Chapter 68: The Road Ahead Is Fraught with Hardship

Su Lu had originally thought that the people of the Ming dynasty were still relatively honest at this time, and that the imperial examinations should be fairly just. Yet, as it turned out, crows everywhere are equally black. There is nothing new under the sun…

He exhaled a long, heavy breath—not because he could not adapt to such an environment, but because he lamented: where in this world is there truly a pure land?

You simply cannot expect others to grant you fairness; if you want something, you must rely on yourself.

Silently, he calculated. Plain hard work would not suffice; both hands must be strong. Though he had spoken confidently to his elder brother about becoming the top candidate of the county, making a name for himself in Luzhou—all that was unreliable in truth. It was still placing hope in the hands of others.

How could one be certain that the top county candidate, who could be directly recommended for the academy examination, did not have some hidden dealings behind his achievement? And how could he guarantee that he would gain fame in Luzhou, rather than become a laughingstock? Even if he did win fame, how much was enough? In the end, it would depend on the mood of the prefect. And what if his advisor insisted on writing a piece of calligraphy for him? Wouldn’t that turn him into a complete clown?

So, in reality, the most reliable path was still to earn more silver and follow the rules…

There was simply no need to spell this out for his elder brother. He did not wish his brother to become, like himself, a thorough pragmatist.

The world is indeed run by pragmatists, but it is only because idealists exist that it does not become unbearably ugly.

Thus, the problem returned to a single word: money.

Su Lu had once naively believed that, with his highly capable godmother and the modest share of Sweetwater Records, he could at least cover his tuition. Then he would only need to shut out the world and devote himself to his studies…

But now, it seemed far from enough—he needed to step up his efforts!

“Brother,” Su Lu softly called to Su Tai, who was leading the way, “do you know how to brew wine?”

“I know the basic steps, but the crucial techniques—like adding yeast and blending the spirits—are all tightly guarded by the master brewers,” Su Tai replied in a muffled voice. “The wine I make is drinkable at best, but far from good. No one would buy it.”

“Of course,” Su Youcai interjected with a laugh, “if the apprentices learned all the secrets, the masters would starve. With so many workers in the distillery, if everyone could do it, how would the business survive? Over the years, I’ve only heard of the He brothers succeeding. But they have a main business to support their experiments for years. Who else has such resources?”

“I heard their wine is quite remarkable,” said Su Lu.

“It is. I even tasted it myself back then. Though it can’t compare to Kunsa wine in flavor, it’s smooth and mellow with a hint of sauce aroma and a slight char, a fine brew in its own right,” Su Youcai sighed. “Its greatest strength is that it can produce wine within a month or two after the first fermentation, and in large quantities, so it can be sold very cheaply.”

“Our head brewer said the same: He’s wine can be sold in bulk at low prices, making even more profit than our Kunsa wine. Sadly…” Su Tai added sympathetically, “if Boss He were still alive, godmother wouldn’t have to work so hard.”

“Mind your tongue!” Su Youcai rarely shot his elder son a glare.

“What did I say?” Su Tai scratched his head.

“It’s nothing; Father just fears ghosts. Best not to bring it up again,” Su Lu quietly reassured his second brother.

“Oh,” Su Tai replied obediently.

The three walked on in silence for a while, when suddenly a pheasant burst into flight. Quick as a flash, Su Tai drew his bow and, with a sharp twang, brought the pheasant down mid-air.

“Heh, roast chicken for dinner,” Su Tai rejoiced, retrieving his arrow and handing it to Su Lu.

“You’re amazing, Second Brother,” Su Lu praised absentmindedly, then, as if struck by inspiration, declared, “I know how He’s white spirits were brewed.”

“Really?” both Su Youcai and Su Tai exclaimed in surprise. “Wasn’t the secret recipe known only to the He brothers?”

“Yes, if they were still alive, no one else would ever know. But with them gone, their secrets can’t be kept forever,” Su Lu said without further suspense, then asked, “Do you remember those broken sorghum grains in godmother’s storeroom?”

“Of course, we ate them for many meals. Later, your second brother used them to brew sweet fermented wine,” said Su Youcai. “Could the secret be in those broken grains?”

“I thought they were making sorghum flour…” Su Tai said innocently.

“Who would grind a thousand catties of sorghum into flour? Were they planning to sell cakes?” Even Su Youcai found that unlikely.

“They used the broken sorghum to brew wine. The process is called ‘crushed sand,’” Su Lu explained. “As I understand it, this method saves time and increases yield because the sorghum is ground.”

“Why does crushing the grain save time?” Su Youcai asked.

“My guess is that when the sorghum is crushed, more starch is exposed and comes in greater contact with the yeast, so fermentation is faster. Unlike whole sorghum, which ferments slowly—hence, it’s ready in a month or two.”

“Why does it yield more wine with the same sorghum?” Su Tai asked.

“Probably because crushed grains absorb water and yeast more thoroughly, fermenting more completely and thus producing more wine,” Su Lu answered, though not entirely certain. But what did it matter? To know that it works is enough; who needs to know precisely why?

In truth, he was merely reasoning backward. He was so confident because, as someone who played Taiwanese computer games, he had reached the age to appreciate a little white spirits before traveling to this world.

