Chapter 8 Brine

Chapter 8: Salt Brine

When Meng Wan got up, the house was still empty as usual. After washing up, he ate the breakfast Chang Jinhua had left for him, thinking about the materials needed to make tofu: soybeans, cloth bags, a large pot, and firewood. If successful, he would also need to order two wooden trays from the carpenter. The most crucial item was salt brine.

Meng Wan jolted. Right—how was he supposed to make tofu without salt brine?

Did this era have salt brine? It had to, right? Otherwise, what was the tofu stall at the market using? But where were they getting it from?

When Chang Jinhua returned, Meng Wan told her that making tofu required one more thing, which might not be available in the town and could take a few days to procure.

Chang Jinhua looked a little let down, but she wasn't exactly shocked. If it were that easy, everyone would be doing it, and it wouldn't be some handed-down craft.

“Aunt, do you usually buy salt at the market too?” Meng Wan asked.

He figured asking the tofu stall about salt brine was a dead end, but ordinary folks should be able to buy it, since the couple running the stall didn't seem particularly well-connected.

Salt brine was probably something not many people bought or even knew about.

Chang Jinhua quickly replied, “You can’t get that at the market. Regular folks aren’t allowed to buy or sell it on the sly. It’s only sold in the town.”

Turns out, in the Yu Kingdom, the court had a total monopoly on salt production and sales. Making or selling salt on your own was a serious crime—get caught, and they'd seize everything you owned and execute your whole family. Only merchants with a salt license were allowed to sell it.

“We’re almost out of salt at home anyway. How about you come with me tomorrow to buy some?” Chang Jinhua started wondering if the thing Meng Wan said they were missing had something to do with salt.

Meng Wan did want to head into town. At this time of year, everyone in the village was busy with the harvest. The Song family had rented out their land, so they had a bit more free time than most. He and Chang Jinhua spent the day clearing out the withered vegetable stalks and frames from the garden, turning over the soil, and planting cabbage and radish seeds—those two crops would get them through the winter.

The next morning, Chang Jinhua put on her long padded jacket. The padded jacket she'd made for Meng Wan was still too warm to wear right now, but the thin cotton skirt fit him just right. The brand-new indigo-blue skirt was a perfect fit.

Since he wasn't married yet, he couldn't tie all his hair up. So he tied the top half into a bun and used a wooden hairpin to hold it. It wasn't really a hairpin—he'd just grabbed a round stick, sanded the ends, peeled off the rough bark, and used it to keep his hair in place. It was way more convenient than a cloth strip.

He wasn't picky about it, but Chang Jinhua scolded him anyway. “You might as well just tie it with a rag. What kind of look is that supposed to be?”

Meng Wan covered the lower half of his face with a cloth, same as always. “Oh, Auntie, as long as it works, nobody's gonna notice.”

Chang Jinhua didn't know how to feel. Part of her thought that at his age, with his looks, he ought to be dressing up and enjoying being young. But seeing him in new clothes, without a speck of makeup, already drawing so much attention, she was afraid taking him out would stir up trouble.

She'd been a widow for so long that she'd gotten cautious, so she dropped it.

There was only one salt shop in town, with a sign that read “Zhu’s Salt House.”

Chang Jinhua and Meng Wan walked in. There weren't many customers, and every single one walked in with a sour face, grabbed a little jar, and walked out looking just as miserable.

Buying stuff should be a happy thing, so why was everyone so glum? Then Chang Jinhua, standing next to him, let out a sigh.

“Aunt, what’s wrong?” Meng Wan asked, puzzled.

Chang Jinhua pulled a small jar from her basket, the wrinkles on her brow deepening. “Salt's expensive. Ninety coppers a catty. We can barely afford it.”

She bought two catties of salt, paid a hundred and eighty coppers—enough to buy over ten catties of pork. No wonder everyone who came in looked so down in the dumps. Salt was a necessity, something you used up. Families could skip meat, but they couldn't skip salt.

Meng Wan sighed inwardly. This was pure profit. How rich must those salt merchants be? It was mind-blowing.

Given where he stood in society, he didn't dare bring out anything too unusual—he was afraid it'd bring disaster and get him killed. Being sold off and paraded around like livestock was a harsh reminder.

Human life was dirt cheap. A slave's life was worth less than this little jar of salt. The boys and girls he'd traveled with on that cart had all been sold off cheap by their own families. When things got desperate, even your own parents would sell you off like livestock.

The Song mother and son treated him well now, but that was only because he seemed harmless and was a potential husband for their son. If Song Tingzhou passed the imperial exams and had more choices, he might not want to marry someone with slave status. Best case, Meng Wan would end up as a servant in the Song household. Worst case, if they couldn't keep him, he'd be sold off again just like before.

