The eighteen-day composting method is challenging due to the preparation of raw materials and the carbon-nitrogen ratio. In the modern world, Zhuang Yubai would have used soybean meal and fish intestines, but those aren’t available here. In this era, soybean oil hasn’t even made it to the dining table, so where would he find soybean meal?
He looked at the small path leading to the northern mountain, and his eyes lit up. The wild grass everywhere was perfect raw material. Meng Zhizhang’s clothes were at least two sizes too big for him, so Zhuang Yubai found some cloth to wrap around the slightly loose sleeves and pant legs. He also retrieved a sickle and a pitchfork from the small storeroom next to the kitchen.
During the preparation of materials, the pile of straw by the wood yard and the ashes under the stove played their part, and even the leftover shrimp heads and shells from making shrimp chips found their use. In the northeast corner of the vegetable garden, the farthest spot from home, he marked out a small area for composting. Beads of sweat dampened the hair on Zhuang Yubai’s forehead, and he wiped his face with a cloth from his waist.
The necessary raw materials were neatly piled in the open space: straw at the bottom, green grass, and the few kitchen scraps accumulated over the past few days. Zhuang Yubai controlled the amount and ratio, layering “carbon” and “nitrogen” materials slowly.
The carbon-nitrogen ratio was still in the exploratory stage, much like a novice kneading dough, where too much water or flour might be added. In the middle of the process, Zhuang Yubai went to cut another pile of grass.
As the sun began to set, the compost pile, measuring 1 meter wide and 1.5 meters high, stood in the sunset like a large, fluffy mushroom, waiting for its first transformation in four days.
*
Zhuang Yubai returned home, covered in a light sweat. He splashed his face with clean water and wiped himself down inside and out. Then, he washed a cucumber left by Meng Zhizhang and munched on it while inspecting the starch spread throughout the courtyard.
The cucumber was crisp and sweet, bursting with juice with each bite, refreshing him completely. The starch had dried thoroughly, the white chunks flawless. Zhuang Yubai pinched a piece and gently crushed it with his fingertip, feeling its silky smoothness, even softer than a baby’s skin.
It was time to make shrimp chips.
The large, translucent green shrimp were jumping around in the bucket, weighing about three to four pounds by his estimation. Zhuang Yubai didn’t know the owner of the shrimp, the Mr. Yun who owned several mountains. If he were to produce shrimp chips in bulk in the future, he wondered if he could ensure a stable catch.
He removed the heads and veins from the shrimp, then mashed the clear, moist shrimp meat into a paste on the cutting board, mixing it with starch in a 1:2 ratio to form a dough.
The starch was highly fluid and lacked elasticity, so Zhuang Yubai had to put in some effort to form a large dough. Theory and practice sometimes felt like they were separated by a river. Only by wading through, feeling the stones with bare legs, could he understand the depth and temperature beneath the water’s surface.
The dough was smoother than expected, with a bluish-gray hue from the shrimp paste, but it felt hard and slightly resistant to the touch.
Zhuang Yubai continued kneading, shaping the dough into a 4-centimeter diameter cylinder, coiling it in his hand like a round, plump white snake. Then, he cut it into three-inch-long sections.
He added water to the pot, and once it boiled, he dropped in the dough sections, cooking them over high heat. A pair of bamboo chopsticks kept the water swirling, maintaining the shape of the dough sections and preventing them from sticking to the pot.
Above the water, white steam billowed, almost obscuring the amber color of the broth; below the water, the bluish-gray dough sections turned a light orange-pink.
After about twenty minutes, the dough sections gradually floated to the surface. They were about eighty to ninety percent cooked, but still needed more time. This step required thorough cooking, as any raw starch in the center would ruin the effort. Zhuang Yubai turned up the heat and cooked for another ten minutes.
Once fully cooked, he quickly transferred the dough sections into cold water to cool and set. His slender fingers followed into the water, feeling the smooth, slippery, and warm pinkish-orange dough sections, filling his palm.
Perhaps the shrimp paste wasn’t fine enough, as the dough sections, when heated in water, had uneven internal pressure. Upon close inspection, the dough cylinders were covered with tendon-like ridges.
Zhuang Yubai reached in to grab one, but it was so slippery that it almost slipped away like an eel. He managed to forcefully grab one out, feeling its smooth, moist, warm, and semi-transparent orange-red surface, exuding a hint of shrimp sweetness.
Five or six dough sections lay in a row on a round bamboo sieve to air dry and dehydrate. Meanwhile, Zhuang Yubai carefully stored the remaining starch in a small flour bag. He also packed five large bags of gluten balls, forming a neat stack.
Possessing food always brings a natural sense of security and happiness. Starch and gluten can be stored at room temperature for a while, making it convenient to use anytime. After dinner, before it got dark, Zhuang Yubai washed another batch of gluten. The gluten was fried into gluten balls, and the gluten water was left to settle in a jar.
Tomorrow morning, he would dry the starch, check the compost pile, and prepare a small seedling bed. He planned to ask Niu Dayou where he could get some vegetable seeds or seedlings.
