Chapter Thirty-Eight: Success!

The procession arrived at the entrance of the ancestral hall and halted as one. The musicians switched their tune to the “Calming Spirits Melody.” Within the main hall, incense and candles blazed upon the altar, which was already laden with sacrificial offerings: pork, chicken, fish, fruits, wine, and other tributes.

The bearer of the genealogy box stepped slowly into the hall, gently placing the box at the center of the altar. The ritual leader called, “The genealogy returns to its place…” All clan members bowed four times. The genealogy master advanced, opened the box, and extracted the family records, unfurling the main volume to reveal the name of the founding ancestor for all to admire. At this moment, silence was demanded; only the soft crackle of candle flames could be heard, the atmosphere solemn and reverent.

Su Lu stared wide-eyed at the main genealogy page, where it read: “Su Gong, styled Zizhan, known as the Hermit of Dongpo, posthumously titled Wen Zhong, migrated from Meishan to Suzhou.” He felt deeply moved. Yet he wondered why his father had been omitted—was Su Laoquan lacking in status?

Once the welcoming ceremony concluded, the elder clan leader took up the genealogy and recited the family precepts aloud to the assembled kin: “Study diligently, pursue upright professions, practice filial piety and loving kindness, take nothing without justice, and govern with integrity!” With each line the elder intoned, the clan echoed it in turn, Su Lu among them. Now he finally understood the Su family’s obsession with scholarship and officialdom—it had been passed down through generations, even now, deep in the mountains, their ancestors continued to urge them forward.

The clan elder then recounted the family’s history: the first seventy percent was the legendary life of Su Dongpo, the last part detailed the family’s lineage. Their branch descended from Su Dongpo’s eldest son, Su Mai, specifically from Su Mai’s fourth son, Su Quan. Throughout the Song and Yuan dynasties, they resided in Suzhou.

During the dispersals under the Hongwu Emperor, the tenth-generation Ji Min was forcibly relocated to Fengyang as a military household. In Hongwu’s fourteenth year, he came here with Guo Ying’s army, and since then, the family had multiplied generation after generation. By Su Lu’s time, six more generations had passed.

“So, I’m a sixteenth-generation descendant of Su Dongpo?” Su Lu calculated on his fingers, feeling a renewed motivation to study.

Finally, the clan elder led everyone in a shout: “Never forget the ancestors’ grace, may it be passed down forever!” With the ritual complete, the genealogy would remain at the altar until the ancestral rites concluded the next day, then be delivered to the fifth branch. During this period, a dedicated guardian would not leave its side, just in case.

But the clan did not disperse. Instead, they began the lively feast of the Nine Great Bowls—a banquet akin to a family reunion dinner for the whole clan. Both inside and outside the ancestral hall, and even the long alleys, tables were set end to end. Each table bore nine large porcelain bowls: steamed pork with rice flour, braised chicken and duck, sweet and sour fish, assorted steamed dishes, all funded by the Su Family Distillery.

Though the distillery’s business had declined year on year, denying the clan a proper feast for the New Year would invite scorn, and they certainly could not lose face before the Cheng family.

The distillery’s master, Seventh Grandfather, wore an expression of pain as his grandson Su Lang gleefully stuffed chunks of steamed pork into his mouth. “Mmm, so tasty…”

He called to Su Lu, “Eat up! Grandpa says we won’t manage the Nine Great Bowls for more than two years. Might have to cut down to three or five bowls…”

“What’s happened?”

“Distillery business is terrible,” the chubby boy replied without a care. “Our wine’s half the price of the Cheng family’s, but still can’t outsell them. Mmm, the pork is so good.”

“That’s the way with liquor,” replied Su Dan, chewing expertly. “If the taste is worse, the price drops by half.”

“So you two had better study hard, pass the scholar’s exam, and win back our well!” Their friends had pinned their hopes on Su Lu and him; unlike Su Lang, they had no such prospects and would soon settle into honest work, never touching books again.