In modern times, high-end sauce-aroma baijiu uses whole grains, while mid- and low-end uses crushed grains—basic knowledge for any baijiu enthusiast…

“If it’s as you say, this could be a path to riches!” Su Youcai clapped Su Lu’s shoulder. “But we shouldn’t keep this from your godmother, should we?”

“Father, you’re truly kind,” Su Lu glanced back at Comrade Youcai with a faint smile—who said only girls looked out for outsiders?

“We’re family; there’s no need for secrets. Secrets turn kin into enemies,” Su Youcai coughed, putting on a serious face.

“I never meant to keep it from godmother. When we return, discuss it with her properly. If she’s unwilling, let it be—no forcing her,” Su Lu said. “If she agrees, let Second Brother try it first. If we really can brew wine, we’ll plan carefully…”

“But I’m sure I can’t do it well,” Su Tai felt the pressure mounting.

“Just treat it as an experiment; it won’t take much sorghum anyway,” Su Lu smiled. “Tell me how much money you need, and I’ll get it for you…”

“No need to worry about money—your classmate Ma’s book chest is finished,” Su Tai grinned. “One tael of silver is enough for a trial run.”

“One tael for a book chest? That’s extravagant…” Su Youcai was amazed, but remembering that Ma was the grandson of a military officer, he found it understandable.

“You haven’t seen anything yet; several classmates want my brother’s book chests. I haven’t accepted their orders, worried he’d be overworked,” Su Lu boasted.

“Let them come—I’m not afraid of hard work!” Su Tai perked up; crafting book chests was far more his forte than brewing wine.

Though the three were eager to get home, there was no need to rush as before. By nightfall, they found a dry, sheltered flat on the leeward side of a slope to camp for the night, planning to continue at dawn.

Each went to collect firewood, fetch water, and pluck the pheasant—a busy scene, but by nightfall, they sat by the campfire, boiling water, roasting chicken, and warming their rations.

Yet camping in reality was far from pleasant. The forest was gloomy; after dark, everything was pitch black, with unknown creatures howling nearby, as if at any moment something might leap from the darkness and attack them.

Fortunately, stars still shone above—had it been rainy and overcast, life would have been unbearable…

“I now understand why Big Brother chose to travel by boat for the exams rather than overland,” Su Lu hugged his arms, shivering with goosebumps—whether from cold or fear, he could not tell.

“Count yourself lucky. In earlier days, our Yongning Garrison was under the Guizhou Commandery, not Sichuan, so we had to go to Guizhou to sit for the scholar’s exam,” Su Youcai said, roasting the pheasant while telling stories. “If you passed, you’d then have to travel to Kunming to take the provincial exam.”

“All that trouble?” Su Lu exclaimed. “If you weren’t strong, you’d die en route!”

“You’re only half right. Even those who were strong would die,” Su Youcai chuckled. “It’s said that only half the students survived the journey to Kunming each year. Some fell to malarial miasma, some were bitten by venomous snakes and beasts, and some were captured by the wild tribes and never seen again.”

“Our garrison is five hundred li from Guizhou. For the scholar’s exam, it was a bit better—only a third would die en route,” Su Youcai said, tearing off a chicken leg for his sons. “So each time a student set out for the exam, it was like going to war, bidding their families a final farewell.”

“War probably doesn’t have such a high casualty rate,” Su Lu retorted.

“That’s true,” Su Youcai nodded. “If casualties reached even ten percent, the army would have routed.”

“And then?” Su Lu asked.

“Eventually, even the court couldn’t stomach it. After the Sichuan Commandery took over three garrisons, we were allowed to sit for the county exam in Hejiang, and the prefectural and academy exams in Luzhou,” Su Youcai sighed. “So now, it’s still a special favor from the court. Alas, it’s so hard for us to become scholars.”

“I truly respect Official Cheng now,” Su Lu sighed.

“Indeed. One cannot know how hard the exams are until one tries. The court left the common people so few opportunities…” Su Youcai gloomily tore off the chicken’s tail and ate it with relish.

“At least there’s an opening,” Su Lu said. “Any court that leaves a way out for the people is a good one.”

“That’s true,” Su Youcai nodded. “Compared to the chaos of the Jin and Northern-Southern dynasties, this is paradise for the commoners.”

Comforted by these thoughts, father and sons no longer felt so bitter about their lot.

The three divided the roast pheasant, ate some dry rations, and then Su Lu and Su Youcai went to sleep, while Su Tai kept watch by the fire with his bow and arrows—one must always stand guard when sleeping deep in the mountains.

Lighting a campfire might keep wild beasts at bay, but it could also attract evildoers…

To spare his sons, Su Youcai took the second half of the night, letting Su Tai stand watch first, and neither of them would let Su Lu keep vigil.

No one knew how much time had passed when, curled up together, Su Lu and Su Youcai were sleeping soundly, only to be shaken awake by Su Tai.

“Hush,” Su Tai whispered, signaling them to keep silent, bow drawn and arrow nocked, aiming into the darkness.

The two were now wide awake, startled by his posture. Only then did they hear the shuffling footsteps in the direction Su Tai indicated.

The campfire had already been doused by Su Tai, still sending up wisps of blue smoke. Su Youcai and Su Lu gripped their staves tightly, hiding in the darkness, not daring to breathe.