Back to 1984: I built a chicken farm on a barren mountain.

The next morning, there was a thick fog.

The conflict between Zheng Dali and Chen Shouxin spread throughout Chenjiazhuang like the thick fog.

That's how rural society is—a world of acquaintances where members have virtually no privacy.

Chen Wenfeng went to Nanshan early in the morning with a basket on his back. He remembered that the day after the land was divided in his previous life, someone was picking mushrooms in Nanshan, so he thought he would go and pick some mushrooms to exchange for money.

Having been reborn, he needs capital to do anything. Now he's penniless, so he has to do anything that can earn him a little something, even if it's just a small profit.

A narrow, winding path extends up the mountain like a rope; it is the path that woodcutters have made.

Chen Wenfeng quickly found a chestnut forest by following the winding mountain path. There were no red umbrellas or white stalks; at this time of year, the chestnut forest only contained chestnut mushrooms.

In the white fog, the chestnut mushrooms looked like gray lotus flowers blooming at his feet. Chen Wenfeng put down his wicker basket and quickly picked them up.

Chen Wenfeng knew he was racing against time. As the sun rose and the white mist dissipated, the mushrooms would rot and shrivel within minutes.

After picking for more than an hour, the baskets were piled high, and the sunlight shone on the hillside. The thick fog disappeared as soon as it saw the sunlight, just like a mouse seeing a cat.

Chen Wenfeng carried a basket to the supply and marketing cooperative, which was located at the westernmost part of the village. The staff there maintained their cold and distant attitude, telling him that he could bring the dried fruit over after drying, and they would give him about 2 yuan per jin (5 grams).

In those days, village shops could sell oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, sugar, wine, snacks, and even needles and thread, but fertilizers, seeds, pesticides, grains, cooking oil, and cotton were still monopolized by supply and marketing cooperatives.

Chen Wenfeng calculated that this basket could yield about four or five pounds of dried mushrooms, which was a decent harvest.

On his way back, he passed by the small stage—the gossip hub of Chenjiazhuang—where several middle-aged women were enthusiastically telling the story of Zheng Dali beating up Chen Shouxin.

Among them, the number one loudspeaker is Aunt Zhao.

Chen Wenfeng deliberately strolled over to the small stage, wanting to hear what everyone was saying about the matter.

Aunt Zhao, with her sharp eyes, spotted Chen Wenfeng and eagerly approached him, saying with a mysterious expression:

"Wenfeng, do you know that Chen Laosan, your third uncle, was beaten by Dali?"

"I've heard about it."

"Good heavens, that kick landed right in the groin, almost made him infertile..."

Chen Wenfeng was speechless. How could the rumors have spread like this in just one night?

Aunt Zhao continued excitedly:

"I heard it's because they contracted Jiming Mountain, and there's gold on Jiming Mountain, that's why they're fighting over it."

Holy crap, what's going on? How did the rumors get so completely wrong?

Chen Wenfeng quickly corrected him:

"It's not that they're scrambling to take it, it's that they're scrambling to get rid of it. They say... they say... that place is haunted."

Chen Wenfeng deliberately lowered his voice for the second half of his sentence, adding a bit of embellishment to the rumor.

I don't spread rumors; I just carry them around.

After all, he wanted to acquire Jiming Mountain at the lowest possible price.

Aunt Zhao's eyes lit up immediately after hearing this, but no matter how much she pressed him for answers, Chen Wenfeng simply said he didn't know.

It's just like writing a novel; leave some blanks and let the readers guess.

Although somewhat dissatisfied with Chen Wenfeng's silence, Aunt Zhao turned around, raised her head, and proudly plunged into the midst of the other aunties.

"Listen to me, I have some breaking news, absolutely fresh, just out of the oven..."

Soon, the story of Zheng Dali punching Chen Shouxin changed.

Although the versions differ in their own way, they are generally similar, mainly in three aspects:

1. Jiming Mountain has gone from being a desolate place to a ghostly wasteland; whoever takes over the management of it is a fool.

2. Zheng Dali not only kicked Chen Shouxin's younger brother, but also kicked his testicles;

3. Zheng Dali kicked Chen Shouxin in the crotch because he was jealous that he was not as good as Chen Laosan.

It is well-reasoned and logically complete.

