clean and would make the soup delicious.
There were still a few honeycomb charcoal briquettes left from before. Stewing soup required a low, simmering flame, and this charcoal was perfect for starting the fire. I put the chicken and various nutritious stewing herbs into a clay pot, added a handful of blanched scallions, a few slices of ginger, a small piece of white radish, covered the lid, and brought it to a boil.
The aroma of chicken meat began to spread. I turned the flame down to let it simmer overnight; the broth would be even richer and more delicious tomorrow.
Khang must have smelled the aroma and found his way back. As soon as he entered the door, he called out:
"Phuong, what are you making that smells so good?"
His nose was really sharp.
I smiled and replied:
"Stewing chicken soup. We can eat it tomorrow morning. Did Grandfather come back with you?"
Khang's eyes were greedily fixed on the bubbling soup pot, which was emitting a fragrant aroma:
"Yes, Grandfather said he was tired, so he went to wash up first."