OFTLHFRO C30

Chapter 30: That Was Truly an Eyesore

After making inquiries, Luo Mingchen even went back with them, intending to ask the surrounding neighbors so he wouldn’t wrong innocent people.

But as soon as they turned into a quiet corner, the once “frail and pitiful” young woman changed her tone, her voice turning harsh: “Mother, this tofu just won’t sell.”

At first, quite a few people had bought their tofu. But gradually, as the later customers realized it looked different from what they were used to, those waiting in line quietly slipped away. Only those who had already paid were forced to accept it reluctantly, pinching their noses.

“Xiang’er, why don’t you go tomorrow and ask the steward to force those two men to hand over their tofu recipe? Once we make money, we can share some with him.”

“Tch. That old lecher wants me to be his concubine. Begging him would be worse than asking where those two men live. At least those two don’t look bad—especially the quiet one. He’s much better than the steward.”

“That’s true. But I think they’re sworn brothers…”

The woman sneered, “Who would want sworn brothers when a soft, delicate woman is better?”*

“True enough.”

From the corner where he overheard their conversation, Luo Mingchen: “…”

Excellent. No need to ask further.

Since that was the case, tomorrow he’d make sure to disgust them right back.

When Huo Yan saw Luo Mingchen return, just by his expression he knew trouble was coming.

Sure enough, Luo Mingchen grinned slyly and said, “Tomorrow I’ll take Yueyue to play there.”

“Alright.”

Repair work on the new home couldn’t be finished in just a day or two, but progress wasn’t bad. Normally they would have to treat the craftsmen to meals, but since they weren’t living on-site, that wasn’t feasible. Instead, they simply paid extra silver and left it at that.

Back at home, Luo Mingchen left Huo Yan to watch the tofu as it boiled, while he bundled the dried long beans and pressed them into a jar to pickle.

He also burned some wood ash for preserving salted duck eggs.

Originally, he had planned to pound some red chili with fermented soybeans to make chili-bean paste, but seeing that the tofu was nearly finished, he hurried back to handle it.

Huo Yan asked, “What else do you still want to make?”

“Hm?”

Luo Mingchen was so used to doing everything himself that unless he truly couldn’t manage, he seldom asked for help. For a moment he didn’t catch what Huo Yan meant.

Patiently, Huo Yan reminded him, “Those red chilis—what do you plan to make with them?”

“Oh! That. I’m going to pound them later.”

As he spoke, Luo Mingchen squeezed the dregs of the soybean milk from the tofu mixture. With so much bean pulp, they couldn’t possibly eat it all. Since they didn’t keep many chickens or ducks, they couldn’t feed it to them all at once either. So they often sent the pulp to the village chief, who had two pigs.

But with so much bean pulp daily, the chief refused to take it for free. He gave them a few coppers for it and suggested they sell the rest to pig farmers along the road.

“I’ll do it,” Huo Yan offered.

“You?” Luo Mingchen blinked.

“Mm. It shouldn’t be difficult.”

“It isn’t, but…”

Seeing him hesitate, Huo Yan asked, “Is there some problem?”

“…Nothing. Just chop the chilis small first, then pound them fine with two cleavers. Remember to really crush them.”

The fresh red chilis in the bamboo basket had already been dried of all surface water with Luo Mingchen’s ability. Without his power, they would have to be hand-wiped. If washed and left to dry in the sun, they’d retain too much moisture, and the paste wouldn’t taste good.

Once the chilis were crushed, they would be stored away until soybeans were boiled and left to ferment indoors for three days until they soured properly. Summer was the ideal season for making such things.

“Alright.”

Huo Yan agreed and bent to the work.

When Luo Mingchen came back from his pickling chores, he found Huo Yan’s eyes red from the chili fumes. Laughing, he asked, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he answered casually, pounding away still.

Luo Mingchen chuckled and walked closer. “Why don’t I do it instead?”

“No need.”

Hearing this, Luo Mingchen looked at the chilis. To his surprise, Huo Yan had indeed crushed them thoroughly.

Free of anything pressing, Luo Mingchen went to check on the three siblings.

The instant he entered, a medicinal fragrance greeted him—the scent of herbs that warded off insects and mosquitoes. The two brothers were bent over their books, copying texts, while Huo Xinyue was counting little sweets.

When she saw him, she cried out happily, “Daddy!”

“Good darling.”

Smiling, he stroked her little head, and she immediately stretched out her arms to be picked up.

The two brothers paused and looked up from their brushes. “Little Daddy.”

Holding the little dumpling in his arms, Luo Mingchen passed over to take a look at their progress. To his amazement, in just a few days, Huo Yuhui’s handwriting had improved greatly.

Huo Xiang’s characters were still crooked, though there had been some progress.

“How much do you two have left to copy?” Luo Mingchen asked.

“I’ve got forty left. Xiang still has eighty. His hand hurt before, so he fell behind.”

Huo Yuhui glanced at his younger brother. The difference in their handwriting made it impossible for him to secretly do it all on his behalf. Teacher Mo detested such petty tricks.

Still, Huo Yuhui had been helping him by slipping in a few passages each day among his own work—no more than a third of a page, always hidden in the middle, so no one would notice.

Huo Xiang’s hand didn’t really hurt anymore—he simply lacked patience, embarrassed at how ugly his characters were, especially when stacked together in a page that could make him want to cry.

“Does it still hurt? Didn’t we say it was all better?”

That morning, Luo Mingchen had carefully made sure they both took their medicine before going to school.

Huo Xiang could skip applying topical ointment now, but Huo Yuhui had to keep taking medicine, lest the injuries leave a lasting weakness.

“Little Daddy, my hand hurts from copying.”

Ah, so that was it…

Ruffling his head, Luo Mingchen watched amused as little Huo Xinyue also reached out to pat his hair in mimicry. For fairness, she gave her elder brother’s head two pats too, exploding into giggles.

“Writing is tiring, that’s true, but you’ll adjust. When I studied, my fingers grew calluses. And with brushes, it’s even more difficult. Keep working at it.”

“But Little Daddy, my writing is so ugly! I just can’t get it right.”

Luo Mingchen blinked at him and said, “It’s not very nice, no. But still better than mine. For you to write like this already is very good.”

“Really?”

Huo Xiang looked doubtful, suspicious he was being lied to.

“Really. Work hard and I’ll make some mung bean dessert for you. The chilled kind.”

As soon as he heard this, Huo Xiang perked up instantly. “Okay!”

Even Huo Yuhui’s mouth watered, though he restrained himself. “Little Daddy, maybe we could wait until tomorrow instead?”

“It’s fine, just wait a while.”

Sons at this age could eat a family into poverty—it was natural. Growing boys ate constantly, especially Yuhui, who was always hungry from studying late. Having a small night snack was perfectly normal. Hungry children didn’t sleep well.

Since they had come home early, it was only a little past eight. They could easily eat before ten.

Washing mung beans in the pot, Luo Mingchen lit a fire, tossed in sticks, and then turned to making another round of rice puddings.

This time, he tried out more flavors, though in small quantities.

When Huo Yan finished his pounding and came over to stoke the fire, he saw Luo Mingchen tinkering about and curved his lips with a faint smile.

Footnotes:

 

 

• Chili-bean paste – A common seasoning in Chinese cuisine, made by fermenting soybeans with garlic and chili. In this fictional setting, it’s made with hand-ground chili peppers. 
• Copying texts – referring to punishments where students had to repeatedly copy moral primers such as The Disciples’ Rules (弟子规).