The autumn wind and autumn rain are enough to sadden anyone.
Compared to the lamentations of scholars and artists, farmers undoubtedly feel the impact more strongly and directly, especially during busy farming seasons. When such dreadful weather strikes, it’s enough to make someone want to jump up and curse the heavens.
However, even if one desperately wants to curse, it’s futile. While it’s said that humans can overcome nature, there are many moments when we are small and pitiful compared to the forces of nature.
Han Cheng didn’t know any spells and could not fire a couple of shots to disperse the storm clouds in the sky. Therefore, after feeling melancholy for a while, the best he could do was instruct the people to occasionally go out to the field and check on the grain piles, ensuring the wind hadn’t blown the covering off the stalks of grain. They also dug drainage ditches around the piles to prevent flooding, but beyond that, he couldn’t think of much else.
Han Cheng prayed quietly in his heart, hoping the rain wouldn’t last too long. If it did, the rice in the fields might start sprouting on the stalks.
Even the rice already in the piles would be ruined.
In contrast to Han Cheng’s lackadaisical prayer, the old shaman was much more fervent, wearing a feathered crown and holding a white bone staff.
Had Han Cheng not stopped him, the oldest shaman in the tribe—one older than any of the other shamans in the Green Sparrow Tribe—would have continued his strenuous prayers well into the night.
Peering through the coarse burlap window, Han Cheng saw the clear night sky and the dazzling stars.
The sounds of the tribe’s cheers, the croaking of frogs, and the occasional “plop” of water droplets falling from the eaves filled his ears.
Han Cheng smiled, the shaman smiled, Eldest Senior Brother smiled, and many others in the tribe smiled…
Finally, the last rice was cleared and spread out in the field to dry.
The tribe, which had become much thinner and darker, looked at the scene with smiles of relief.
Not only because all the food had been safely harvested without much loss, ensuring the tribe would have food for the coming year, but also because the divine child was finally going to fulfill his promise to cook a feast before the autumn harvest.
In a small corner near the bamboo forest in the Green Sparrow Tribe, a round little creature rolled around on the ground, looking like a fluffy, large ball.
Nearby, a toddler in split pants, now able to walk steadily, was stumbling after the furry ball, trying to catch it as it rolled around.
The small flower mill, now clean, spun rapidly, grinding soybeans into soy milk. The soybean pulp flowed down in a steady stream, gathered in the trough below the mill.
The fresh soy milk scent filled the air as the mill continued rapidly.
Not far away, Dou, watching all this, scratched his head.
He was looking forward to the delicious food the divine child had promised, but his curiosity turned to confusion after seeing the yellow soybeans Han Cheng had just harvested.
He remembered clearly the taste of yellow soybeans and the discomfort they caused when eaten in excess.
So the divine child was going to make a delicacy with these soybeans? Would the tribe suffer the same discomfort after eating the food he prepared?
After scratching his head, Dou gathered enough courage to tell the excited Han Cheng about the unpleasant effects of eating too many soybeans.
Han Cheng, realizing what Dou meant, recalled that the tribe hadn’t been there when he had made tofu before. Smiling, he reassured Dou not to worry—after making tofu, they wouldn’t have to deal with the discomfort.
Dou scratched his head, pondering for a long time, but still couldn’t understand what tofu was or why it would prevent bloating after eating soybeans.
But he didn’t press further; over time, he had come to understand that this young and mysterious divine child could always produce things that defied expectation.
After Han Cheng ground the soybeans for a while, he handed the task to the shaman, who loved eating tofu.
There was no need to worry about the shaman tiring out. Many young tribe members, who loved turning the stone mill, were gathered around, eagerly waiting to take over when the shaman was done.
Han Cheng, meanwhile, carried two pots of soy milk into the cave, where he would personally oversee the crucial steps of making tofu.
Filtering, boiling, adding coagulant, pressing the tofu…
After carefully executing steps, the hot tofu, slightly yellow and steaming, appeared before the tribe’s eyes.
Dou and others from the Huang Guo tribe, who had been watching, were stunned by the sight of tofu.
Although they had witnessed the whole process, they couldn’t connect the round yellow beans they had seen earlier with this soft, delicate food. They were amazed and utterly fascinated by the transformation.
Though they didn’t know precisely what the divine child was doing, just witnessing the miraculous changes had made them incredibly eager to taste the food he was about to prepare.
Han Cheng fetched a copper knife, cutting the freshly pressed tofu into blocks.
He demonstrated how to cut one into small two-centimeter cubes, then left the rest to those who often cooked.
Then, he continued making more tofu.
While doing so, he also had people prepare the meat of the ten or so rabbits they had caught, finely chopping it with knives to use later.
After a while, with enough tofu cut up, Han Cheng ordered the fire to be lit.
The fire was kindled by the increasingly elderly Fire Two.
Han Cheng thought she could have retired from doing such work at her age. He had told her this repeatedly, but Fire Two insisted on staying busy. At least tending the fire, a skill she had mastered, was something she wasn’t willing to give up.
Having seen that her health was still good, Han Cheng didn’t press the issue. After all, sometimes elderly people should be active rather than sitting idly.
Once the animal fat, which didn’t melt easily, was heated in the pot, Han Cheng added some Sichuan peppercorns.
Once the peppercorns had been fried enough, he added chopped green onions.
When the onions began to turn yellow in the oil, he added a bowl of finely chopped rabbit meat and fried it until fragrant.
Once the aroma filled the air, he added water, salt, and a jar of dark, fermented soybean paste he had prepared earlier.
The soybean paste was made by fermenting cooked soybeans, adding water and salt, sun-drying the mixture, and wrapping it in burlap cloth. Han Cheng had made this paste some time ago, but he had been sparing with it since there wasn’t much of it.
The paste was an essential ingredient for this dish. Making Mapo Tofu would have been quite difficult if he hadn’t saved it.
After simmering the soybean paste and rabbit meat in water, Han Cheng added some more water and then put in the tofu cubes, ensuring they were all submerged.
With everything simmering, he waited for the tofu to absorb the flavors of the sauce.
As the tofu slowly cooked, the fragrant aroma of the dish began to fill the air.
The tribe’s eager and hungry people couldn’t help but flock to the cave. When the first pot was ready, they eagerly dug in, tasting the Mapo tofu for the first time.
They were all amazed, chewing slowly and savoring every bite.
Everyone was shocked by the transformation from the humble yellow bean into such an exquisite dish.
Even those who had seen the whole process were still stunned, struggling to connect the beans they knew so well with the incredible flavor they now tasted.
After tasting the dish, the trade team members were so impressed that they immediately began clamoring to go to other tribes and bring back all the Sichuan peppercorns they could find.
They wanted to ensure the Green Sparrow Tribe could enjoy this flavor daily.
Seeing their enthusiasm, Han Cheng couldn’t help but laugh. If he mentioned chili peppers from the far-off Americas, he was sure the eager crowd would gladly embark on an oceanic adventure to bring them back.