Chen Wenfeng couldn't help but cheer, "Aunt Zhao is so talented!"

Indeed, so-called talent is simply about putting people in the right positions.

......

Two days later, on the morning.

Chenjiazhuang Village Committee.

Village chief Chen Youwei was a little depressed.

As the saying goes, the crescent moon shines over the whole country, bringing joy to some and sorrow to others.

While everyone in Chenjiazhuang, young and old, was gossiping about the melons, he couldn't find any joy in it.

Zheng Dali's contracting of Jiming Mountain was originally a pleasant surprise for him. Although he regretted it, there were still some speculators who wanted to contract it to take a look.

But now there are rumors everywhere, making Jiming Mountain a hot potato.

Which bastard spread this little thing like this?

He sat in his office, flipping through the newspaper while cursing.

"Uncle Youwei, are you there?"

Chen Wenfeng pushed the office door open a crack and peeked out to ask.

"It's Wen Feng! Come in quickly!"

The village chief calmed himself down and called Chen Wenfeng in.

"Achoo, achoo!"

Chen Wenfeng sneezed twice in a row.

"What's wrong, Wenfeng?"

"I probably caught a cold from taking a cold shower yesterday, because I've been sneezing non-stop this morning."

Chen Wenfeng explained.

"It's only because you young people should let the water bags dry in the sun a little longer before washing them."

"Yeah, I was careless."

In rural areas, bathing facilities are very rudimentary in the summer, mainly using iron buckets and stone troughs to boil water for bathing.

This is when the use of sun-drying water bags will just become popular. They are usually rectangular black water bags with a water pipe and a nozzle attached to the bottom.

Place the water bag in a high place, fill it with water, and once it's warmed up by the sun, you can take a shower.

However, the use of this type of water bag is greatly affected by the weather.

When the sun is shining, the water is hot; when it's cloudy, the water is cold.

In addition, the water bag has a very small capacity, so it needs to be refilled after only a short time of use.

Chen Wenfeng caught a cold because the sun had set after he filled his water bag with water, and the water hadn't warmed up yet.

The village chief pulled a stool out from under the table and asked Chen Wenfeng to sit down.

He handed Chen Wenfeng a neatly folded stack of newspapers and said:

"I've read all of these. You can take them and read them. You can come to me anytime to exchange them for new ones."

Chen Wenfeng took the newspaper and first smelled the scent of ink, a smell he hadn't experienced in a long time.

"We used to order two copies and pass them around, but now not many people read them, so we've switched to one copy."

The village chief continued speaking, his tone carrying a hint of melancholy, as if he had nowhere to find a kindred spirit.

Chen Wenfeng pulled out a copy of the "Tangshi Labor Daily" from the newspapers and casually flipped through it.

In addition to news about policies and guidelines and encouragement of contracting, the publication also featured some contemporary literary and artistic works.

what!

These two are literary reviews, and they're quite interesting.

Chen Wenfeng was also a literary youth in his previous life, so he feels more at ease with pure literature.

There were two articles in the supplement, competing with each other, taking up more than half a page.

The article is titled "On the Fictionality of 'Midnight Bell' in Zhang Ji's 'Midnight Bell Tolls on the Passenger Boat'", and is signed Xiyanzhai.

Another article directly contradicts this, titled "Poetry Can Prove History: The Midnight Bell Might Be a Temple Custom at the Time," and signed by Sha Bixuan.

good article!

Good name!

Chen Wenfeng smiled and put the newspaper away, intending to read it slowly when he got back.

The village chief was quite pleased to see Chen Wenfeng smiling as he read the newspaper.

Chen Wenfeng stood up from the stool. The village chief was about to say, "Come over often," when he saw Chen Wenfeng sit down again.

"Uncle Youwei, I've heard a lot of noise about the legend of Jiming Mountain from the villagers these past few days."

The village chief hadn't expected Chen Wenfeng to suddenly bring up this topic, so he just smiled helplessly and said:

"This will make it even harder to rent out Jiming Mountain."

"Aren't you considering lowering the contract fee?"

"Even if the price drops, it's hard to say. Right now, everyone's convinced that if you take on a contract, you'll definitely lose money."

"Are you all wrong?"

"wrong."

Village chief Chen Youwei answered very affirmatively.