“Oh, let’s not talk about such downers,” Su Lang said, licking his greasy fingers. “When are we going to the Taiping Temple Fair?”

The Taiping town fair might not rival the county seat’s, but it drew locals and soldiers from a hundred miles around, offering a dazzling array of food and amusements. For boys from a town starved of entertainment, visiting the fair during the New Year was a momentous event.

Su Lu had already asked his second brother—the fair ran from the first to the fifteenth day of the month. He asked, “When’s it busiest?”

“The first three days are quieter—people visit relatives and return home. It gets lively from the fourth day, but the fifteenth is the liveliest,” Su Lang answered, then suggested, “How about we go on the fourth?”

“Sounds good,” the boys agreed eagerly.

“Qiu, you should come too! Don’t go collecting debts during the New Year,” Su Lang grinned at Su Lu. “Let folks have a break…”

“I’ll be there, but I can’t go with you—let’s meet up in the marketplace,” Su Lu replied, smiling.

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“It's so crowded in the market, how will we find you?” the boys worried.

“Don’t worry, just head wherever’s most conspicuous—you’ll definitely spot me,” Su Lu laughed.

“Haha, sounds fun! We’ll try to find you then,” the boys, always up for amusement, were now intrigued.

~~

On the morning of the first day of the New Year, the clan gathered again to settle the genealogy, then returned to the ancestral hall. The younger generation paid respects to their elders, who handed out red envelopes in return.

Afterwards, they followed their uncle and father from house to house, visiting neighbors of other surnames. By the time they returned home, it was already late afternoon.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Su Youcai urged his sons impatiently.

“Let’s eat before you leave?” Aunt poked her head out of the kitchen.

“No, no, we’re in a hurry,” the three slipped out in a flash.

“What’s that attitude? So distant…” Uncle glared at her.

“Wasn’t it you who told me to treat them well?” Aunt replied, aggrieved.

“Fake,” Uncle muttered, “Just pack the food in a box, I’ll bring it to them.”

He paused. “Pack extra.”

“I know, Xia can eat a lot. It’s the first day of the New Year—of course he’ll eat his fill,” Aunt answered readily.

“Heh…” Uncle chuckled, not bothering to argue further.

~~

The three hurried toward the He Family Distillery. Neighbors shook their heads as they passed: “Those three are too much—who goes to collect debts on the first day of the year?”

“So persistent! You’d better not owe them money and delay repayment—it’s deadly…”

The trio ignored the gossip. Their minds were fixed on seeing the fermentation vat.

Su Tai strode ahead, explaining, “Sweet mash only appears for a brief period—if you ignore it, the sweetness quickly fades and the wine flavor grows stronger.”

“Really? That’s amazing!” Su Youcai, who’d never stepped foot in the distillery, knew nothing.

Su Lu, using his basic chemistry knowledge, guessed at the process: brewing was the conversion of starch to sugar, then sugar to alcohol. Sweet mash was likely the product of the first stage—when enzymes in the yeast broke down starch into sugar. The sugar hadn’t yet become alcohol, so it tasted sweet, not boozy.

But if left longer, yeast kept converting sugar to alcohol, so the sweetness vanished and the wine taste intensified… Or so he surmised—who knew if he was right.

The three arrived at the He family courtyard. The widow and her daughters were already waiting anxiously in the distillery. He Tiantian gripped the edge of the large ceramic vat, her face tense as she watched Su Tai. He gently lifted the gauze covering the jar, and a sweet aroma wafted out.

Everyone crowded around the vat, peering inside. The sorghum mash was now topped with a thick, creamy white layer.

Su Tai ladled out some of the cream, wrapped it in gauze, pressed and filtered it, and produced a bowl of half-clear, half-cloudy sweet mash.

“Have a taste,” he instinctively offered it first to Su Lu.