In this unfamiliar time and place, everything around him was proceeding according to plan, giving Zhuang Yubai a reassuring sense of control.
As night fell, Zhuang Yubai climbed into Meng Zhizhang’s bed, ending a day of labor. Although they had only known each other for half a day, it felt like much longer. He lay back, resting his head on his arm, curious about how this robust scholar lived his daily life. What did he eat, where did he buy clothes, and when he went out for days without returning, did he walk everywhere without any means of transportation? Hmm… it seemed too exhausting.
Zhuang Yubai wasn’t a delicate person, but he didn’t like hardship.
Before the sun rose, Zhuang Yubai got up to wash up. The lingering taste of soap in his mouth was refreshing and invigorating.
The starch water had settled clear to the bottom. He poured out the clean water, and the white, paste-like starch remained at the bottom of the bucket. Using a spatula, Zhuang Yubai scooped the semi-solid starch onto a round bamboo sieve, slowly spreading it thin.
The shrimp chip dough sections were half-dried, and when he snapped one, it was as tough as beef tendon.
He sliced the dough sections into uniform thin slices, his knife skills allowing for slices between half a millimeter to a millimeter thick. The light pink slices lined up neatly behind the knife, round and resilient, with a natural sense of symmetry.
The slices were placed one by one on the round bamboo sieve, the dry brown bamboo supporting the tender pink slices, pleasing to the eye in the sunlight.
Once dried, the slices would be fried in oil, turning into crispy, fragrant shrimp chips. Thinking of the “crunch crunch” sound when biting into a shrimp chip, Zhuang Yubai couldn’t help but swallow.
*
Meng Zhizhang’s house was located at the northernmost part of the village, with neighbors a bit farther away.
A small path lay across the overgrown wasteland, winding northward into the mountains. Zhuang Yubai remembered being chased by a dog on this path, so he decided to call it the “Path of Arrival.”
The rough leaves and stalks around the compost pile had slightly collapsed, indicating that fermentation had begun inside. It was a good start.
The vegetable garden would take another two weeks to be ready, so Zhuang Yubai planned to set up a seedling bed first. As for the base fertilizer for the seedling bed, he intended to “borrow” some humus from the mountains. To avoid alerting the black dog that chased him last time, he decided to “borrow” some from the outskirts of the mountain.
The forest was undeveloped, with a thick layer of decaying leaves underfoot, moist and soft, indicating rich fertility.
Gently peeling back the top layer of leaves revealed a dark, loose humus layer, black gold for plants. Zhuang Yubai’s eyes lit up as he “borrowed” half a basket of soil and leaves.
“Thump thump thump thump, thump thump thump thump—”
As Zhuang Yubai was about to reach home, he heard the sound of a rattle behind him. A peddler, carrying a load, was walking towards him with a slight tremor in each step.
In the ancient times without supermarkets, peddlers were like mobile mini-marts. Seeing someone ahead, the peddler quickened his pace.
“Young master, is there anything you’d like to buy? I’ve got all the latest novelties on this load!”
Zhuang Yubai looked at the peddler’s load, packed tightly with all sorts of small items, crammed into every nook and cranny of the two large wooden boxes, leaving no space unused.
Umbrellas, kites, sachets, fans, graters, and even toy swords and spears for children were all available. Even the hat wasn’t spared, adorned with red silk flowers and small flags, like a walking display cabinet.
“Do you have any cleaning supplies?” Zhuang Yubai placed his black gold on the ground and smiled as he made his request to the peddler. Seeing the peddler hesitate, he quickly added, “Like soapberries or toothbrushes.”
“Yes! Yes, I do.” The peddler bent down to open a drawer filled with small shadow puppets and took out a few bamboo toothbrushes. “These toothbrushes are made with silver horsehair, better than the horse tail and pig bristle ones on the market, soft and not prickly.”
Zhuang Yubai took one, noting that it was similar in shape to modern toothbrushes, just larger and harder. The toothbrushes were 15 wen each, so he bought two, along with some soapberries and everyday cooking spices, totaling 37 wen.
The peddler was delighted to have such a big sale first thing in the day. “Would you like some freshly made maltose candy, young master? One wen per piece.”
“There are no children at home, so I won’t buy candy.” Although it wasn’t expensive, with limited funds, every wen had to make sense.
Zhuang Yubai indicated that his home was just ahead and asked the peddler to walk with him for a bit. The peddler was heading in the same direction, so the two of them, dragging their shadows, walked together into the village.
The peddler’s surname was Zhang, and he lived in a village on the other side of the mountain. He usually traveled around the nearby villages and towns, occasionally going to the prefecture. Most of the villagers nearby knew him and called him “Peddler Zhang.”
Peddler Zhang appeared to be about 1.7 meters tall, with a lean build. The two large wooden boxes, each weighing dozens of pounds, seemed to be balanced on a pair of long, thin chopsticks.
Seeing that the peddler’s steps were slightly heavy, Zhuang Yubai slowed his pace to match. “I see you have a lot of toys and food on your cart. Why not take the main road instead of this less-traveled path?”
