Chapter 8: Burning Charcoal, Boiling Salt

Looking at that stubborn gleam in Xie Jiu’er’s eyes, Xiao Jinyu couldn’t help but feel they were cut from the same cloth. That man, relying on his mother’s prestigious lineage, had struck him when the tides turned. But even after surviving a brush with death, Xiao Jinyu had lived. Since he was still alive, that “good” Big Brother of his… could only die.

He raised his eyes again and looked toward Xie Jiu’er. “How do you want me to repay you?”

Xie Jiu’er stared back, utterly serious as she laid out her terms, not the slightest hint of shame in her tone. “I want wealth and status, full bellies, warm clothes, and a life free of worry. I’ve had enough of this hungry, uncertain existence where every day could be my last.”

Xiao Jinyu couldn’t help but burst into laughter. The world was full of greedy people, but he hadn’t heard such an unadorned wish in a long time. “So as long as you eat well, drink well, and live in comfort, you’re content?”

Xie Jiu’er was puzzled. “Isn’t that what life is about? Eating rich food, drinking good wine, roaming mountains and rivers… only then is it worth having come into this world.”

Xiao Jinyu studied her for a moment. “You certainly live with clarity. Very well—so long as I live, I will grant you the wealth and comfort you desire.”

Having secured the promise she wanted, Xie Jiu’er beamed, grinning from ear to ear as if she could already see skewers of sizzling, oil-dripping lamb calling her name.

“From now on, you’re the God of Wealth in our house. We don’t have a single proper item to our name, but while you’re recovering here, I’ll do everything I can to make you comfortable. Starting tomorrow night, I’ll burn charcoal in the house for you.”

With that, she skipped outside cheerfully. Even from her bouncing back, Xiao Jinyu could sense her delight. She was sharp, even shrewd, but in a way that wasn’t off-putting—unlike those people who were endlessly greedy and never satisfied.

Having sealed the deal for future prosperity, Xie Jiu’er was once again playing with mud. This time, she built a larger mud stove outside the courtyard, farther from the main house. It was for charring wood into charcoal, and since the process produced thick smoke, it had to be built well away from the living quarters.

Calling it a “mud pit” was generous—it looked more like a roofless clay hut, over a meter wide and long, and about waist-high. She dug a hole at the base of one wall to feed the fire.

Worried that too-small vents would smother the flames, Xie Jiu’er scraped open narrow gaps in all four corners to let smoke escape.

She first burned a layer of dry leaves at the bottom of the pit to create a bed of ash, then chopped the firewood she’d been collecting over the past days to fit the pit. Neatly, she stacked the pieces inside.

Once the wood was in place, she spread another thick layer of dry leaves on top, then smeared a fresh layer of mud over that—simple and direct, the most straightforward method of charcoal-making.

With only the four small smoke vents left open, the rest of the structure was sealed. If she left it exposed, the flames would burn too fiercely, reducing everything to ash.

Only in this sealed but slightly vented space could the flames smolder slowly and produce proper charcoal.

After feeding the fire several times, she sealed the hole completely, leaving only the four smoke vents.

Typically, it would take at least two full days for the charcoal to finish burning and cooling. Once the flames were mostly out, Xie Jiu’er left it alone, letting the heat dissipate on its own. But she didn’t have the patience to wait that long—tomorrow night, she planned to start burning charcoal indoors.

They were used to the cold, so it wasn’t a big deal. But the God of Wealth—he was different. He was still injured and needed proper care.

After over two hours of sun exposure, the small earthen stove she’d built at noon to boil salt had dried enough to use. It was stable—good enough to get by.

Xie Jiu’er poured the pre-filtered brine she’d foolishly carried all the way from the salt lake into a ceramic jar and placed it over the fire.

She added more brine every so often, and after two hours, a thick layer of white crystalline residue had formed at the bottom of the jar. She pinched a few grains, tasted them—decent enough. The flavor was about right.

Holding her half-filled jar of salt, she looked over at the distant, smoking charcoal pit and grinned like a fool. She was really something.

As expected, archaeologists had a better shot at surviving in ancient times. If not for all the ancient texts she’d pored over, she wouldn’t have known how to do any of this by hand—and today would’ve been far more miserable.

They didn’t have even a drop of oil yet, but now that she had salt, the wild greens she planned to serve tonight could at least have some flavor. She’d spent her entire afternoon steaming salt and charring wood.

Zhou shi and Wuyang had pinned all their winter hopes on foxtail grass. The moment they woke each day, they would climb into the Mountains to pull up more. As for Xiao Jinyu, aside from bracing himself against the wall to relieve himself, he spent the rest of his time resting quietly.

That evening, it was Xie Jiu’er who cooked. Predictably, it was another half-pot of foxtail seed porridge. But the warm dog milkweed salad now had flavor. She’d added prickly ash—also known as Japanese pepper—and then sprinkled in the salt she’d worked so hard to make, along with a touch of mustard.

Dog milkweed already had a faintly refreshing scent, and the combination of the pepper’s sour tang with mustard’s pungent bite gave it an appetizing kick.

Xiao Jinyu’s wounds were deep, but this was a man who had earned the title of executioner in the army—decisive and ruthless. That night, he got out of bed and went to the kitchen to eat. Zhou shi and Wuyang stole glances at him from left and right, their expressions awkward to the point of being comical.

In the end, mother and son huddled tightly together, keeping their distance from Xiao Jinyu. For a moment, no one could tell who exactly was imposing on whom in this household.

During the meal, Zhou shi—acting as the head of the house—nervously glanced at Xiao Jinyu and stammered, “We don’t have much to offer… Please, make do with a few bites. Your health comes first.”

Xie Jiu’er saw everything and was immensely satisfied. This was exactly the effect she wanted. She wanted Xiao Jinyu to remember, every time he looked back, how simple and upright they were—how pitiful and honest these widows and orphans appeared.

He would think, I must treat them well. If not for their frugal care back then, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

Her mother was truly a natural. The more polite, the better; the more humble, the better. They had to cling tight—he was their future purse strings!

After Zhou shi spoke, Xiao Jinyu gave a slight nod and was the first to dip his chopsticks into the plain porridge and wild greens. Only then did the three of them begin eating.

Wuyang took a bite of the warm greens, and his eyes lit up. He quickly slurped down half a bowl of porridge. “Delicious! I thought foxtail porridge was already the best meal ever. Who knew the dog milkweed—that the villagers say is poisonous—could taste this good? Jie, I’ve really been wasting my life these past few years. From now on, cooking is your job. You cook better than Mother!”