Chapter Seventeen: Ancient Method Brown Sugar

  A dreamless night.

  In the morning, I opened the window and a refreshing breeze carrying the scent of bamboo shoots came in, Song Wen greedily took a deep breath and was intoxicated by it.

  After washing up, he let the little dog and hedgehog out of the fan to move freely. He himself came to the lake in front of the house, exercised, twisted his hips and waist, shook his hands and feet, and slightly moved around before starting to punch by the lake.

  He only saw him holding a wine cup in his hand, staring at the wine in the cup, staggering and stumbling, his body fluttering like a madman, sometimes like a carp jumping out of the water, leaping over the rivers and seas; sometimes like a swallow flipping its body, soaring and dancing in the air; sometimes like a black dragon coiling around a pillar, his movements unpredictable. The wind from his fists was frightening, his footwork bewildering. His punches were hard but not stiff, soft but not weak, slow but not scattered, light but not floating, heavy but not stagnant, giving people a sense of strength and elegance.

  Look at that elusive figure and the fist in his hand like a wine cup, no need to ask, it's Drunken Fist. The characteristic of Drunken Fist is that it seems drunk but not drunk, like madness, movements are elusive, seemingly unintentional, yet every punch is full of true intention, if not moving, then still, once moved, the whole body will be launched, and must bring the opponent to death.

  The Song family moved to this place during the Song and Yuan dynasties, fighting against thieves and beasts, and naturally had its own set of fist traditions, that is, Taizu Changquan. Song Wen practiced it when he was young, but wasn't very interested, instead, a drunken fist he accidentally bought from a street stall sparked his interest.

  I remember that year he was only 21, unintentionally saw this book on a street stall, and was fascinated by the elusive figure and boxing in the book. So, I persisted in practicing it, and it has been seven or eight years now.

  After practicing a set of boxing moves, his forehead was already slightly sweaty.

  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, focused on the elixir field, made nine turns around it, then suddenly exhaled, expelling the stale air from his body. He repeated this process several times before closing his eyes to cultivate his spirit.

  Suddenly, I felt my mouth filled with golden liquid, and hastily swallowed it three times. My hands stroked the Dan Tian, thinking of nothing, emptying the emptiness, left six-six, right six-six, breathing naturally, and when I opened my eyes again, it was as if I had entered a new heaven and earth.

  She slightly moved her body, and a crisp crackling sound like jade was emitted from between her joints.

  His heart skipped a beat, his fist was like holding a wine cup, urging him to drink and change cups again, a series of punches were thrown out in a row, a burst of breaking air sound suddenly entered his ears.

  Song Wen's face stiffened as he listened. He remembered that when he used to practice boxing, he also had a feeling of strength, but it was never accompanied by this sound of breaking through the air. It seemed that the spring water in the Ruyi fan not only made people want to pull their hair out, but it really could wash one's marrow and bones clean; it seemed that from now on, he should drink it often.

  Back in the house, his dad and second uncle were still not up, it seemed that the two of them really got drunk yesterday. It's also unknown what these two old men are thinking, they're already at this age, but still showing off like young people.

  He came into the kitchen to cook, thinking no one was up yet, but his mom was already there.

  "Mom, why did you get up so early."

  "It's still early, almost seven o'clock. Go and see if your father and second uncle are awake, call them out to eat."

  "Oh."

  Song Wen arrived at the back and saw that Second Uncle and Father were still snoring away, but he didn't bother them and went straight to the backyard to feed the chickens and ducks.

  The chickens and ducks are still young, they can't eat anything too coarse, so they can only eat easily digestible feed. Once they get a bit bigger, it won't be such a bother. There's plenty of food for them to eat in this bamboo forest.

  Song Wen fed the chickens and ducks, then went to see the water buffalo and added some fodder. The water buffalo's belly is getting bigger and bigger, it's estimated that it will give birth soon.

  Back in the house, the little dog immediately ran over, wagging its tail and pulling on his pant leg, "wah wah" calling out, seemingly hungry.

  He went to the refrigerator, took out the milk he had bought, heated it up a bit, and poured it for the little dog to drink. Then he took some cooked pig liver from the refrigerator, heated it up a bit, and brought it to the back for the little hedgehog to eat. This guy, as soon as he came out of his cozy nest, ran into the hole in the corner of the wall and stayed there, apparently treating the hole he had dug himself yesterday as home.