Su Lu took a sip, his eyes lighting up. “So sweet!”

He passed it to his father. Su Youcai tasted it and, inspired, improvised a poem:

“Sorghum yields a thick jade brew,
Honeyed warmth melts worries anew.
A child’s tuition starts with this,
New jars settle old debts amiss!”

“Wonderful poem!” Su Tai and Su Lu applauded, delighted by their father’s talent for spontaneous verse.

Were it not for the taboo of his father’s name, Su Lu would have cried, “Youcai, truly talented!”

Even He Chengshi was entranced, gazing at Su Youcai for a long moment, then bowing gracefully: “Second Brother Su, your heart is noble and generous. I accept your auspicious words.”

She was moved by the final line, “New jars settle old debts amiss”—clearly referring to her family’s old debts.

“Haha, I just composed a poem to cheer everyone up. If you truly wish to ‘settle old debts,’ it’ll depend on this,” Su Youcai said, handing the coarse porcelain bowl to little Tiantian.

“Tiantian, see if it’s sweet?”

“It’s really sweet,” Tiantian tasted it, her lovely eyes curving into crescents, then held it up for her mother. “Mom, try it too.”

The widow hesitated—how many people had drunk from this bowl? But she couldn’t refuse at such a moment, so she took it, turned it, and sipped lightly.

“It’s indeed very sweet.” Her willow brows relaxed and she remarked, “The initial taste is full and clear, sweet but not cloying, like a mouthful of honey water, with a hint of tartness. As it slides down the throat, the tongue picks up a subtle fragrance of rice.”

“Madam has an impressive palate!” Su Lu marveled. “I just tasted sweetness and a bit of sourness.”

“That’s how distillery tasters are,” Su Tai commented quietly.

“When my late husband was alive, he always had me taste new brews. Over time, I learned,” He Chengshi smiled. “Now let’s see how this sweet mash tastes mixed with orange juice.”

The old woman brought a basket of sour mandarins, expertly peeled them, and placed them on the juice press—a bench with a slanted seat, a round pressing platform with a juice groove, and a round pressing board attached to a hardwood lever.

She set the mandarin flesh on the press, then pushed down the lever. The board and platform squeezed the fruit, and golden juice flowed through the groove to the spout.

Tiantian held a bowl under the spout, catching juice from three mandarins, which filled half a bowl.

She handed the juice to “Master Su.” Su Tai tasted it and frowned, passing it to Su Lu, who tried it and stuck out his tongue.

Even Su Youcai found it too sour to compose poetry, but under his sons’ expectant gaze, he managed another playful verse:

“Golden droplets squeezed to brim,
One sip, my jaw’s a-trembling.
Sour to the tongue, sleep’s dispelled,
Saliva falls as lips are swelled…”

This poem was much weaker than the last. Clearly, poetry must arise from genuine feeling, not be forced.

“Bravo!” Luckily, his brothers applauded in time, saving him from embarrassment.

Then Su Tai started gradually adding sweet mash to the bowl.

He truly hadn’t exaggerated—when one part sweet mash was mixed into six parts orange juice, the juice became deliciously sweet and tart, far better than simply adding sugar. Isn’t that miraculous?

ps. Thank you all for your continued support—you’re amazing! Normally, I’d add extra chapters as thanks.

But here’s the issue: as a monk seeking votes for the new book list, once the word count hits 200,000, the book must leave the list. With daily updates of six to seven thousand words, we’re at 130,000 words already. In the next fifteen days, regular updates will exceed the limit, and extra chapters will speed up leaving the list.

This book gets little exposure and relies on the new list to build popularity, so extra chapters will be delayed until launch—please understand. Of course, debts must be repaid with interest. Four chapters are owed, so we’ll repay five—does that sound fair?

It’s the end of the month, so I’ll ask for monthly votes again. Please, everyone! Don’t worry about my ability to repay—I’m young and can carry the loan.

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