Chapter Twenty: Cooking Wine

Early the next morning, Wei Renshi set out once again. Zheng, the village headman, had already prepared several donkey carts and was waiting for him. Together, they led the carts toward Fuchang County.

Once in Fuchang, they collected the newly made plow components and brought them back to Changgu. Along the way, Wei Renshi would occasionally jump down from the cart, gather stones from the roadside, and place them on the cart, planning to use them for building a stove upon returning.

When they arrived back in Changgu, the two of them assembled the plows at Zheng's house. Patting the assembled plows, Zheng said, “I’ve already visited four neighboring villages. Altogether, they’ve ordered ten or so plows. We can earn two strings of copper coins from that.”

“Not bad,” Wei Renshi nodded with a smile. “Time to prepare lunch.”

As he spoke, he moved the stones he’d collected and began stacking them. Zheng came to help, mixing water with yellow clay and plastering it into the gaps between the stones. As he worked, he continued, “Once the county office puts out the announcement, more people in Fuchang will know about these plows. Then, we’ll have even more people coming to order them. I’ve been thinking, it’s not convenient for us to keep going to Fuchang to have them made. Why not just make them here in Changgu?”

“That would be even better,” Wei Renshi agreed. “But the blacksmiths and carpenters from our village are all working elsewhere. We can’t keep calling them back.”

“Wherever they’re working, it’s still just work,” Zheng replied. “Call them back to make a batch, and when those sell, make another.”

“But what if we make too many at once and can’t sell them all?” Wei Renshi was still inclined to take orders first before producing, to avoid overstock.

Zheng laughed. “How could plows not sell? Three hundred cash isn’t a huge sum. If a household can’t afford one, three or five families can pool together. Who doesn’t want to have their own plow? Don’t worry, I’ll put up the money for this.”

“Uncle Zheng, you seem rather well-off,” Wei Renshi teased, laughing. “Do you have some side business besides farming?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Zheng admitted with a nod. “My brother does business outside, and when I left the army, I invested the reward I received with him. I get a small share of the profits.”

Wei Renshi chuckled. “To make money, you really have to do business! Too bad my mother would never allow it. By the way, Uncle Zheng, are you unmarried, or did your first wife...?”

“Ahem—never married! Never married!” Zheng was suddenly a bit embarrassed, scratched his head, and turned his face away, busying himself with plastering more clay on the outside of the stove. “When I joined the army, I kept thinking, what if I didn’t make it back? I’d be holding up some young woman, so I never mentioned marriage. When I finally returned, I was no longer young, and none of the nearby women caught my eye. So one thing led to another, and it just never happened...”

Wei Renshi grinned. Having come from the future, his views were different; he truly wouldn’t mind if his widowed mother remarried.

She was only thirty, after all—a widow at such a young age, it was a hard life. If she could find a good man to share her days with, it would be a blessing.

Yes, this Zheng would need to be observed a while longer.

“It’s done,” Wei Renshi said, inspecting the stove. He dragged over some firewood, struck a spark with flint and tinder, and soon had the fire burning.

As the flames baked the clay, it hardened and held the stones firmly together, making the stove even sturdier.

Zheng brought over a large iron pot and set it on the stove. Wei Renshi scooped a ladle of water into the pot and wiped it clean with a cloth.

He then cut off a piece of pork fat and rubbed it all over the inside of the pot. After smearing it, he poured in hot water to boil for a moment, then wiped it clean again, and repeated the process, applying pork fat each time.

After several repetitions, he finally added some sesame oil to further season the pot. Now, the iron wok was properly seasoned and ready for use.

“What delicacy is Master Wei cooking today?” Zheng asked expectantly.

“Pork,” Wei Renshi replied.

Zheng’s expression shifted slightly. “Pork has such a strong, gamey odor. I’m guessing you’ve never tried it before?”

“People haven’t figured out how to raise pigs properly, so the pork ends up tough and smelly. And since no one knows the right way to cook it, that stench can’t be masked,” Wei Renshi replied with a smile. “Didn’t we make some cooking wine yesterday? Today, we’ll see if that wine can suppress the pork’s odor. If it works, then the cooking wine will be very useful. Oh, Uncle Zheng, has the eldest daughter-in-law from Old Six’s family come back yet?”

“You’re thinking of getting her to make flatbreads for you?” Zheng laughed. “She’s not back yet. Tian Dali is on duty at the yamen; she can only come home when he’s free.”

“It’s not flatbread, exactly. It’s more like a steamed bun, but not actually steamed—you need to leaven the dough first,” Wei Renshi explained, bringing out a cauldron and adding water, setting it over the fire, and then starting to knead dough.

Zheng fetched a piece of old leaven from inside and handed it to Wei Renshi.

“Uncle Zheng, you have this too?” Wei Renshi was a bit surprised as he took the starter.

Zheng grinned. “How else would I eat steamed buns? Living alone, if I don’t steam them myself, who will?”

The old leaven was the leftover starter from the last batch of dough, containing natural yeast that helped the new dough ferment.

Wei Renshi was delighted—if he’d waited for natural fermentation, it would have taken much longer.

He kneaded the old starter into the dough and set it near the stove, where the warmth would help it rise quickly.

The water in the cauldron was already boiling. Wei Renshi cut the pork into chunks and placed them in the pot. After boiling and skimming off the scum, he added various spices and seasonings, along with the cooking wine, and let it simmer.

As the meat simmered over a low flame, a rich aroma began to fill the room. Wei Renshi leaned in to sniff—it still had a hint of that wild odor, so he poured in more cooking wine. After a moment’s thought, he peeled the last small piece of dried pine wood left from the previous day and tossed it in as well.

While waiting, the two continued assembling the remaining plows. By the time they finished, the dough had just about finished rising.

Wei Renshi went over to knead the dough for a bit, and, out of habit, was about to add some alkali.

But as he reached for it, his heart gave a little jolt—there was no alkali yet in this era!

Wei Renshi felt a pang of worry. Without alkali, wouldn’t the steamed buns turn out sour? That would ruin the taste!

“Uncle Zheng, when you make steamed buns, how do you keep them from tasting sour?” he asked.

Zheng was taken aback. “Aren’t steamed buns supposed to taste a bit sour? That’s why everyone likes baked flatbread or griddle cakes better.”

Hearing this, Wei Renshi realized the people of this time had no solution. He racked his memory.

Suddenly, he clapped his hands and laughed. Of course—if there’s no alkali, there’s wood ash! He remembered watching his grandmother knead dough for steamed buns or noodles—she would always add a bit of lye water made from wood ash.

Wood ash is alkaline; mixing it into the dough neutralizes the sourness from fermentation.

With that, Wei Renshi grabbed a handful of wood ash left from kindling the fire, mixed it with water, and kneaded it into the dough.

“Hey! Even if you don’t like the sourness, you shouldn’t ruin it like that!” Zheng called out when he saw Wei Renshi adding ash to the dough.

Wei Renshi ignored him, kneaded the dough, rolled it into rounds, and baked them over the fire.