  His second uncle and his father were still snoring loudly, but his little nephew heard the puppy's barking and rushed out quickly, without even putting on his clothes. As soon as he saw the puppy licking milk over there, he squatted down and stared at it foolishly, his tongue also imitating its movements. Lin Qinglan chased after him with his clothes, persuading him for a long time before he finally put them on.

  Song Wen is not yet married and has no children, in his family there is only him, his older brother and a boy born to Lin Qinglan. His parents are extremely spoiled, they would pick the stars from the sky for him if they could, usually they don't even dare scold him, so this little guy has a bit of an arrogant temper, only his mother Lin Qinglan can control him.

  Today I'm going to help someone make sugar, and I don't dare to delay, so after eating, I rode a motorcycle to meet with Song Hu together.

  Arriving at the noodle shop, Song Hu was still eating. Seeing him come, he hastily finished his meal and then walked with him to a large tile-roofed house next to Songjia Village.

  The tile house has walls on both sides, with windows for ventilation, looking very bright. Inside, several large earth stoves are built, with six large iron pots placed on top. This is a place set up by the village to allow villagers to make brown sugar or cook large pots of rice for special occasions such as weddings and celebrations. However, these large iron pots are specifically used for making brown sugar and cannot be used for other purposes, in order to prevent the brown sugar from being contaminated with other flavors.

  A corner of the tile house, piled with bamboo shoots cut yesterday, the high mountain of bamboo shoots makes people's eyes dizzy. Next to it is a juicer, Tian Shui is squeezing bamboo juice over there.

  In the days without juicers, villages used to use cows to pull a stone mill as high as a person next to a tile house to grind out bamboo shoots juice, now it's much better than before.

  Tian Shui's father, Yi Min, was lighting the earth stove, and several relatives who were called over by his family were holding a two-meter-long spoon on the side, preparing. When Tian Shui poured the bamboo sugar juice into the pot to boil, they started scooping off the foam on top with their spoons. Song Wen and Song Hu looked on and hurriedly came forward to help.

  The technique of making brown sugar in Songjiabao has been passed down from generation to generation since the old days, and it is said that it was inherited from the Tang Dynasty.

  It sounds mysterious, but it's actually very simple. The main thing is to first squeeze the sugarcane juice out of the bamboo, then pour it into a pot and simmer over fire, constantly adding milk, until the original brown sugar syrup turns reddish-yellow, after simmering until thick, remove and dry, finally getting red sugar.

  In the old method, lime was added to remove impurities and decolorize, but nowadays, juicers come with a built-in filtration system, so the extracted sugarcane juice is basically free of any impurities and is clear and sweet. Therefore, villages no longer use lime, and excessive use of lime can also be harmful to the human body. As for color, adding milk is undoubtedly the best choice.

  When making brown sugar, adding cow's milk can make the color of the sugar more vibrant and richer in nutrients, but the cost is too high, ordinary people can't afford it. Not to mention factories that make money, most sugar factories use lime and sulfuric acid for decolorization and clarification.

  Making brown sugar sounds simple, but the process is quite troublesome.

  From the moment the sugarcane juice is poured into the pot, someone must stand in front of the pot to skim off the foam and continuously stir the mixture to prevent the sugarcane juice from solidifying and sticking to the bottom of the pot. At the same time, milk should be constantly added and stirred to make the color of the sugarcane juice more vibrant. When the sugarcane juice has been cooked until it is thick and reddish-brown, the reddened sugarcane juice should be poured into a wooden trough or brick sugar mold made of wood for cooling. After cooling, the red sugar is done.

  Song Wen and Song Hu stood in front of a large pot, holding a two-meter-long iron spoon stirring constantly in the big iron pot filled with sugarcane juice, occasionally pouring in cow's milk. The cow's milk was also fresh goods, all ordered by Tian Shui's old dad last night from several households raising cattle in the village, and delivered early this morning, just a few barrels, costing hundreds of dollars.

  The fierce flames of the stove made Song Wenhong and Song Hu feel extremely hot, their clothes were almost all taken off, leaving only one piece of underwear. But even so, the two were still sweating profusely.

  Song Hu stopped and shook his hands to relieve the numbness, glancing at a few people beside him who were stirring the brown sugar with great effort. He muttered to himself: "If I had known it was so tiring, I wouldn't have come. It's better to stay home and take care of the kids." Although Tian Shui's family would give him some brown sugar as compensation in the end, the input and output were clearly disproportionate, which was why he was complaining.

  The good brown sugar was all packed in individual bags, wrapped tightly to prevent moisture. Those small brick-sized bricks of sugar were also placed in paper boxes with plastic bags and stacked up neatly.