There was a large pit dug out at the back of Nenjen’s house. He probably usually burned his trash. There were black burn marks left.
“Is this where you normally burn the locust eggs?” Maomao checked with Nenjen.
“Yeah. I burn it with fuel since it doesn’t burn easily,” he replied.
By fuel, he probably meant oil and sheep manure. The firewood and charcoal that Maomao and the others used were high-class items in this region.
“…since we’re already at it, I want to burn them in a different way…” she said.
Upon hearing Maomao’s request, Nenjen looked doubtful. “Sure why not, but how are you going to do it?”
“For now, I’ll be borrowing that pot over there.” Maomao ran her fingers down the large pot. It was well made despite its age, so it should still be useable once the rust was removed. It looked like it had been left here for a long time; there were dried grass and dead insects inside.
She flipped it over and scrubbed it with a straw brush.
“Here you go, Maomao-san.”
Chue came over with water drawn from the stream. Maomao gratefully made use of it.
“What a large pot. You can probably make pepper beef stir fry for thirty people in one go,” Chue remarked.
“Was it used for emergency rice feeding, you think?” Maomao asked.
Maomao and Chue washed the pot from opposite sides. Her tone changed with Chue around.
“This is a rice cooking pot for serfs. One day’s worth of rice was cooked here,” Nenjen said.
“Hoho. So there were a lot of serfs then, huh,” Chue replied.
Chue had heard the bulk of the story Nenjen told. Whether a former bandit, murderer or former serf, the eccentric attendant didn’t seem to care about who she had interacted with.
(How much do the villagers know?)
Although they treated him as an eccentric, it didn’t feel like they were prejudiced against him. On top of how they didn’t seem worried about the locust plague, do the villagers have aloof personalities?
“Would this village be fine with getting attacked by bandits and stuff?” Maomao blurted out.
“I think they would be fiiine.”
Though Maomao was meaning to speak to herself, Chue replied.
“Although they have settled down now, they were originally pastoral folk. There are well-maintained bows and swords in the shed, you know. They have their locational advantage and they’re strong; bandits would need the courage to attack them too.”
From a public order standpoint, it seems that the capital would be many times better.
“So that’s why they target travellers,” Maomao realised.
(I wonder what happened to that guide.)
She had a feeling that she shouldn’t think about it, but there was one thing she wanted to confirm. “Chue-san, why did you have us act as bait? It doesn’t seem like Basen was aware of it and I doubt the Prince of the Moon would do such a thing.”
Jinshi should be sensitive to Maomao’s safety at this point in time. Even having Basen as an escort, could be regarded as Jinshi’s way of being considerate.
Chue smiled, her small eyes squinting. “My order was to decrease risk. Rather than being uncertain about when you’ll be attacked, wouldn’t you think that it’s safer to designate when you do get attacked?”
It was a Chue-esque safe plan.
“Normally, I think it’s safer to not know of the danger,” Maomao said.
“Maomao-san, you have nerves of iron. I just thought you’d prefer to pick a logical method,” Chue said.
“I’m telling you now, but if I get hit, I’ll die.”
“Yes, I know. I’m looking forward to your resistance to poison.”
This older sister is practical.
While they were chatting, they removed the filth from the pot.
“What are you going to do with this pot?” Chue asked.
“It’s going to hold the locust eggs we collected before,” Maomao said.
“!?” Chue jerked back. “…Maomao-san.”
“Chue-san, rest assured. I won’t be eating it. I won’t.”
“Are you sure?” She looked sceptical.
“Yes. It doesn’t look tasty. And although I did gather some, it grosses me out.”
Having eaten the adult insects, the eggs were quite formidable.
“I’ll add oil—” Maomao said.
“For stir-fry?” Chue asked.
“For burning.”
“Burning?”
Maomao picked up the pot and headed for the shrine. The simple brick shrine. “If you were to light a fire here, wouldn’t it look ritual-like?”
“Hohoh.”
“And, wouldn’t you need a feast at a ritual?” Maomao glanced over to the village children who were still hanging about.
Chue grinned. It seemed like she figured out what Maomao wanted to do. “I see. In that case, leave the decorating to me.” She pulled red decorations out from her lapels. “The pot also needs a stand to display it. Let’s get my brother-in-law and Rahan’s older brother to help out.”
