Xia Qingyue wasn’t sure if the woman was truly desperate, seeing her as a last hope, or if she had lost her senses.
Xia Qingyue had already made herself clear, and in the old times, strict boundaries existed between men and women—but the woman ignored them and stepped closer.
Xia Qingyue took two steps back, her expression cold. “Miss, please mind yourself. My father and elder brother have gone up the mountain to collect herbs. I’m bringing them food and drink. Goodbye.”
As she turned, the woman seemed to anticipate Xia Qingyue leaving and called out,
“Wait!” She rushed forward, reaching for the backpack.
As she got closer, a pungent stench hit her nose. She hadn’t expected it, froze in shock, hand stiff in midair, and her steps faltered.
“Woof! Woof! Woof!”
Heihei leapt at the woman, sensing her intrusion.
“Ah!” The woman screamed and stumbled backward in fright.
“Heihei, come back.” Xia Qingyue raised her eyes. “The mountain is dangerous. You’d better go down early.”
One girl and a dog headed up the mountain.
The woman slowly stood, watching Xia Qingyue’s retreating back, her gaze flickering.
After walking some distance and confirming the woman wasn’t following, Xia Qingyue stopped and took out a meat bun to eat—one for herself, one for Heihei.
That morning, she had wrapped some raspberries in large leaves to carry, eating them to quench her thirst.
After resting a bit, she found a sturdy stick to support her up the mountain, taking three breaks along the way. It was already past two in the afternoon when she returned to the sinkhole.
Exhausted, she dropped her things and lay down on the ground, gasping. Once her breath settled, she drank a large gulp of water and put away the groceries.
Clothes, shoes, and fabrics went to her room. Rice, flour, and meat went to the kitchen.
She cut the pork fat and front leg meat into pieces and started rendering the lard.
The pork fat went into the pot to cook slowly. As the fat melted, the meat shrank and turned golden. The air filled with the rich aroma of meat and oil.
When the lard was done, she poured it into a cleaned, dry container—about a third full, roughly seven jin. Once cooled, the lard was white and solid.
She cleaned the big pot thoroughly with hot water and wood ash, then began purifying the coarse salt.
Fifty jin of coarse salt went into a stone mortar to be crushed. Crushing was easy but time-consuming; she worked until nightfall, resting only a few times, and her hands were sore and tired.
Though exhausted, she didn’t want to stop, determined to purify the salt in one go.
The crushed salt went into a pot with water to boil, stirred with a spatula. As the water boiled, black impurities floated to the surface.
She covered a wooden barrel with cloth, secured it with rope, and ladled the brine onto it to filter.
She then added pre-prepared limewater and wood ash water, allowing calcium ions and sulfate ions to react, forming insoluble calcium sulfate that was filtered out. The clear liquid was cooled to crystallize.
At this stage, pure salt crystals began to form. This didn’t mean purification was complete—they needed repeated filtration, adding limewater and ash water, and crystallization to get fully pure salt.
Xia Qingyue worked until dark. The thought of finally having refined salt—without bitterness in the salt or her meals—kept her energized, ignoring even her growling stomach.
When she returned in the afternoon, she retrieved fish from the creek, fed the chickens, ducks, and Heihei, but didn’t eat herself.
She stayed by the process constantly. Finally, seeing the pure white crystals at the bottom of the pot, she tasted a bit. Salty. Tears of excitement filled her eyes.
With trembling hands, she transferred the crystals into a clean, dry wooden basin.
From fifty jin of coarse salt, about twelve jin of refined salt emerged.
In peacetime, this amount could last a while with the rice and flour she bought today. But with tensions rising, war could break out any day.
She stored the salt, steamed some yam and eggs all in one pot, too tired to cook more.
While waiting for the food, she counted the remaining 347 wen in her hand, planning to head down the mountain tomorrow to buy more grain before it became scarce.
After a quick meal, she bathed and went to bed, it must have been past ten.
Since arriving in this world, it was the first time she slept this late—and the busiest, most exhausting day yet.
Exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep.
“Cluck, cluck, quack.”
The chickens woke her. Groggy, she opened her eyes. Moving caused aches all over.
“Ouch,” she muttered, peeking through the partially open window to see the gray light outside. The chickens and ducks were hungry and noisy.
Still sleepy, she wanted to lie in bed all day. But then she sat up suddenly, thinking, “What if war breaks out in the next couple of days?”
Alert, she dragged herself up, dressed, and fed the chickens and ducks some chopped reed shoots mixed with rice bran.
Then she prepared breakfast, determined to reward herself.
She removed stones and husks from the brown rice, washed it twice, and cooked it in a large pot with a peeled yam.
The leftover front leg lean meat was sliced, and wild onion shoots and dried bamboo shoots were cut for cooking.
Pork fat heated in the pot, meat slices stir-fried until 80% done, moved to the side. Onion heads sautéed in the oil, bamboo shoots added and stir-fried, then meat returned, salted, and cooked with onion tops.
A glossy plate of stir-fried bamboo shoots with meat was ready.
Steamed rice came out perfectly—one bowl for Heihei, one for herself, with some vegetables shared with Heihei.
The rice was fragrant and sweet, the meat tender, bamboo shoots crisp, simply salted, and bursting with flavors of scallion, oil, and meat.
Xia Qingyue felt satisfied, enjoying a real sense of life and happiness.
After cleaning up, with the sky just brightening, she packed boiled chicken and duck eggs and washed raspberries to bring as lunch.