With an Encyclopedia in Hand, I Farm My Way to Riches in Lean Years - Reviews

I keep thinking about the fish bones. Sun Xiuhe stuffs the whole fish tail into her mouth, gets bones stuck, and can't even spit out the meat because she's too greedy. Meanwhile, Song Zhaodi and her family eat several large mouthfuls in succession. The image of the grandmother choking on bones while watching others enjoy the meal is almost poetic. Food is the central symbol here, and it represents everything: power, control, survival, love, and betrayal. The grandmother controls the food distribution as a way to maintain authority. When Song Zhaodi redistributes the fish, she's not just sharing a meal—she's redistributing power within the family. The fish becomes a symbol of resistance. Water celery is another interesting symbol. It's wild, untamed, unfamiliar. Sun Xiuhe immediately suspects it's poisonous, referencing a death in the next village. But Song Dachuan tries it and loves it. The water celery represents the new—everything that Song Zhaodi brings into this family is unfamiliar and threatening to the old order, but ultimately nourishing. The broken leg is a symbol too. Song Yaodong can't walk, can't work as hard, can't protect his family the way he wants to. It's a physical manifestation of the family's vulnerability. And the medicine costing thirty coins a day for a hundred days? That's 3,000 coins total. The family is essentially being bled dry by illness and poverty, and the grandmother sees this as an inconvenience rather than a tragedy. But the deepest symbol might be the money pouch. Song Zhaodi clutching it at her waist as she approaches her parents' room—that small pouch represents her agency, her ability to provide, her secret power in a world where she has almost none. When she reveals 185 coins, it's not just money. It's proof that she can survive without the grandmother's permission, without the family's approval. She has something they don't: independence.

The dialogue in this section is absolutely vicious and I love it. Sun Xiuhe's line: "How could I have married such a poor wretch like you? If it were anyone else, I would have run away long ago. My life is so miserable." This woman is WIELDED her misery like a weapon. She doesn't just complain—she performs. She knows exactly how to make Song Dachuan feel guilty so he'll side with her. And it works every time. But Song Zhaodi's dialogue is where the real wit lives. Her response to Sun Xiuhe attacking the porridge: "There's only a small handful of brown rice left at home, not enough for the whole family. I had no choice but to put in some small fish and shrimp to make up the difference." She justifies everything with practicality. No defensiveness, no apology—just facts. And then she follows up with: "Oh dear, since my uncle can't eat it, we can't let it go to waste." The passive-aggressive perfection. She's basically saying 'your son is greedy and can't finish his share' without actually saying it. And the best part? She does this while maintaining a sweet, apologetic tone the entire time. Song Yaodong's dialogue with his wife is softer but no less revealing: "It's my fault for being incompetent, making you suffer and toil with me..." This man carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and he blames himself for everything. His dialogue shows a man who is drowning in responsibility but refuses to complain. And Zhao Lanzhi's practical response—rolling up her sleeves to sharpen a sickle, ready to borrow money from her brothers—her actions speak louder than any dialogue could. The author doesn't need fancy words here. The simplicity of "Let's get up early tomorrow morning and go to the market" tells us everything about this woman's character. The narrative voice itself is also worth noting. It's observant without being overbearing, slipping into Song Zhaodi's perspective with lines like "This was a bad sign" and "Thinking of this, Song Zhaodi quickly wiped her hands clean." The author trusts us to understand the subtext without spelling everything out.

Okay, I need to talk about this scene where Song Zhaodi sneezes on the fish. Like... what a MOVE. She literally fakes a cold-induced sneeze to claim the fish is ruined, then redistributes it to her own family while the grandmother is left holding the bag. This is peak strategic thinking and I am HERE for it. The whole meal sequence is basically a mini-battlefield. Sun Xiuhe tries to grab the water celery from Song Dachuan's mouth, then attacks the porridge, and Song Zhaodi just sits there eating calmly while her opponent is losing her mind. The tension is built so naturally—you're watching this grandmother try to control every bite of food while the granddaughter quietly undermines her authority at every turn. What I love is how the plot uses food as the central conflict vehicle. It's not some dramatic confrontation with shouting and drama—it's about WHO GETS TO EAT THE FISH. And yet it feels just as intense. When Song Zhaodi says 'I'm so sorry, I probably caught a cold after falling into the water today,' that fake apology with zero sincerity? Chef's kiss. But here's what keeps me hooked: the grandmother's reaction. She can't directly attack Song Zhaodi without looking like the villain, so she has to manipulate through Song Dachuan instead. And Song Dachuan? He's torn between his conscience (the food IS delicious) and his fear of his wife. This creates this delicious dramatic irony where we KNOW Song Zhaodi is right but we're waiting for the other shoe to drop. The setup for the next conflict is already in motion—Sun Xiuhe goes to sow discord with Song Dachuan right after, and we know this isn't over. The plot is building this slow-burn family war and I cannot look away.

