Ewan batted his eyelashes, absorbing every ounce of the implication-laden gazes thrown his way by the two middle-aged neighbors. His intuition whispered that there was no malice involved, yet that specific brand of simpering, knowing smile sent a shiver crawling right down his spine. It was exactly the kind of look gossiping aunties reserved for a pair of blushing newlyweds who had just tied the knot.
He turned to Asher Ryder for salvation, but the man's face remained as impassive as a slab of granite. Asher merely nodded a perfunctory greeting in return, then proceeded to drag Ewan straight ahead, completely ignoring the excessive enthusiasm radiating from the bystanders.
Only after they had put some distance between themselves and the prying eyes did Asher begin to explain, his voice flat and monotonous like a reluctant tour guide forced into overtime: "Look around you, nature here has a twisted sense of humor. Wild vegetables and wild fruit trees sprout all over the roadsides, possessing a vitality as fierce as weeds. They just sink their roots into the junk soil and thrive without a care in the world."
He pointed toward the lush green bushes thriving along the path; even beneath their feet, patches of wild grass grew thick and vibrant, looking exactly like the vegetable beds Ewan had seen in the ancient era.
"Vegetables on the mountain are countless, but that breed has a bizarre temperament. If you dig them up and try to pamper them in a home garden, they will inevitably keel over and die. On the other hand, using precious arable land to grow wild weeds would be a criminal waste of resources. That is why no one here farms vegetables, they just haul a basket up the mountain to gather a meal. The fertile land is reserved for the high-maintenance crops like sweet potatoes, potatoes, or wheat."
Asher let out a sharp exhale: "Among them, wheat is the most difficult to please. You have to nurse it like a sickly infant, yet the yield is a gamble, far inferior to the potato family. Therefore... well, potatoes and sweet potatoes are the true loves of this entire village."
Hearing this, Ewan stood frozen in place for a solid five seconds, his brain short-circuiting.
Potatoes? Potatoes again? Did he mean the entire village ate boiled potatoes for breakfast, roasted potatoes for lunch, and potato soup for dinner? What kind of menu was this? Just hearing it made him feel like he was choking.
Furthermore, wheat could only be ground into flour to bake bread. He was a person who had (observed) the Orient! Where was the rice? Where were those pearly white, fragrant, sticky grains bestowed by the heavens?
Seeing Ewan's face looking as crestfallen as if he had lost his ration book, Asher seemed to read his thoughts. He pointed toward a vacant lot far off at the head of the village: "It's not like there's no way to change the menu here. Every five days, a market convenes over there. Villagers bring all sorts of things to trade; you can sell potatoes for credits, then buy wheat, cotton, or seeds."
He hesitated for a moment before continuing, lowering his voice: "Wet rice... meaning white rice, is also sold. But it is expensive - absurdly expensive. However..." He glanced at Ewan, his expression showing a hint of deliberation: "If you crave it too much, I still have a little left at home. It's not enough to cook a big pot of pure rice, but if we stretch it by mixing in some wheat and cracked corn, it should be edible enough."
In reality, white rice was a luxury item that the commoners here might not dare to dream of in a lifetime. The meager amount of rice sitting at the bottom of the jar in Asher's house had been there for nearly a year.
Back then, his adoptive mother was gravely ill, her weak stomach unable to digest the rough, filler-mixed corn and potato meals. At that time, Asher had been like a crazed wild beast charging into the forest, hunting down several large game animals and selling them off in a fire sale, scraping every penny just to exchange for a few kilos of white rice to cook porridge for her.
Regrettably, the rice was not yet finished when the person had already hurriedly departed for the afterlife.
Asher himself was used to living rough, gnawing on a raw potato or a burnt ear of corn was enough to call it a meal, asking for nothing fancy. But looking at Ewan - a fair-skinned young man who seemed to hail from a civilized planet - he feared the boy could not swallow such coarse sustenance.
I probably need to check the rice jar, or bite the bullet and buy a bit more at the next market, Asher calculated silently.
However, contrary to Asher's thoughtful worrying, Ewan was not concerned in the slightest about having to eat mixed grains or gnaw on potatoes to survive. In his head right now, only one question of vital survival importance was swirling around.
He lifted his large, round eyes, asking a question brimming with hope: "So, is there meat?"
"..."
Asher remained silent.
The silence stretched for a few brief seconds - perhaps because he was surprised by the boy's sudden ease of feeding, or maybe he was mentally cataloging the inventory at home. But for Ewan, that pause was no different from a death sentence.
What? Silence means no?
This planet is so poor there's no rice, and now even a piece of meat is a luxury?
Ewan felt the sky collapsing. What was the point of having a body? Having a tongue to taste, a stomach to digest, but not being allowed to experience the delicacies of the human world - he would rather be a rock by the roadside!
Braised pork belly, boiled chicken, sweet and sour ribs... all popped like soap bubbles.
I quit! I'm sulking! Put me back on the flying saucer! I want to go back to Earth, being a starving ghost is fine, at least I could smell the incense smoke!
Seeing Ewan's face distort, his lips pursed and trembling as if he were about to burst into tears any second, Asher was terrified. He frantically waved his hands: "Hey, hey, don't cry! There is! There is meat! Who said there wasn't?"
The magic spell "There is meat" took effect immediately. Ewan stopped dead, his teary eyes suddenly lighting up like high-beam headlights: "Really? You aren't tricking me, are you? Didn't you say this place was dirt poor? If it's so poor, where is the money to buy meat?"
Asher breathed a sigh of relief, hurriedly explaining: "Actually, for normal people, it is indeed hard to get meat. Buying it is expensive, hunting it is hard. But..." He patted his chest, his voice full of the confidence of an expert: "Who am I? I am the best hunter in this village. Pork is a bit rare because it's mostly livestock, and we have to wait until the end of the year for someone to slaughter one. But wild chickens, wild rabbits, stream fish - however much you want to eat, I can catch that much. I won't let you lack meat."
Ewan nodded furiously, then suddenly remembered some patchy knowledge he had heard: "But... aren't they Star Beasts?"
Didn't novels always say that animals in the wilderness of the Interstellar Era were all mutated monsters, breathing fire, spitting acid, with skin as thick as steel? Why did it sound like catching chickens in a coop when coming from this guy's mouth?
Asher laughed out loud: "That is the story in heavily polluted areas or military borders. That is where animals mutate into ferocious Star Beasts. But in this countryside, animals are still animals. Chickens still cluck, rabbits still eat carrots, there are no grand, scary names for them."
"In short, if you want to eat meat, we have it; it just takes a bit of effort to hunt. Except for high-class dishes like seafood, shrimp, and crabs, which are a bit difficult, everything else is carefree."
Hearing the word "carefree," Ewan nodded enthusiastically like a chicken pecking at grain. He had only heard half of the theories about pollution or mutation, the words buzzing in his ears. But he grasped the most important conclusion: There was meat to eat.
That was enough!
He was very easy to raise, really! Just give him meat, and tell him to hoe the earth - he would even pull the plow in place of a buffalo!