Zhou Yuesheng pursed his lips, his mind racing. Finally, he gave a vague answer: “It was arranged by the organization.”
Yu Zhile praised the Cloud Stream platform a hundred times in her head, then happily took inventory of the items inside the iron pot. There was meat, rice, and white flour, though the quality of the rice wasn’t as high as the previous batch.
Once back in the small courtyard, Yu Zhile used the iron pot to boil water for a thorough cleaning, then cut off a piece of pork skin to season the pot. The hot iron scorched the fatty skin, releasing an inviting aroma. After several rounds of rubbing the grease into the metal, the surface of the pot became glossy and black. She then handed the final washing task over to Zhou Yuesheng.
Yu Zhile opened the Cloud Stream interface; the primary mall had been successfully unlocked. According to the mall’s user guide, an anchor could only purchase items that already existed on their planet while in the primary mall.
“Host, the platform’s currency is converted from gifts received in the livestream room. Your current balance is 5,000,” Xiao Yun explained.
Yu Zhile entered the mall and found the prices were shockingly high. With her current wealth, she could only afford fifty pounds of pork at most. She skipped past the polished rice at 50 Cloud Coins per pound and the pork at 100 per pound, searching for a while before finally finding the glutinous rice flour she needed for the Qingtuan. It was 60 coins per pound, and she bought it with a slight wince of pain for her wallet.
Xiao Yun clarified: “Host, twenty percent of the mall’s revenue is used for the delivery process to ensure that unconventional transport methods do not cause unnecessary panic on your planet.”
A second later, a ding sounded, and the screen showed that the item had been delivered. Yu Zhile circled the room but didn’t see the flour. She went to the kitchen and found a cloth bag resting on the top shelf of the storage rack. The glutinous rice flour was a milky white, feeling slightly grainy when rubbed between her fingers.
By then, Zhou Yuesheng had finished washing the pot several times and settled it onto the stove.
“The glutinous rice flour is here; let’s get ready to make Qingtuan,” Yu Zhile said, weighing the bag in her hand. It felt like more than a pound.
Participating in the competition had increased her exposure. Not long after starting the stream, a large number of viewers flooded in. Yu Zhile planned to make bean paste-filled Qingtuan, so she laid out the available ingredients on the cutting board and introduced them one by one.
“First, we render the lard,” she said, placing a strip of pork on the board. The fat layer on the belly meat was nearly two fingers thick—so succulent that it wasn’t hard to imagine how popular it would be at a butcher’s stall.
Yu Zhile removed the lean parts and cut the fat into thumb-sized cubes, preparing ginger slices and scallion sections. She put the fat into the pot with water to boil, skimmed off the foam, ladled out two-thirds of the water, added Sichuan peppercorns, ginger, and scallions, and let it simmer slowly on low heat.
“At the start of rendering, it’s milky white. Then it turns translucent, and finally, it becomes clear.”
Yu Zhile gently stirred the meat cubes. The light smoke was scattered by her movements but quickly reformed. The air filled with the scent of meat as the oil became crystal clear.
“Store it in a jar,” Yu Zhile said, sprinkling a handful of salt at the bottom of a clay jar before ladling the oil in, scoop by scoop.
[Is this the oil rendering mentioned in ancient texts? I’ve learned something new today.]
[Host, I want to buy some.]
“The crispy lard cracklings are great dipped in sugar or used in stir-fries. Lard itself can be used to mix with rice or noodles—it’s very fragrant.” She ladled the last half-spoon of oil into a porcelain bowl for immediate use.
Meanwhile, a faint scent of beans began to drift through the courtyard. Zhou Yuesheng added white sugar, and the aroma became rich and sweet.
“Stir-fry it every few minutes, and the bean paste will become smoother,” Yu Zhile said, leaning in to look at the red beans in the clay pot. The fresh scent of soapberry from her hair hit Zhou Yuesheng’s senses, causing his hand to pause for a moment.
With the addition of lard and more stirring, the red beans became pasty and fine, looking sweet and delicious.
“Now for the mugwort paste.” Yu Zhile dumped all the mugwort into boiling water for two minutes, then fished it out and put it into a mortar. The boiled mugwort was very soft and was soon pounded into a mash.