If he could help the Song family out while they were struggling, things might turn out different. Not that he wanted to hold it over them, but at least he could use Song Tingzhou's scholar status to vouch for him and get his slave status cleared. Even if being a boy was still a hassle, it'd be better than being under someone's thumb—at least he'd be free.

Meng Wan pulled himself together. For now, the most important thing was to prove his worth without drawing too much attention.

Taking advantage of the shop being quiet, he asked the clerk, “Brother, do you sell salt brine here?”

The clerk didn't even bother looking at him, just waved him off. “Scram. Salt brine? Never heard of it.”

Chang Jinhua fished two copper coins out of her purse and pressed them into his hand. “The child doesn’t know any better. Here, young man, have some tea on me.”

The clerk lazily pocketed the coins and finally gave Meng Wan a proper look. “What salt brine? Describe it.”

Meng Wan thought the clerk didn't even care about two copper coins—no surprise, given he worked for a salt merchant. He began describing it, “It should come from the same process as salt. White, like stones.”

The clerk suddenly understood. “Oh, you mean bitter stone. Some people who can’t afford salt buy it, boil it in water, and then re-boil it to get a bit of salt. Since you’ve already bought salt, what do you need it for?”

Meng Wan was shocked. Wasn't that stuff toxic? How could it be used to make salt again? That was beyond his knowledge.

The clerk dragged a bag from a dusty corner and opened it, revealing slightly yellow crystalline lumps. “Here. Two coppers for ten catties.”

Meng Wan: “!!!!!”

He tugged at Chang Jinhua, who caught on and said generously, “Then give us twenty catties.”

Meng Wan stopped her. “No, no, Aunt. Ten catties is enough.”

They bought the salt brine and left. Meng Wan took the basket and carried it himself, feeling much more at ease.

As they passed a small alley, Chang Jinhua kept looking inside, her body leaning slightly.

Meng Wan asked, “Is Brother’s private school in this alley?”

Chang Jinhua snapped back to reality and smiled bitterly. “Da Lang’s school is at the west end of town. This alley leads to my maiden home.”

She seemed reluctant to say more, so Meng Wan changed the subject. “If we really succeed in making tofu, we’ll need a wooden tray to press it.”

Chang Jinhua thought for a moment. “There’s a carpenter in the neighboring Tian family village. We can have one made there.”

They walked out slowly, having arrived early and bought salt right away. It was only around 9 a.m.

“Hua Niang…” An elderly voice called from behind.

The wrinkles around Chang Jinhua’s eyes deepened, and her expression showed a hint of timidity. She turned to face the old woman who had hurried after them and whispered, “Mother.”

At nearly forty, she still showed a girlish shyness in front of her own mother.

“You… you… sigh!” The old woman’s eyes brimmed with tears. She wanted to scold Chang Jinhua but also pitied her for raising a child alone after losing her husband. She wanted to invite her home but knew her daughter-in-law, who ran the household, might not allow it. A thousand emotions surged within her, leaving her only able to weep.

“Mother, don’t cry. My life isn’t hard,” Chang Jinhua said, turning to comfort her, though her own eyes reddened.

Meng Wan stood by helplessly. So this was Aunt Song’s mother. They lived so close, yet why did they meet like this?

The elderly mother, over sixty with graying hair, trembled as she held her daughter’s hand. “We haven’t seen each other in three years. How are you doing in the village? How is Tingzhou? And this young boy… is he Tingzhou’s husband?”

Chang Jinhua’s voice choked. “Mother, rest assured. My husband left us some savings, and Tingzhou is filial and sensible. I’m not suffering.”

She took Meng Wan’s hand and didn’t hide the truth from her mother. “This is the boy I’ve chosen for Tingzhou. He hasn’t married into the family yet.”

The elderly mother, short in stature, looked up at Meng Wan. “Oh, his pregnancy mark is bright. He’s a good child.”

Meng Wan said to Chang Jinhua with slight embarrassment, "Auntie, there's a bench by the noodle stall over there. Why don't you help Granny sit down and chat there?"

"No, no, no," Aunt Chang refused.

"I came out to buy some pastries for Yu Geer, your second brother's boy. I can't stay and talk long."

Chang Jinhua knew how bossy her second sister-in-law was and didn't want to make things hard for her mom. "Then you'd better head back quickly."

If it had been two years earlier, she might've said she'd visit once Tingzhou passed the imperial exam, but now she couldn't get the words out.

Aunt Chang looked at her daughter's aged face and couldn't help but grab a few small silver coins from her purse.

Knowing her daughter was proud, she said nothing. While pretending to steady her, she secretly slipped the silver into the basket Meng Wan was holding.

Meng Wan opened his mouth to speak, but the old woman gave him a sharp look before leaving, so he acted like he didn't see it.

Chang Jinhua watched her mother's shaky, frail back walk away, then hung her head and wiped her eyes.

