Jian Jia wasn’t skilled at slaughtering pigs or sheep, but she loved watching others do it. Right now, she and Qin Lang were crouched under the corridor eaves, watching Qin Yi and Second Uncle work together on the pig. Mountain folk were usually rough in their methods; they would often burn off the bristles, scraping away the charred black residue after the skin turned yellow, then slit the carcass open. But Qin Yi’s technique was meticulous. He chose to scald the pig with boiling water first, then scrape off the hair.
After being scalded and scraped, the once pitch-black wild boar’s skin turned snow-white. The hundred-plus-pound pig hung upside down from the beams. Second Uncle held a wooden dipper and rinsed the remaining hair and grime from the skin with clean water. After several thorough washes, the pig was spotless.
Qin Yi dragged the wastewater basin aside and placed a clean wooden tub under the pig’s head. From his waist he drew a sharp dagger and cut quickly across the pig’s neck. A long, deep gash appeared through the thick hide, revealing the pale neck bones beneath.
Just as Qin Yi prepared to continue, he paused and turned to frown at the two standing near the tub.
The sight, both gruesome and fascinating, made Qin Lang widen his eyes. Just as he leaned closer to see better, a warm hand reached out from beside him and covered his eyes.
Qin Lang: ???
Jian Jia’s voice rang in his ear. “Not suitable for children, Elder Sister will censor it for you.” She had thought that Qin Lang, being timid, would automatically shy away from the blood and gore. To her surprise, he showed no fear at all. Where was the delicate, faint-hearted little cutie she had imagined? Only Qin Lang being Qin Yi’s brother explained it: although he appeared slight, his bones ran just as fierce and resolute as his elder brother’s.
Bravery was good, but Qin Lang was still physically weak. Worried that he might be scared by the blood, Jian Jia thoughtfully covered his eyes. Then, her own eyes sparkling, she said to Qin Yi, “I’ve covered him. You may continue.”
After that, Jian Jia and Qin Lang were sent indoors, and the front gate slammed shut behind them. Jian Jia reached for the bolt and discovered the gate had been locked. Well, it was one thing that Qin Yi didn’t want Qin Lang to see this, but why not let her watch?
Fuming, Jian Jia lowered her head to meet Qin Lang’s eyes. After a pause, she complained, “Your brother is so dictatorial.”
Qin Lang fell silent for a moment, then weakly asked, “Elder Sister, I wanted to ask just now… what does ‘censor’ mean? And what does that □□ mean?”
Jian Jia: …
How was she supposed to explain that?
By the time Jian Jia saw the wild boar again, it had been carved into pieces. A pig of over a hundred pounds would provide food for a long time. There were no refrigerators in Great Jing, and improperly stored meat would spoil. During the slaughter, Jian Jia and the others had already decided on the plan: the four legs would be salted to make hams, the body meat would be prepared according to recipe—some braised, some sweet and sour and the remaining portions would be preserved as jarred meat. The head and feet were salted together to make salted pig head and feet. Even the innards would not go to waste; once Second Uncle cleaned them, Jian Jia would cook them in a spiced broth.
Every part of the pig was planned meticulously, with no waste.
Jian Jia knew that autumn and winter were the usual seasons for curing salted meat, but she hadn’t realized that even as summer approached, hams could be cured. Luckily, Second Uncle had experience; he would handle the hams and the pig head and feet.
After removing the hair and innards and taking the parts to be cured, only a shallow basin of meat remained. This was, after all, just a half-grown wild boar; it hadn’t fully matured, so the meat was not thick. Achieving this yield was already quite good.
Jian Jia set aside the two most beautiful slabs of belly meat for braised pork. The remaining meat would need Qin Yi’s help to cut. The fat on the belly would be skinned and chopped into small pieces, to be rendered with lard. The rib meat would be stripped from the bones and cut into palm-sized chunks, then lightly marinated and deep-fried to make crispy fried meat.
Outside, the rain continued unabated. White smoke rose from the chimney as Qin Yi worked by the kitchen table, breaking down the meat. Bone removal, filleting, chopping, or slicing—he handled it all with just a single dagger. Less than a foot long, sharp on both sides, the blade cut through the firm meat effortlessly, shaping it exactly as Jian Jia needed.
Jian Jia had always thought herself fairly skilled with knives, but compared to Qin Yi, she admitted defeat. The thin dagger in his hands was like a divine weapon. No flashy moves, no showy techniques, yet every stroke was precise, satisfying, and awe-inspiring.