“The feng shui here is good,” Peddler Zhang blushed slightly, smiling shyly before continuing, “Actually, my wife… I’m about to become a father, so I’m heading to Meng Scholar’s place… to soak up some scholarly aura.”
“Congratulations, congratulations,” Zhuang Yubai said politely, assuming that the Meng Scholar he mentioned was some kind of deity like Manjusri. Even a peddler would go out of his way to pay respects, so it must be effective. His own scholar was about to take an exam. When he had time, he would also go pay respects, following local customs!
“Which Meng Scholar? Is he a deity overseeing reading and learning? Are there any specific rituals for paying respects?”
Peddler Zhang chuckled and pointed ahead. “You must be from out of town, young master, so it’s no wonder you’re not familiar with the situation here. The Meng Scholar is a scholar, living in the village just ahead.”
So it was a scholar, not a deity. Zhuang Yubai laughed along, feeling a bit embarrassed. He thought to himself that the Meng Family Village was indeed a place of good feng shui. His own scholar seemed extraordinary, and now there was another Meng Scholar… it seemed he had chosen the right place.
“I misunderstood. It’s natural for a parent to want the best for their child. You hope your child will grow up to be like the Meng Scholar, reading and writing, right?”
“How could we compare to the Meng Scholar!” Peddler Zhang wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel, his coarse cloth sleeves already washed to a faded white. “The Meng Scholar is incredibly talented. Everyone says he’s a star descended from the heavens. We wouldn’t dare compare ourselves to him. Besides, for families like ours, being well-fed and clothed is already a blessing. We wouldn’t even dream of reading and writing, not even in our dreams.”
In ancient times, studying was a luxury. It meant losing a complete labor force in the family and gathering the best resources to support someone studying full-time. Beyond food, clothing, and daily expenses, the cost of tuition, books, and stationery was significant, making it difficult for ordinary families to sustain. As for the travel and accommodation expenses for the imperial examinations, they were beyond the reach of the lower classes.
“Are you familiar with the Meng Scholar?” Zhuang Yubai was intrigued by this Meng Scholar, who was reputed to be a “star of literature.”
“Not familiar, just acquainted. Who in the surrounding ten miles doesn’t know the Meng Scholar from Meng Family Village! At a young age, he consecutively topped two exams. That can’t be an ordinary person, right? Of course, I’m not entirely sure what ‘topping the exam’ means, but I know it’s impressive. The teachers in the nearby schools all praise him, and any promising students are encouraged to emulate him. Just wait, the Meng Scholar will soon become a xiucai, and maybe even a juren in the future! That would really bring honor to us poor folks!”
Peddler Zhang grew more excited as he spoke, as if he could already see the Meng Scholar, adorned in red and riding a horse, coming through the cheering crowd. As he passed by, he would stop and nod with a smile at Peddler Zhang.
In the crowd, Peddler Zhang, full of pride, would straighten his back, feeling immensely proud.
Author’s Note:
Amber baby has worked hard, a day of labor for Kuku, with composting and making shrimp chips.
The initial draft of the composting process was very detailed, but I deleted most of it to avoid tiring out our Amber baby (a doting mother spoils the child, as they say, but not really).
Fortunately, the “strong person” will be back soon, and all the heavy work will be assigned to him, haha.
*About toothbrushes
Many toothbrushes have been unearthed in China, from the Tang and Song dynasties to the Ming and Qing dynasties, with shapes similar to those we use today, but mostly made with horsehair or horse mane.
Song dynasty’s Zhou Shouzhong’s “Compilation of Health Preservation”: “Do not use a toothbrush early in the morning… because toothbrushes are made of horsehair, which can cause damage.”
Late Yuan dynasty’s Guo Yu’s “Guo Henghui’s Toothbrush Poem”: “Toothbrushes from the southern region arrive, removing grease and refreshing, worth a gold coin. Short hairpins carved into light tortoiseshell, ice silk adorned with dense silver bristles.”
Southern Song dynasty’s Wu Zimu’s “Dream Liang Record” mentions a toothbrush specialty store in Hangzhou called “Ling’s Toothbrush Shop.”
Toothbrushes were priced around 25 wen, similar to the price of a candle at the time.
In the story, Peddler Zhang’s customer base is relatively lower, so the quality and price of the toothbrushes he sells are lower.
*About the 18-day composting method, referencing the Berkeley composting method:
The Berkeley composting method, invented by the University of California, is a type of hot composting. High-temperature composting kills pathogens and weed seeds and speeds up the composting process. Cold composting involves no intervention, allowing materials to decompose slowly over months or even years.
1. The ideal carbon-nitrogen ratio for successful composting is between 25:1 and 30:1. The carbon-nitrogen ratio refers to the weight ratio of carbon to nitrogen in microbial bodies or other organic matter. High-carbon materials typically include sawdust, cardboard, dry leaves, straw, branches, and other woody or fibrous materials. High-nitrogen materials typically include weeds/grass clippings, fruit and vegetable scraps, animal manure, and green leafy plants.
2. The compost pile should be 1 meter wide, 1.5 meters high.
3. The compost pile should be turned after 4 days, and by the 18th day, composting is complete.