The carriage stopped steadily at the alley entrance.
Feng Yuan lifted the curtain; the air outside was vibrant with the bustle of the marketplace.
Work used to involve plenty of disgusting social obligations, and transmigrating to ancient times was even more repulsive.
Thinking that Jia Yucun was now the most powerful person he knew, he absolutely had to cling to his coattails, even if those coattails were rough and ugly.
Then he must find a way to tie their interests together.
Moreover, he truly needed money.
Lots and lots of money.
Money was the hardest fist and the sharpest knife in this world.
With money, he could maintain retainers, bribe officials, and weave his own net.
Relying on rent from fields or interest from shops?
Too slow.
He needed an express lane, a path no one else had taken.
He pushed open the gate to his own courtyard.
Feng Yuan did not enter the Study Room but walked directly into the back utility room where miscellaneous items were stored.
"Hou San, go get some things," Feng Yuan interrupted him.
"Master, you command."
"Pig back fat, as much as possible. It must be the fattest."
Hou San paused, then nodded: "Got it! Are you making cracklings to eat? I'm great at that!"
Feng Yuan ignored him and continued speaking.
"Also, find the largest, cheapest, most broken iron pot—the kind you won't mind ruining."
"Huh?" Hou San's smile froze on his face.
"And, go collect plant ash from the countryside—the ash left over after burning firewood in the stove. Get a lot of that too."
"Master..." Hou San's face wrinkled like a bitter melon, "What do you need plant ash for? That stuff is dirty and choking, even planting flowers is risky with it."
"Just go do as you're told," Feng Yuan's tone allowed no argument.
"Finally, go to the apothecary and ask to buy some 'alkali'."
Hou San was completely bewildered.
First lard, then a broken pot, then plant ash, and now alkali.
Had his Young Master gone crazy?
"Young Master, alkali is used for leavening dough to steam buns; why do you need it..."
"Do what you are told. Don't ask so many questions." Feng Yuan glanced at him.
Under that look, Hou San immediately shuddered, swallowing all his questions.
"Yes! I'll go do it right now!"
Hou San was very efficient.
In less than two hours, a pile of strange items was stacked in the corner of the courtyard.
A large block of snow-white lard wrapped in lotus leaves, emitting the raw scent of meat.
A pitch-black iron pot with a crack in the bottom.
Two large sacks filled with plant ash.
Feng Yuan changed into old, short-sleeved work clothes and personally set up the broken pot in the courtyard.
"Start a fire," he commanded.
Hou San nimbly piled firewood under the pot and lit it.
Flames licked the black bottom of the pot, making crackling sounds.
"Cut the lard into small pieces and throw them in."
Hou San looked at the fine piece of back fat, his heart aching so much it twitched.
If this were rendered into lard, it could last them several months.
But he dared not disobey, so he picked up a knife, clumsily cut the lard into pieces, and threw them into the pot.
"Sizzle—"
The white fat immediately made a sound upon touching the scorching pot wall, sending up a puff of white smoke.
A meaty aroma, mixed with the smell of firewood smoke, permeated the courtyard.
Feng Fang smelled the scent and came over from the front courtyard. Seeing the scene, he was also dumbfounded.
"Young Master, what grand dish are you making?"
Feng Yuan didn't speak, only staring into the pot.
The lard quickly melted under the high heat, turning into a pot of clear oil, with pieces of fat tumbling inside.
"Lower the heat, simmer it slowly."
He picked up a long wooden staff and stirred it in the pot, his expression as focused as if he were reviewing a top-secret dossier.
Hou San and Feng Fang stood to the side, exchanging glances, not daring to breathe loudly.
They felt that ever since the Young Master was beaten awake last time, he had become increasingly strange.
Studying and practicing martial arts, they could understand.
But boiling lard in the courtyard late at night—what was that about?
An hour later, all the cracklings had been fried until golden and crispy.
Feng Yuan told Hou San to scoop out the cracklings.
Hou San looked at the plate of fragrant cracklings and couldn't help but swallow.
"Young Master, this... can we eat this?"