Once the fat and lard were separated, their volume noticeably increased. A small basin of white fat now sat on the table. Jian Jia sniffed it: compared to domestic pork, wild boar had a stronger flavor. Not surprising, farm pigs were castrated when young, which made their meat milder, more tender, and less gamey. Qin Yi’s wild boar, though still immature, had not been castrated, so it retained some natural flavor. Before rendering the fat, she would need to remove this odor.
The method was simple. Rinse the fat several times in warm water, then blanch it in a pot, adding two spoonfuls of wine. After blanching, the fat became firm and three-dimensional, no longer soft and limp.
She poured the blanched fat into the pot with a small splash of water, lit the fire, and slowly began rendering the lard.
“Why add water?” Qin Yi’s voice suddenly asked.
Looking up, Jian Jia saw him standing straight by the stove, eyes serious, gaze focused. She was startled, thinking she had done something wrong.
Seeing no answer, Qin Yi asked again. “I’ve seen others render lard, but they didn’t blanch the fat or add water. Can you tell me why you do it this way?”
Jian Jia pursed her lips uncomfortably and explained patiently. “The water slows the heating process so the fat doesn’t burn. Also, the lard comes out clearer. You’ll see for yourself soon.”
Qin Yi nodded, then turned to leave the kitchen. Just as Jian Jia was muttering under her breath, he returned, this time carrying a brush and several sheets of yellow hemp paper. He placed the paper on the table and quickly wrote a few lines.
Curious, Jian Jia looked and saw: “Rendering lard: blanch first, then add cold water.”
Jian Jia: …
She glanced out the window. The sun was shining from the west. Hunter Qin had taken notes on her cooking techniques. The rain continued outside, and she briefly worried: did he have some mental quirk that triggered on rainy days?
Before she could dwell on this thought, he handed her the still-drying paper. Qin Yi spoke seriously. “Can you check if I wrote it correctly?”
Indeed, Qin Yi’s handwriting was distinctive, wild and unrestrained with a hint of sharpness.
Seeing Jian Jia’s doubtful expression, he softened his voice slightly. “I think your dishes are very tasty, and I want to learn from you. It’s better to write things down; perhaps it will come in handy someday.”
Jian Jia: …
If only he had said so sooner. She had worried unnecessarily.
Still, she admired his attitude. He didn’t avoid the problem but sought a solution. She took the paper, examined it carefully, and approved. “Nothing’s wrong. You wrote it well.”
Qin Yi acknowledged with a nod, taking back the paper, his ears flushing slightly.
The lard in the pot was for the jarred meat, so it could not be overcooked. As the fat turned from milky white to clear, Jian Jia began scooping it into an earthenware jar. After half a jar, she carefully moved it to a nearby shelf to prevent it from being knocked over.
The fat had shrunk several times its original size, its color changing from milky white to golden. It was undergoing the transformation from fat to cracklings. The longer it rendered, the less fat remained hidden inside.
The rich aroma spread through the kitchen, drawing the two little ones to peek inside. Jian Jia glanced and saw their bobbing heads outside the window. She nearly laughed. “Don’t worry, the cracklings aren’t ready yet. I’ll call you when they are.”
She remembered that as a child, every New Year the villagers would render lard. She had always looked forward to the crisp, savory cracklings. Compared to slab lard, she preferred cracklings from the wild fat. Once fried, they resembled cockscombs, crisp and fragrant, with the hidden dark-red liver inside, making her mouth water.
Speaking of which, wild fat?
Jian Jia used a strainer to push the floating cracklings. “Qin Yi, did you see that layer of fat on the intestines? Was it discarded?”
Qin Yi replied seriously. “Not yet. Second Uncle hasn’t finished cleaning it; once ready, we’ll get it.”
The golden cracklings floated crowdedly in the pot. Lightly fried, they had a crisp surface. Jian Jia scooped up two pieces after a while. “Ready.”
The fresh cracklings still emitted a faint crackling sound. Piled in a large bowl, they looked like a small golden mountain. Jian Jia called to Qin Yi. “Qin Yi, take the cracklings away. Lang’er, eat carefully, don’t burn yourself. Don’t eat too much; there’s more delicious food at noon.”
She picked one piece from the pile, blew on it, and popped it into her mouth. The crackling melted with a crisp, fragrant crunch, irresistible in flavor.
Humming a little tune, Jian Jia scooped the remaining rendered fat into another jar. The clear fat filled more than half the jar, heavy in her hands. Placing it on the stove corner, a sense of inexplicable security filled her heart.
Perhaps this was the comfort of knowing the household had plenty of provisions.