Chapter 185: We Can Make Sweet Potato Starch!

In the end, Zhou Yimin also discovered a stack of U.S. dollars—genuine foreign currency!

He counted the total—two thousand dollars.

That was a massive amount of money, at least for now. For the vast majority of people in the country, it was an enormous sum. The official exchange rate of the renminbi to the dollar was currently 2.46 to 1, but on the black market, a dollar would fetch much more.

In other words, these two thousand dollars could at least be exchanged for five thousand yuan.

And five thousand yuan right now? That was definitely a fortune.

“Yimin, you keep this money. Your grandmother and I have no use for it out in the countryside,” Grandpa said without hesitation, handing over the entire two thousand dollars to his grandson.

The old couple really lacked for nothing.

Even if they didn’t give it to their grandson now, it would end up being his eventually.

Give it to their son instead? Not a chance.

Zhou Yimin didn’t refuse and accepted it directly.

This foreign currency could prove incredibly useful in the future. So, he didn’t load it into the system’s store—actually, it was no longer a store; he now referred to it as a supermarket.

In this era, the importance of foreign currency went without saying.

Even our respected Premier Zhou constantly paid close attention to foreign trade and foreign currency.

He told everyone to think creatively, adopt proactive measures, and strive to develop foreign trade—especially exporting agricultural and mineral products—to bring in as much of the machinery and advanced technology needed for national development as possible.

The country was too poor—especially when it came to foreign currency.

To grow, they had to import advanced equipment and technology from abroad, but that all cost money. And foreign countries didn’t want renminbi, so they had to do everything possible to earn more foreign exchange.

At the bottom of the box, Zhou Yimin also found a photo.

The photo showed six family members. Among them was a kindly smiling elderly woman with white hair and simple clothes—Zhou Yimin’s grandaunt.

The moment Grandpa saw the people in the photo, his composure crumbled again.

After that, he distributed the rest of the items.

The set of clothes originally meant for Zhou Yimin’s father was given to Zhou Yimin instead.

And oddly enough, the set that grandaunt had prepared for his father actually fit Zhou Yimin better. The one intended for him was a bit small.

But you couldn’t blame her—after all, the elderly lady didn’t know what Zhou Yimin looked like now or how tall he was.

As for Zhou Xuqing’s family? They didn’t get anything.

Zhou Yimin handed over the too-small set of clothes to his third aunt. “Keep it for now. When Laifu gets a bit bigger, he can wear it.”

He couldn’t wear it himself anyway—it was too small.

“This…”

Grandpa was reluctant at first. After all, this was something his elder sister had sent all the way from afar—how could it be given to outsiders? But Zhou Yimin truly couldn’t wear it, so keeping it would just be a waste.

So he said, “If Yimin wants to give it to Laifu, then keep it.”

Third Aunt accepted it happily and praised the material over and over. With three children of her own, she truly felt blessed to have such a generous older brother looking after them.

Not blood-related, but better than blood.

Laicai and Laifang were practically green with envy, but the two little ones were well-behaved and didn’t make a fuss. They wanted new clothes too, of course, but they didn’t say anything.

They knew that when Big Brother grew out of it, it would eventually be passed down—just wouldn’t be new.

“Yimin, write a letter to your grandaunt,” Grandpa said eagerly, itching to tell his sister about all the changes in the family these past few years.

Especially that his grandson had really made something of himself.

The last time he boasted to his sister was when his son got into university. That had been Grandpa’s proudest moment. But who could have imagined? That son turned out to be completely unreliable.

The only good thing the boy ever did was give them such a wonderful, promising, and filial grandson. Everyone in the village was envious.

“No rush. Let’s take a few photos and send them with the letter,” Zhou Yimin suggested.

“Oh! Yes, yes!” Grandpa nodded eagerly.

If they were going to take photos, they had to bathe properly and change into their best clothes. They had to show Grandaunt that the family was doing well now, so she didn’t need to send money anymore.

In fact, once Zhou Yimin learned that his grandaunt was in Hong Kong, he started having other ideas.

Grandpa was in an excellent mood.

Zhou Yimin strolled around again and overheard some villagers grumbling—they were so sick of eating sweet potatoes their stomachs were churning with acid. Everyone was looking forward to the wheat and corn harvests—just a few more days to go.

“You guys should count your blessings! Haven’t you heard how bad it is in other villages? They don’t even have sweet potatoes—or vines—to eat.”

That wasn’t an exaggeration.

Just take the villages and hamlets under the Red Star Commune—most of them had cases of people starving to death. Even the neighboring Shangshui Village would have fared terribly if they hadn’t traded a few wild animals for sweet potatoes and potatoes.

It could be said that both Zhoujia Village and Shangshui Village had survived thanks to Zhou Yimin.

“I heard that in Liu Family Village, they even sold their son.”

They really had no choice.

Selling your child carried a terrible stigma, but keeping them home meant waiting for death together. Selling a child, at least, might give them a chance to live.

“They sold a son?” someone exclaimed in surprise.

Normally, when a family was desperate, they’d sell their daughters first—rarely sons.

No one spoke after that. It was too heavy a topic.

“Uncle Sixteen is here.”

“Uncle Sixteen, what brings you here?”

“Uncle Sixteen…”

When they saw Zhou Yimin approaching, everyone greeted him.

Zhou Yimin’s ears were sharp—he’d heard their conversation.

He suggested, “If you’re sick of sweet potatoes, you can make sweet potato starch!”

In his past life, Zhou Yimin had eaten plenty of sweet potato starch. It wasn’t bad at all.

And besides, sweet potato starch kept better than whole sweet potatoes. Fresh sweet potatoes would sprout or spoil after a while.

In the south, making sweet potato starch was very common and not difficult at all.

Zhou Yimin remembered the steps well: first, wash the sweet potatoes clean, then crush them, and place the crushed pulp into a clean basin or bucket.

Then, connect a water source and add clean water—not too thick.

If you want more starch, you need to crush more raw sweet potatoes. On average, ten catties of sweet potatoes yield about one catty of starch, depending on the variety and quality of the potato.

Next comes filtering. Pour the water-and-pulp mixture into a cloth filter. Don’t pour too much at once—one bucket is enough. One person pours, another shakes the filter frame to strain it.

And the leftover pulp shouldn’t go to waste either.

After filtering, you let the liquid settle so the starch can precipitate.

Then, you dry it in the sun.

Once it’s settled, scoop the starch out with a spoon or spatula and put it into a basket lined with cloth to keep it from sticking. Try to scoop larger chunks.

After drying, you’ve got sweet potato starch.

“Sweet potato starch? Is it tasty?” Someone clearly hadn’t tried it before.

In the north, this method wasn’t common. Why not just boil the sweet potatoes and eat them? It was simple and had no waste.

“You can make noodles from it. What do you think—doesn’t that sound tasty?” Zhou Yimin told them.

The moment he said that, people started swallowing their saliva.

(End of Chapter)