Chue also settled with Rahan’s older brother as his name.
.
.
.
With Chue taking the initiative to make a stage, Maomao was left with cooking up the feast.
Although En’en outshone her with her cooking skill on the level of a professional chef, Maomao took pride in her cooking too.
(Cooking is like compounding medicine.)
It works depending on how ingredients are combined.
“What are you doing?” Nenjen narrowed his remaining eye.
“Since it’s a ritual, it should be fun, right? Because of that, I’ll be cooking up a feast,” Maomao said.
“…I guess, but.” Nenjen shifted his gaze uneasily. It was towards Rahan’s older brother.
“Oi! Don’t use it all! Our supply is limited!”
“I know, I know. More importantly, please steam it quicker,” Maomao said.
“You work people hard!” Rahan’s brother complained as he added fuel to the stove. As if he was repulsed with the idea of touching sheep manure with his bare hand even though it had been dried, he was holding it with sticks.
“Use the tools in my house however you wish. If you’re using my food supply, I’ll be happy if you pay me back later. Life here is tight,” Nenjen said.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’ll be sleeping then.” Nenjen laid down on his shabby bed. He looked healthy, but he was already an elderly man, so working on the fields day after day was probably hard on him.
“Don’t sweet potatoes get sweeter when you cook them slowly?’ Maomao asked.
“I guess so. That’s why it’s better to roast them over high heat,” Rahan’s older brother said.
(Not just farming, he seems well-versed in cooking potatoes.)
No doubt when Rahan thinks up ways to use sweet potato, he would be using Rahan’s older brother. Compared to his younger brother, Rahan’s older brother looked blunt-spoken, but he was too nice. Even so, he acts contrary to how he looks, so it looks like he’s at the extremely normal rebellious phase.
“I don’t know much about the types of dishes, but do you know if there’s anything that can be made with the ingredients available here?” she asked.
“Why are you asking me?!”
“Chue-san said she’s an expert in eating and Basen-sama isn’t reliable.”
It seems Chue could make congee at least, but she’d rather focus on eating complicated dishes.
“…how would I know.”
Rahan’s older brother was bad at lying.
“Is that so… Sorry, I wanted to let you eat a lot of delicious food.” Maomao glanced back. She could see children from the gap of the door of the house. It wasn’t just the siblings; their numbers had somehow grown.
“So you have friends too. You wanted to eat delicious and unusual food, right?” Maomao spoke to the children while thinking it was unlike her to do so.
“Eh, we won’t get to eat the potato?” the younger sister said sadly.
“You can, but sorry. I can only cook food that’s not really delicious,” Maomao said.
“Are you bad at cooking?” Another child tilted their head.
“We want to eat potatoes. We don’t have any…” a child said sadly.
“….” Rahan’s older brother looked awkward.
Sullenly, he turned his back, but then he sighed. After that, he looked over his shoulders and lifted a finger. “Oi, brats. If you want to eat, come help. I’ll let you eat tasty food.”
The children cheered.
It seems Rahan’s older brother was really like the eldest son.
(Easy.)
Maomao thought as she lifted the lid of the steamer, and stuck her chopstick into a potato to see if it had softened.
.
.
.
When they finished cooking, the decorations around the shrine were also done.
In the middle of the shine was the pot containing locust eggs. Luckily, there were bricks to assemble a makeshift stand.
The plain brick shrine had red banners hanging in various places. Tallow lamps flickered. The jangling sound came from clappers that had been made from a piece of metal tied to a string. When the wind blew, the metal jangled and the red banners fluttered.
Crude chairs fashioned from felt spread over and barrels were a substitute for a table. The dishes Maomao and the others cooked here laid there.
The sun had barely set over the horizon.
“What on earth is this?”
Not just the children, the adults also came by.
When everyone gathered, Maomao poured oil into the large pot. Using some hay as a firelighter, she set it on fire.
It released a smell that was fragrant-ish, gross-ish. In the dark, the large pot didn’t look like a pot, but became a splendid bonfire.
“Visitors, what are you doing?” the village head tilted his head.
“Allow me to explain.”
Basen stepped forward. Chue was at his side, showing him a slip of paper.
(Cue cards.)
