Every family had a yard, but since the ground was dirt, it wasn’t suitable for drying rice directly. Many households wove large bamboo mats to spread in the yard, making it easier to dry and collect the rice.
Uncle Liu’s family only had a tiny plot of rice, so Zhao Ger didn’t go to help.
The Ma family’s yard wasn’t big enough. They had a lot of paddy fields, but aside from Ma Dazhuang, who was hardworking, Ma Laoer and Ma Laosan were lazy good-for-nothings. Without Zhao Ger working like an ox all day in the fields this year, the rice hadn’t grown well. Usually, they’d harvest over a dozen sacks, but this year, they only got nine—and even those were mixed with straw and not properly cleaned.
The three daughters-in-law had laid out the mats outside the yard in the morning to dry the rice. After a day, most of the moisture was gone, and the quantity had noticeably shrunk.
In this era, without technology, pesticides, or fertilizer, rice yields were pitifully low. For villagers, white rice was a luxury. Once the harvest was in, most couldn’t bear to eat it. After paying the government’s share, they usually sold the rest in town, exchanging it for cheaper, older grain or coarse rice.
Coarse grain might taste worse, but it was cheap. A catty of rice could be traded for several catties of coarse grain. If they didn’t trade, a family could finish their rice in two or three months, leaving them to starve for the remaining eight or nine.
In previous years, the Ma family could earn several taels of silver just from selling rice. But this year, after taxes, they’d be lucky to have anything left. Even if they traded all of it for coarse grain, it might not be enough to last.
As they gathered the rice, they cursed under their breaths. But when they saw Fang Zichen approaching with Guaizai, they immediately fell silent. Madam Ma, who had been terrified for days that he’d come to seek revenge for Zhao Ger, bolted into the house like a dog chased by a demon, dropping her winnowing basket in her panic.
Rice scattered across the ground. The path outside was covered in gravel, so they’d have to pick the grains up one by one. A second earlier, Sun-shi and Li-shi might have seized the chance to scold her for the mess. But now, neither had the energy to care.
Sun-shi asked fearfully, "H-he didn’t hear us cursing Zhao Ger, did he?"
Fang Zichen stopped not far from them but showed no intention of approaching. Li-shi said, "Probably not."
Fang Zichen watched them bustling about, then smirked like a scheming villain before leisurely leading Guaizai away.
It seemed he had just been out for a stroll after eating his fill, killing time. After a leisurely loop, he headed home.
____
By the time they finished selling blood sausages that day, it was almost noon. Zhao Ger took Guaizai to the medical hall. Ingredients like cinnamon and star anise were considered medicinal herbs. The day before, he’d foolishly gone to the grocery store to buy them, only to return empty-handed. When he told Fang Zichen about it later, Fang Zichen suggested he try the medical hall instead.
Star anise and cinnamon weren’t too expensive. Since this was just a trial run, Zhao Ger bought nine taels’ worth, spending about thirty copper coins.
[1 tael = 3.75 gr]
He’d already bought the rapeseed oil the day before. When they got home, the two of them didn’t even have time to sit down for a drink of water before getting back to work.
They had to remove the stems from the chili peppers, pick out the spoiled ones, wash the peppers and cilantro, and then Zhao Ger began chopping the chilies. Guaizai sat obediently on the doorstep, peeling garlic for him.
The garlic also needed to be minced. By the time all the prep work was done, it was already afternoon.
After cleaning the wok, Zhao Ger poured in oil. When it was about 80% hot, he added peppercorns, cumin, star anise, cilantro, and other spices.
After just a couple of stirs, an incredible aroma began to waft out. Guaizai sniffed the air and stood on tiptoe to peer into the wok. "Daddy, it smells so good!"
"Don’t get too close—you might get splashed by hot oil." The spices needed to be fried slowly over low heat. Zhao Ger instructed his little helper, "Take some of the firewood out for me."
"Okay!"
Though Zhao Ger had never studied, he was sharp—especially when it came to cooking. Having spent so much time in the kitchen, he had a real talent for it. As long as Fang Zichen described a dish, Zhao Ger could recreate it with about 90% accuracy.
Once the spices were fried until crisp, he fished them out. He then poured the hot oil over the chili paste in several batches, stirring well before adding salt, sugar, and vinegar.
Done.
The kitchen was filled with a rich, spicy aroma that carried far beyond the house, making passersby stop in their tracks and swallow hard.
"What is Zhao Ger cooking? Why does it smell so amazing?"
"No idea! Even fried meat or rendered fat doesn’t smell this good."
"That scent is driving me crazy!"
More and more people followed the smell over. A few were so tempted they wanted to ask, but since Zhao Ger was home alone, they thought better of it.
Zhao Ger dipped a chopstick into the chili paste and tasted it. The moment the spicy, fragrant flavor exploded in his mouth, his eyes lit up.
Guaizai bounced impatiently. "Daddy, is it good? Guaizai wants to try too!"
Zhao Ger gave him a tiny dab.
"Wow…" Guaizai’s eyes widened like copper bells. "So yummy! So yummy!"
He could handle spice, but Zhao Ger didn’t want him eating too much and upsetting his stomach. After one taste, though Guaizai clearly wanted more, he didn’t throw a tantrum when refused. Instead, he said, "Let’s cover it up and save it for Father."
Zhao Ger nodded. "Mm!" No wonder Fang Zichen had been so fixated on this—it was delicious.
When he stepped outside and saw the crowd gathered around, he froze. There were men and women, old and young, all staring at him in confusion.
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