On the way back to the village, Chang Jinhua was feeling down. Once home, she sat on the kang without saying a word. There was silver in the basket, and Meng Wan didn't dare touch it. He carried it into the room, set it at Chang Jinhua's feet, and quietly slipped out.

After feeding the chickens, Meng Wan measured out two jin of soybeans and soaked them in water. Since it was his first time, he kept it small to test it out.

By the time he finished, it was noon. But when Song Tingzhou wasn't home, he and Chang Jinhua only ate two meals a day—and that's how it was for everyone in the village.

Meng Wan had been working all morning, and the two bowls of porridge from breakfast were long gone. His stomach growled a couple of times. He chugged a few bowls of cold water to stave off the hunger and started thinking about grinding the soybeans.

Making tofu was easy in theory but hard in practice. It was the kind of thing that, if no one told you how it was done, you'd never guess it on your own. But once you knew the method, the steps weren't all that complicated.

In Sanquan Village, there was a square for drying grain, smooth and packed down hard. In the middle sat two millstones, one big and one small. Nobody remembered whose they were or when they'd been placed there, but they'd always been there for anyone to use.

The big millstone was heavy—only strong men or animals could pull it. Meng Wan went to the drying ground to try the smaller one and found it wasn't too hard to pull.

He remembered the tofu-selling couple at the market. Despite the crowds, they only made three trays of tofu. The nearby villages probably didn't need much. If he sold in the village, even selling one full tray a day would be good. If he tried selling in town, he wasn't up for walking that far.

Meng Wan felt a bit frustrated. Ah, whatever, he'd just make some tomorrow and see how it went. At least it was cheap, so he wouldn't lose much.

The grain piles on the drying ground kept growing. The villagers somehow managed to keep track of which pile belonged to which family. Once one family's grain was dried and taken home, another would take its place.

The whole village was busy with the autumn harvest, except for the idle Widow Song and Meng Wan, who stuck out like a sore thumb.

Being a widow for so long, Chang Jinhua knew better than to draw attention and never went where people gathered. But Meng Wan couldn't stay put—he was either up in the hills digging for wild vegetables or wandering by the creek at the village edge. The villagers had gotten used to seeing Widow Song's boy running around, and they were generally kind to him.

"Wan Geer, are you just playing with that millstone by yourself?" The Tian family was also harvesting, but they had plenty of labor. Uncle Tian and his wife, along with their two sons, Tian Xing and Tian Wang, were all in the fields. Their daughter-in-law Zhu Geer stayed home cooking, doing laundry, and feeding the livestock. Little Mei sometimes picked up stray rice stalks in the fields, but when she got bored, she'd find an excuse to go to the drying ground to turn the grain and sneak in some more time off.

Meng Wan smiled at her. "This isn't playing."

"If it's not playing, then what is it? I think you're just slacking off like me." Little Mei liked talking to him; she always found whatever he said interesting.

"So you know you're slacking off? Why don't you help your sister-in-law with some work? I saw her fall earlier—there was a purple bruise on her face this morning."

Little Mei leaned in with a mysterious look. "That wasn't from a fall."

"Not a fall? Then a bump?" Meng Wan was thinking about the tofu and only half-listening to her.

Little Mei got impatient. "How can you be so dense? Who gets a bruise like that from a bump!"

Meng Wan was annoyed. "What, did someone hit her?"

Little Mei gave him a look like he'd finally guessed right.

Now it was Meng Wan's turn to be surprised. "Who hit her?"

"You tell me. It wasn't me, was it?"

That meant it was Tian Xing.

Little Mei sighed. "Big Brother looks so honest and simple, but I never would've guessed he'd beat his husband on the kang at home. You really can't judge a book by its cover."

Even Meng Wan hadn't expected the usually meek-looking Tian Xing to hit his husband. People really were unpredictable.

Little Mei wanted to gossip more about her family, but then Zhang Xiaoyu came pushing a cartload of grain. It was an old-fashioned handcart, heavy and hard to maneuver. Zhang Xiaoyu looked like he'd been working all day, covered in dust and clearly in a bad mood.

"You lazy young punks, running around everywhere! Can't you see you're blocking the way? Move it!"

He was just picking a fight. The drying ground was huge—there was plenty of space to spread out grain. He didn't have to squeeze right past them.

Little Mei was like a crab in its hole—tough only at home. Faced with a scolding from an elder she didn't know well, she shrank back and moved away.

Meng Wan wasn't about to put up with it. "Second Uncle's wife, my apologies. We were so deep in conversation that I only saw the big cart of grain and not the person. I thought the grain had grown legs and was walking by itself—like some ghost story!"

Zhang Xiaoyu's face turned dark. "Are you blind? I'm a grown man right here, and you can't see me? What's all this talk of ghosts and spirits?"