Zhou Yuesheng added starch, glutinous rice flour, lard, and white flour to the mash. He began kneading the mixture by hand, adding the appropriate amount of boiling water until it formed a smooth green dough. Yu Zhile was responsible for pinching the bean paste and the dough into small portions, wrapping the filling, and rolling them into spheres. The ratios were perfect, and the Qingtuan gradually filled the medium-sized winnowing basket.
While the Qingtuan steamed, Yu Zhile prepared wolfberry and lean meat porridge. The lean meat was marinated beforehand, and the porridge simmered in a clay pot. Once the rice grains had burst open, she added the meat and ginger slivers. A few minutes before turning off the heat, she tossed in the wolfberry leaves to blanch them.
The herbal fragrance of the mugwort complemented the sweetness of the red beans, while the slight bitterness of the wolfberry leaves melded naturally with the savory meat. The combination of scents provided a sensory feast for the livestream audience, leaving them salivating. Consequently, the livestream’s popularity surged, firmly securing the top spot on the rankings.
When the stream ended, Chen Zhao stepped into the courtyard. He spoke with an exaggerated expression: “Sister! Are you making Qingtuan? This smell is incredible—it’s more fragrant than Wuwei Hall.”
“You always know exactly what to say,” Yu Zhile teased.
She set aside over a dozen green dumplings in a bamboo basket and sent Yu Yue to deliver them to their second uncle’s house, with Chen Zhao chattering away behind him as he pushed the wheelchair.
A few minutes later, Zhang Wenxin arrived. “My grandpa rejected the literacy class plan again,” she said, looking dejected. Before Yu Zhile could speak, Zhang Wenxin’s words poured out like a waterfall.
“The educated youth tried to hold literacy classes before, but they couldn’t keep it going for more than two days. My grandpa and my dad don’t have any faith in me. I’ve learned from the failures of the youths—I shortened the class time and made the content as practical as possible. I just want people to recognize more words and improve their cultural lives. Is it really that hard?”
Zhang Wenxin vented her frustrations until her throat was dry.
“Have some water,” Yu Zhile said, pouring her a cup to moisten her throat. As the warm water settled in her stomach, Zhang Wenxin’s gloom washed away.
She regained her fighting spirit and asked, “Yu Zhile, do you want to run the literacy class with me? There aren’t any work points for now, but it’s a very meaningful thing to do.”
“No,” Yu Zhile refused directly. She admired Zhang Wenxin’s passionate, progressive spirit, but she only wanted to live her own life well for now. Zhang Wenxin wasn’t surprised and simply let out a sigh.
“I can give you some suggestions,” Yu Zhile added.
Zhang Wenxin looked at her expectantly.
“The prerequisite for improving cultural civilization is ensuring people’s livelihoods. The first method is to vigorously develop sideline production groups. Once people are well-fed and clothed, they will naturally have the mental energy to focus on culture.”
Zhang Wenxin’s face fell. Haiyu Village had been developing for over a decade, and the economic level hadn’t improved much.
“The second method is education through entertainment. Organize a propaganda team to perform revolutionary plays or other shows. Get everyone used to being exposed to new things at a certain time first, then slowly transition into literacy education. I can help you write the scripts.”
As Yu Zhile finished her sentence, the courtyard fell into silence. Zhang Wenxin’s dejected expression vanished, replaced by deep thought.
“Sister, we’re back!” Chen Zhao’s voice broke the silence. A moment later, he pushed Yu Yue through the door.
Yu Yue was cradling two small wine jars in his arms. “These are the plum wine and plum liqueur Second Aunt gave us.”
“Wash your hands and eat,” Yu Zhile said, leaving Zhang Wenxin to her thoughts. Chen Zhao glanced at the tranced Zhang Wenxin and mouthed a question about what was happening.
“It’s fine, let’s eat,” Yu Zhile said, pressing chopsticks into his hand.
Six bowls of porridge were ladled out, and the Qingtuan were placed in a small winnowing basket for everyone to help themselves.
“This wolfberry and lean meat porridge is amazing. You really are the best, Sister.” Chen Zhao was won over by the porridge and gave a thumbs up. The savory meat and the fresh scent of wolfberry were perfectly balanced, and everyone loved it. The Qingtuan were chewy and soft, and the bean paste was sweet without being cloying, which greatly pleased Yu Chi.
“I think the second method could work. I’m going home to make a plan and talk to my grandpa one more time,” Zhang Wenxin said, snapping back to reality before hurrying away.