"Eat."
Hou San and Feng Fang felt as if granted a general amnesty. Each grabbed a handful, sucking air because it was scalding hot, yet they ate until their mouths were slick with oil.
Feng Yuan didn't spare them a glance; his focus was entirely on that pot of boiling lard.
He told Hou San to add water to the pot.
"Water?" Hou San almost dropped the cracklings in his hand, "Young Master, adding water to hot oil will cause it to splatter!"
"Just pour it in."
Hou San had no choice but to steel himself, carefully scooping a ladle of water and tossing it into the pot from a distance.
"Boom!"
The boiling oil met the water and instantly exploded, sending oil splattering everywhere.
Hou San was so frightened he fell onto the ground.
Feng Yuan, however, acted as if he hadn't noticed, standing steadily by the pot.
When the commotion in the pot subsided slightly, he pointed at the sack of plant ash.
"Pour that in."
This time, even Feng Fang couldn't hold back.
"Young Master! That won't do! Pouring ash into this good pot of oil will ruin everything!"
"If it's ruined, I'll buy more," Feng Yuan's voice was calm.
Feng Fang tried to persuade him further but was stopped by a look from Feng Yuan.
That look held no anger, only an unquestionable resolve.
Hou San, with a mournful face, lifted the sack of plant ash, closed his eyes, and dumped the entire contents into the pot.
Instantly, the fragrant oil pot turned into a pot of black, sticky, foul-smelling sludge.
The odor was both fishy and pungent, carrying a choking smell of burnt vegetation.
Hou San nearly vomited.
"Stir," Feng Yuan commanded again.
Hou San pinched his nose, picked up the wooden staff, and stirred the unknown substance in the pot.
With every stir, he felt his stomach churning violently.
Feng Yuan then had him crush the purchased alkali blocks with something and pour them in too.
This time, the reaction in the pot was even more violent.
The black sludge began to bubble, gurgling like a witch's brew being simmered.
That strange odor became even stronger and more acrid.
Feng Fang had already retreated upwind, covering his nose, watching his Young Master with a look of sheer terror.
He felt that the Young Master wasn't cooking.
He was refining an elixir.
No, he was brewing poison.
Feng Yuan remained by the pot, stirring occasionally with the wooden staff, observing the change in viscosity of the contents.
His face was streaked black and white from the smoke, and his forehead was covered in sweat.
But his eyes were frighteningly bright.
After an unknown amount of time,
"Extinguish the fire."
He had Hou San find an old wooden basin and poured the entire sticky, black mass from the pot into it.
The substance slowly cooled and solidified in the basin.
Finally, it became a large block of unevenly colored, coarse material, resembling a piece of spoiled New Year cake.
Hou San and Feng Fang gathered around the basin, looking at it from all angles, unable to discern what this thing was.
"Young Master..." Hou San asked cautiously, "What... what is this?"
Feng Yuan did not answer. He used a small knife to cut a small piece from the block.
He had Hou San fetch a basin of clean water and found a rag smeared with grease.
He dipped the small piece of black material into the water, then vigorously rubbed it against the greasy rag.
A miraculous scene unfolded.
As he rubbed, white foam actually appeared on his hand.
Although not much, it was definitely foam.
He rinsed the rag in the clean water, and when he picked it up again, the grease stains on the rag had visibly faded.
"It worked."
Feng Yuan dropped the item in his hand and uttered two words.
His voice carried a hint of unconcealed exhaustion, and a deeper trace of excitement.
Hou San and Feng Fang were stunned speechless.
They rubbed their eyes, not daring to believe what they had seen.
This unremarkable, even somewhat disgusting lump, could actually remove grease?
Its effect was even slightly better than the Soap Bean they usually used.
"Young Master, this... what is this thing you made?" Hou San stammered.
"Mm."
"Then what is it called?"
Feng Yuan looked at the coarse block in the basin, then at his own dirt-caked hands.
"Let's call it..."
He paused, and the faces of the wealthy nobles in Jinling City, and the greasy face of Xue Pan, flashed through his mind.
"Soap."