I need to talk about the stakes in this chapter because they are REAL and I am sweating for these people. Let's break it down. Song Yaodong has a broken leg AND a head injury with blood stasis. The medicine costs thirty coins a day. They can only afford three days' worth. That's it. Three days of medicine and then... what? His leg heals wrong? The head injury gets worse? This isn't just 'they're poor,' this is 'one bad day away from catastrophe.' And Song Zhaodi has 185 coins. Which buys maybe six more days of medicine. After that? She needs to figure out how to make money fast. Hence the water celery plan. But what if it doesn't work? What if the market is bad? What if the grandmother finds out and destroys her plan? The conflict with Sun Xiuhe isn't just petty family drama—it's survival. This woman nearly let her granddaughter drown. She stopped other people from helping. And she's still in power. The stakes aren't just about who gets the last piece of fish; they're about who controls the family's resources, who decides who eats and who doesn't, who lives and who suffers. The scene where Sun Xiuhe hides behind the door and then explodes about medicine costs? That's the moment the conflict escalates from passive aggression to open confrontation. She's not just withholding food anymore—she's questioning whether Song Yaodong deserves treatment at all. The fact that Song Zhaodi has to physically stop her father from going to confront the grandmother shows how dangerous this situation has become. If Song Yaodong goes there angry, he could be beaten, disciplined, or worse. And the suspense is maintained perfectly because we know Sun Xiuhe won't stop. She just went to sow discord with Song Dachuan. She's already planning her next move. The reader is left wondering: what will she do when she finds out about the 185 coins? What happens when Song Zhaodi tries to sell water celery? How far will this grandmother go to maintain control? The author doesn't let up. Every scene raises the stakes a little more, and by the end of this chapter, I'm genuinely worried about what comes next.

"Father, Mother, don't worry, I still have 185 coins here." This line hit me so hard. Like, right after all the drama at the dinner table, Song Zhaodi goes to her parents' room and pulls out money she earned herself. The contrast between the public performance at the meal and this private, tender moment with her real parents is everything. Let's talk about Song Yaodong and Zhao Lanzhi for a second. These two are the most genuinely loving parents I've encountered in this story. Even with a broken leg and no money for medicine, they're trying to protect their daughter from worry. They put on smiles when she walks in. Zhao Lanzhi is ready to borrow money from her own family—something that would humiliate Song Yaodong because he's already borrowed so much. The fact that they conceal their panic and stress the moment their daughter enters? That's love. That's parents who would rather starve than burden their child. And Song Zhaodi—she sees right through it. She notices their dim eyes lighting up when she reveals the money. She's not naive. She knows exactly what's happening and she's already planned her next move (selling water celery tomorrow). But the grandmother-granddaughter dynamic is where it gets messy. Sun Xiuhe literally watched Song Zhaodi fall into water and did nothing. She tried to stop others from helping. And yet Song Zhaodi still calls her "Grandma" and navigates around her cruelty with calculated politeness. The power imbalance is brutal—Song Zhaodi can't openly rebel because the family structure is stacked against her. Every small act of defiance (like redistributing the fish) is a tiny victory in a war she's been fighting her whole life. Song Dachuan is... complicated. He's not evil like his wife, but he's weak. He goes along with Sun Xiuhe's tyranny because he's easily swayed by her crying and tantrums. Yet he also appreciates good food and seems to have some sense of right and wrong. The scene where he silently puts away his chopsticks when Sun Xiuhe mentions Yaozu? That's a man who knows he's being manipulated but feels powerless to resist.