On the morning of the Qingming Festival, An Ning rose bright and early, and so did the rest of the An family.

Everyone dressed in dark colors and started up the mountain before dawn.

On this day, Shili Gou was different.

Shili Gou had once been a large clan village, which meant everyone shared the same ancestors.

Thus, the Qingming Festival was an annual day for honoring their ancestors.

It hadn’t been permitted in the past, and there was nothing anyone could do; survival, after all, was more important.

But now that it was allowed again, the tradition ingrained in their very bones could not be suppressed.

The ancestors had to be honored, and more importantly, revered.

Before dawn, anyone with the surname An, male or female, over the age of seven, was required to ascend the mountain.

This was a rule handed down from their ancestors.

An Ning stood in the procession. Although she wasn’t dressed in traditional sackcloth mourning attire, she carried a "snow willow" on her shoulder.

A snow willow was made by taking a willow branch. A large sheet of white paper was folded several times, and then one edge was snipped repeatedly with scissors, with each cut less than a centimeter apart and not going all the way through.

When unfolded, the uncut edge was pasted and wrapped around the willow twig, creating a branch of white, tassel-like "leaves." That was a snow willow.

At the first light of dawn, a black-and-white procession stretched from the mountaintop to its base, winding along the path.

It was a sacred and solemn sight.

An Ning stood relatively close to the front, a position earned by her contributions.

The Third Grandfather, the one the entire An Family had visited during the New Year, walked at the very front, muttering words An Ning could not understand.

Uncle An was also at the head of the procession, dressed even more formally in a long black robe.

Though An Ning did not understand the words, she could feel the solemnity and respect in the air.

With every step forward, it seemed as if their spirits were being cleansed.

At the very moment the sun began to rise, the procession reached the An family’s ancestral graveyard.

The graveyard looked completely different from when An Ning had visited a few days prior.

In the days leading up to the ceremony, many people had gone up the mountain to tend to the graves.

Originally, the graves had been unmarked, with no names or tombstones.

An Ning had heard from Uncle An that they hadn’t dared to erect any, for fear of grave robbers.

The An family had high-ranking officials among their ancestors.

To protect these roots of their family, the An Family members had destroyed all the gravestones with their own hands.

This time, they had rebuilt them with their own hands.

The graveyard before them was a cluster of small tombs. While not as grand as a large mausoleum, there was a considerable number of them.

There were dozens of rows, and the site stretched laterally for over a hundred meters.

For hundreds of years, the members of the An family had been buried here.

An Ning didn’t understand the principles of Feng Shui, but she could tell it wasn’t cold here.

’That’s probably a good sign.’

The procession wound its way upward, arranging itself in neat, orderly rows.

At the very front, Third Grandfather, despite being a centenarian, recited the ceremonial address, his voice booming like a great bell.

"On this fourth day of April, nineteen hundred and eighty-one, the year of Xinyou by the lunar calendar, we gather for the Qingming Festival. We, the people of the An clan, with offerings of fine fruit and delicacies, incense, and spirit money, do solemnly pay tribute before the tombs of our founding ancestors..."

The speech was long and eloquent, but everyone listened with rapt attention.

A solemn atmosphere permeated the mountainside.

When Third Grandfather finished, a single word that seemed to shake the heavens—"Kneel"—rang out, and everyone dropped to their knees, kowtowing in worship.

"Kneel—!"

The first kowtow for the deities, the second for the ancestors, the third for their lasting legacy.

After the third kowtow, they rose to present the offerings.

Everyone laid down the snow willows they carried, then lit the incense and other offerings they had brought.

It was a traditional ceremony, but safety was not overlooked.

The mountain folk knew best how to protect this mountain, which in turn was how they protected their ancestors.

Every item was burned inside a porcelain basin.

Afterward, they checked several times to ensure the flames were completely extinguished.

Finally, a few people would stay behind to stand guard on the mountain for the entire day, ensuring everything remained safe.

The large procession began its journey home.

Once everyone was back down the mountain, the solemn mood was shed, and life and work returned to normal.

An Ning was no different.

Yet the profound impact of the ceremony—the spiritual power, the ancestral heritage—was deeply etched into everyone’s heart.

They were a people with roots.

...

After the ceremony, An Ning went to the greenhouse to pick vegetables, preparing to take a batch out to sell.

An Ning hadn’t used any ripening agents or pesticides on her current crop of leafy greens, which included bok choy, chives, spinach, rapeseed, and endive.

Every variety was growing vigorously, and their flavor was simply incredible.

After trying them once, the An family was completely hooked.

When An Ning opened the door to the bok choy greenhouse, she found someone was already inside.

"Master Tang, you’re here again?"

An Ning picked up a basket, planning to harvest some vegetables and try her luck selling them in town. She’d never sold any before.

"Ah? Oh, yes, I’m here, I’m here."

Master Tang seemed dazed. He was holding a bok choy leaf, which he placed on the tip of his tongue to savor.

"This vegetable... it’s unnervingly delicious."

"An Ning, are you sure you didn’t use any chemicals at all?"

An Ning, busy picking vegetables, replied for what felt like the tenth time, "You can tell whether I use pesticides or not just by tasting them, can’t you?"

"That’s true, but... this just defies all logic."

"It makes no sense. It tastes even better than vegetables grown in an open field. More importantly, how are there no pests at all? And look at these leaves—not a single one is wilted."

"Every leaf is so fresh and vibrant. This is—"

Master Tang was like a broken record, stuck in a loop he couldn’t escape.

An Ning, who was harvesting the bok choy, pursed her lips but said nothing.

’She couldn’t exactly tell him the truth, could she?’

All the bok choy here was cared for with her spiritual power. The plants and her power nourished each other; the plants grew strong and healthy without any disease, resulting in their extraordinary flavor.

In return, An Ning was able to restore the portion of spiritual power she had partitioned off for this task.

Since her spiritual power had last advanced, An Ning could easily care for the entire greenhouse of bok choy.

It wasn’t just the greenhouse; she could interact with her entire barren mountain in an instant.

The barren mountain was her limit, however.

Now, her spiritual power filled the entire greenhouse, synchronizing with the very "respiration" of the bok choy for their mutual benefit.

After filling one basket with bok choy, An Ning filled another.

Once she had two full baskets, she said to the bewildered Master Tang, "Master Tang, I’m about to head out. Are you staying?"

"I’ll stay a little longer."

Master Tang didn’t want to leave. He was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t just the land in this specific greenhouse that was good, because the vegetables in the other greenhouses were also growing extraordinarily well.

An Ning didn’t press him, leaving by herself to visit the other greenhouses and pick a few more baskets of vegetables.

Once everything was picked, An Ning loaded the vibrant green vegetables onto her motorized tricycle and set off for town to sell them.

The tricycle was an early model from the auto factory; they had sent two of the gasoline-powered vehicles over to her.

In the village, this tricycle was the object of countless people’s envy—even more so than a large truck.

The tricycle seemed as if it were designed specifically for rural life; it was incredibly convenient.

An Ning, wearing a yellow headscarf, drove the tricycle with An Guoping sitting in the back.

"Sis, Sis—! Slow down, Sis!"

An Guoping was being jostled so hard his voice trembled, but An Ning, who was driving, was having the time of her life and didn’t slow down one bit.

An Guoping had only one thought: ’We can absolutely never let Sis buy a real car!’

’I couldn’t take it!’