Salt was only distributed during wartime, and it's still scarce now. I heard from colleagues that the salt merchants who transported salt from the Lingnan salt lake were struck by plague on the way, and all the salt in Nanzhou County was looted.
What? Looted? Ajia had planned to exchange some salt to nourish her mother. We have our own salt producers, don't we? Why do we still need to transport it from elsewhere?
Yes. Tuoba Yan looked up at the sky and murmured, "There is. I heard it was that wealthy merchant Li Dachang, who used to run the salt trade. But that old man doesn't do it anymore."
So that's how it was. No wonder that old rascal accumulated so much money.
In this era, everyone knew that the most expensive commodities were salt and sugar.
Then do you usually eat without salt? Ajia asked doubtfully.
What is vegetables?
Ajia stared at Tuoba Yan for a long time. This conversation was going nowhere. But she was not willing to give up. You know, stir-fried dishes with flavor and oil.
Ajia, I haven't seen the kind of dishes you're talking about. The best is the white steamed buns I left for you.
Hearing Tuoba Yan say this, Ajia finally realized that steamed buns were considered the best food.
But how can the yamen have salt to eat? Ajia muttered to herself.
However, I've seen our chief eat dishes served on plates. Perhaps we little soldiers aren't qualified for that. We only get three steamed buns a day.
As Tuoba Yan said this, Ajia looked at him with sympathy.
But at this time, getting three steamed buns a day was considered quite good treatment. Oh, forget it then. Salt is naturally hard to come by.
Hey, it’s grown? Tuoba Yan was startled by the sapling under his eyes as he withdrew his gaze from the starry sky:
Is it that fast?
Shh. Ajia made a silencing gesture first. I planted it, so naturally it grows fast.
Little Yanyan gave a thumbs-up and leaned closer to stare intently at the sapling, then at the continuously extending watermelon vines: Hey, it’s climbing onto my feet.
Tuoba Yan took two steps back.
Ajia could now accurately grasp the time of ripening. Taking advantage of the fact that the village was deserted, she said, Little Yanyan, sneak home and get the basket. One won't be enough. Get the big basket for fodder from Grandpa Niu's cowshed too.
Got it. Tuoba Yan got up and ran home.
Ajia imagined the scene of exchanging for food the next day and felt that this journey of fleeing famine was not so arduous.
When Grandma returned, the family would be reunited.
Just then, Ajia saw several people dressed as refugees suddenly arrive in the village.
They ran into the village, looking back nervously, as if being pursued.
Ajia also looked towards the village entrance. It was very quiet there, with no one else.
The three of them finally relaxed and collapsed onto the ground, panting heavily.
After a while, as the watermelon flowers bloomed and the pomegranate tree grew taller, bearing small red flowers.
The small flowers fell within a short incense stick's time, leaving behind small pomegranates the size of quail eggs.
The watermelons were already the size of eggs.
Ajia was a little worried, constantly keeping a wary eye on the three people slumped on the village road.
Suddenly, one of the three, who had been silent for a long time, covered his face and started crying: They're all dead... they're all dead, ah, we can't live anymore.
You still have the strength to cry, save your energy. These are all residents. At worst, we'll rob some food to fill our stomachs.
Ajia shrank back into the darkness, watching the three men get up and enter an alley.
Ajia secretly thought, "Oh no, that's Grandpa Niu's alley."
Before the thought had even fully formed, Ajia clearly saw Tuoba Yan coming out with two large baskets, one big and one small.
Who are you?