Yu Zhile lowered her eyes. Regardless of which method was implemented, the difficulty would be immense. She was simply setting a stage for Zhang Caihong.
The next two days again had unfavorable tides, so Yu Zhile stayed home to decorate the courtyard. Zhang Wenxin ran over several times, either excitedly introducing the progress of her plan or discussing details with a serious expression. The PK competition was going well; although she streamed far less frequently than other anchors, her popularity remained far ahead.
When the day of the receding tide finally arrived, Yu Zhile and Zhou Yuesheng picked up their baskets and headed out.
“Good afternoon, we’re back for some tide-pooling,” Yu Zhile greeted as usual. After the last incident, the villagers completely stopped believing that seafood could be found at the Xiaoxi Sea, and the beach had returned to its usual tranquility.
“Today I brought bamboo tongs and coarse salt. I hope we can pick up more shellfish,” Yu Zhile said, walking forward as the tide continued to recede. “Lately, the shellfish have been particularly plump.”
As they walked, she nudged Zhou Yuesheng’s arm with her elbow and stopped. The two of them crouched down, and the camera focused on a small oval hole in the sand. A jet of water sprayed out from the hole.
“This is a razor clam hole. Another type looks like the number eight,” Yu Zhile demonstrated the shape. “Sprinkle salt over the entrance. Some will come out on their own. If they don’t, you can dig through the sand to find them.”
Salt grains fell around the edge of the hole. The moisture in the small opening dissolved the salt, and a moment later, a thumb-thick razor clam poked half its body out. Yu Zhile pinched it and pulled it out.
“Hey, this razor clam is huge—it’s as long as your palm,” Yu Zhile said, grabbing Zhou Yuesheng’s hand for comparison. His palm was broad, his fingers long and well-defined, though his fingertips and palm were somewhat calloused. Their hands—one pale, one tanned—formed a sharp contrast.
Zhou Yuesheng felt the sunset was particularly hot, but Yu Zhile’s attention had already shifted to a small hole dozens of centimeters away. Splashing through the water, she pointed to the hole and said, “This is the breathing hole of a moon shell. For moon shells, you need to dig into the sand.”
She inserted a thick bamboo slat into the soft sand. Luckily, she hit the shell after only about ten centimeters. After rinsing off the surface sand, the shell of the moon shell was revealed, looking like polished porcelain with a high-gloss finish.
[An artwork of nature. I want to collect it.]
[How do you eat it?]
Among the thousands of comments, Yu Zhile spotted those from “Fish Farming Master” and “xxxx.”
“Moon shells do look quite beautiful, but there are even prettier ones,” she replied. “Garlic style, in soup, or spicy stir-fry,” she answered them in turn.
From then on, the task of digging for razor clams and shellfish was handed to Zhou Yuesheng, while Yu Zhile walked alone along the coastline.
“This is a yellow clam. The tide just went out, so it hasn’t had time to bury itself in the sand yet,” Yu Zhile said, bending down to pick up a shell with a pale yellow exterior. “This is a blood clam. This is a fragrant snail.”
After gathering half a basket of assorted shellfish, Yu Zhile straightened her back and faced the sea. The sound of unfamiliar footsteps drew closer, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“Sister Caihong.” Yu Zhile suddenly turned around, coming face-to-face with Zhang Caihong, whose hands were raised to her chest and whose expression was slightly panicked.
Zhang Caihong let out an awkward laugh. “Lele, what a coincidence. I was just about to say hello to you.”
Yu Zhile gave a faint smile but didn’t speak.
“I’ll let you get to it; I have to start tide-pooling. If I don’t catch anything, my sister-in-law will definitely scold me tonight,” Zhang Caihong said, subtly acting pitiful.
“Then you’d better get busy. I… I have things to do as well,” Yu Zhile began her act.
Zhang Caihong suppressed a smirk and walked only a few steps away, keeping her attention fixed on Yu Zhile. Yu Zhile continued her livestream, soon discovering some unusually shaped slipper lobsters and catching several in a row.
“The meat of slipper lobsters is especially full and tender this season,” she said in a low voice. For several minutes, Yu Zhile kept her voice very quiet, making the audience think she was trying out a new livestreaming style.
The sound of splashing footsteps stopped and started nearby. Yu Zhile smiled faintly.
The fish had taken the bait. Now, she just had to wait for the show to begin.