Transmigrated as an Unwanted Ugly Girl

Chapter 461: Chapter 242: A Close Neighbor Is Better Than a Distant Relative

While He and Mrs. Yang were in the kitchen, murmuring about their children’s marriage, Zhang Dashuan and Zheng Changhe were discussing the same topic out in the courtyard. But they were men, after all, and not as long-winded as the women—who tended to pull all sorts of unrelated nonsense into the conversation. Their talk was simple and direct.

When Zhang Dashuan saw the four youngsters head to the backyard, he noticed Zhang Huai walking beside Juhua with a look of blissful contentment. It was obvious that moving right next door to her had made him overjoyed. Zhang Dashuan looked up at Zheng Changhe. "How about we make the engagement official next year?"

Zheng Changhe considered it for a moment, then nodded. "Agreed!"

Zhang Dashuan’s face split into a grin. "So when should they get married?"

Zheng Changhe immediately shot him a glare. "I want to keep her home for another two years—my daughter’s still young. What’s the rush? You have two sons, you’re not afraid you won’t have grandsons to hold? I only have Qingmu, and he isn’t even married yet!"

Seeing how protective he was, as if someone were about to snatch his daughter away, Zhang Dashuan shook his head and laughed. "Hey, I was just asking. I didn’t say it had to be right away. Juhua is a little young. No need to look so gutted. Even after she’s married and moved over, you’ll still see her all the time. It’s not like she’ll be dozens or even hundreds of miles away."

Both men were well aware that Juhua wasn’t a little girl anymore. She just hadn’t fully blossomed yet. She’d probably need another two years at home before she could marry.

Zheng Changhe thought about it and agreed. There was no need to worry about not seeing his daughter. She would just be living in a different house, that was all.

With the matter settled in just a few words, the two men moved on to other things, the most important being the upcoming late-season rice harvest.

Zhang Dashuan laughed. "You don’t need to be in such a rush with the late-season rice. It’s not like you have to till the fields again after this harvest. Besides, I only have my little three-mu plot. I can give you a hand once I’m finished."

Zheng Changhe beamed. "I’m not worried. What’s there to worry about when you’ve got rice to harvest? If you asked me to harvest rice every day, I’d do it gladly. This late-season crop is going to bring in a whole lot of extra grain for the family. Heh heh, I get happy just thinking about it. We’ve never harvested this much rice before."

Seeing his friend’s blissful expression, Zhang Dashuan smiled knowingly. Who didn’t want to bring in more grain? The memories of going hungry in their childhoods were especially sharp, impossible to forget.

He asked, "Once you’ve harvested this late-season rice, you’ll surely have more than you can eat. Do you plan on selling it?"

Zheng Changhe shook his head. "I don’t think the kids want to sell it. Both Qingmu and Juhua say we should keep more grain stored at home; it makes them feel more secure. And I agree. We’re not desperate for cash right now. If we did what we always used to do—pay the grain tax, sell off a bunch, and leave ourselves with hardly any rice, surviving on cornmeal—that just wouldn’t be right."

He was a simple, down-to-earth man. Even though Juhua and Qingmu had earned a lot of money, he didn’t think he could just spend it as he pleased. That was why he said they "weren’t in a hurry for money" instead of "we’re not short on money." In his heart, the only money that felt right to spend was what he earned from his own farming and pig-raising. It wasn’t that his children’s money was no good; he just always thought it was better to save it for them to build up their own households.

Of course, not everyone thought like him. If Liu’er’s mother had gotten that kind of money, she’d probably have shown it off until the whole village knew. And if it were Granny Hua, she’d definitely be buying delicious food all day long to satisfy her cravings. But men like Zhang Dashuan, Huang Dagunzi, Shorty Zhou, and Fatty Liu would certainly be just like Zheng Changhe—continuing to work themselves to death, same as always.

Zhang Dashuan sighed with feeling. "That’s exactly it. It’s not that we’re afraid of hardship—we survived on wild vegetables as kids, after all. We just don’t want our children to have it like we did, busy from dawn till dusk all year long without even getting to eat white flour or white rice. They’re at the age where they need to grow. Thanks to your family, life has been getting better and better. At least we have white rice to eat every day now."

He pointed to the divided venison and laughed. "Back in the old days, when would we ever have been willing to eat this ourselves? We’d have been lucky to keep a single pound of it."

The two men chuckled as they spoke, full of contentment and happiness.

The divided venison was packed into an assortment of baskets and hampers. Some contained only a small piece weighing about a pound; these were for Shorty Zhou’s and Li Changming’s families. Of course, you had to distinguish between close and distant friends and neighbors. But receiving a piece of meat at all was a sign that you were considered more than just an ordinary villager.

The Zheng Family, of course, was given a huge portion—almost more than Huai Zi’s own maternal uncle received. It wasn’t that the Zhang family disregarded their kin; it was simply the perfect illustration of the proverb "a close neighbor is better than a distant relative." The bond between Zhang Dashuan and Zheng Changhe was far tighter than those with distant relatives. They helped each other without hesitation, so it was only natural to treat them with special consideration.