“A long time ago, this village was created to perform a certain ritual,” Basen said.
“…yes, I remember hearing about it. You don’t understand the reason behind single-mindedly digging up the ground, right?” one of the villagers replied.
“That’s right. You probably don’t understand. The reason we came here this time was to tell you the true form of the ritual that has been passed down incompletely,” Basen said.
(Profoundly.)
Basen was speaking in a monotone, but he strangely looked mystical with the bonfire behind him giving him a halo. Chue was also prepared; it seems she was having him read the responses she had written upon the many slips of paper to match with the villagers’ reactions.
(She’s good at using her brother-in-law.)
Rahan’s older brother poked Maomao.
“Hey, is that true?” he whispered to Maomao. The setting of the stage was good, so here was a man who could be deceived.
“That’s what we made up. Please try your best to match with us,” she said.
“Eh, no way.” Are you serious, Rahan’s older brother made a face.
“…is that how it is? I understand why we’re holding a festival here. But may I confirm one more thing?” the villager asked.
“What?” Basen said.
“Isn’t Nenjen the only one entrusted to do this ritual? We didn’t hear about this matter. We were invited by the territory lord at the time to migrate here.”
There were popping sounds in the pot.
In other words, they were fine with carrying out the ritual, but they have no intentions of doing it themselves.
Chue froze for a moment, then showed Basen a slip of paper while thinking.
“I understand. It’s also fine for you people to not do the ritual.” Basen said, then looked at Maomao. Chue winked behind him.
(They passed it to me.)
We’ll leave the rest to you, it meant.
Maomao reluctantly came forward.
Slowly, step by step, she approached the large pot.
(Is there anything I can use? Anything?)
As she walked slowly, she thought up an impromptu script. She stood before the large pot and bowed her head.
“This fire is to send offerings to the gods. A long time ago, there was a time where they would sacrifice people, but it seems the gods had informed them that they did not wish for that.”
She borrowed some lines from a novel that was popular in the inner palace.
“The incarnation of the land god is a bird. He decided to have his favourite food as an offering in exchange.”
She caught sight of the chickens sleeping in the shed.
“Even if you tell us the bird land god, the pasturage god is our…” a villager cut in.
“Oh, you’ve already settled down, and yet you’re still believing in an old god?” Chue said forcedly.
“Is that why, I wonder? The reason the wheat harvest is poor in this region. Hasn’t it been bad every year? I wonder if it’s because you stay here without believing in the land god?” Maomao said.
The villagers started to mutter amongst themselves.
It was probably true that the wheat harvest had decreased. It’ll turn bad with such a skimped way of growing. Unlike rice, wheat would make the soil barren if not done properly.
(Does it sound good?)
However…
“Isn’t it just barren soil? I mean, do gods really exist?” a young villager countered.
(Be more religious!)
Maomao thought, even though she shouldn’t say things about others.
“It’s a bit late to tell us about the gods now.”
“That’s true. Even if we don’t have a harvest, the territory lord has a magnanimous heart.”
“That’s right. Rather than a god we have no idea exists or not, I would prefer a compassionate territory lord.”
Here, here, they cried out.
(Yeah, that’s true. Seeing is believing.)
She understood so it can’t be helped.
“Fufu,” Maomao laughed.
“What’s so funny?’
“No, it seems you misunderstood, so let me say it again. ‘It’s also fine for you people to not do the ritual,’” she repeated Basen’s words.
Maomao turned her back to the villagers and fished through her bosom pocket.
(Umm, right here.)
Then she swung her hand overhead.
The flame in the large pot flared.
“Th-the fire!”
“What, the colour changed!”
(How nostalgic.)
Maomao’s bosom pocket contained the disinfectant alcohol she always carried with her. As well as the salt shards she had used for cooking just now. Chue had said that salt is a high class good, so she took some.
(It would’ve been better if there was copper.)
It would probably be more astonishing if the fire changed to green.
When Maomao turned around, she wore a business smile. “Well then, I’d have you join in with the ritual, but.” She looked at the dishes on the barrel chairs. “It seems we made a bit too much food tonight. Shall we have everyone partake it in before it gets cold?”
“Yayyy–” The children raised their hands towards the sky. It was probably no good to help out and not get to eat.
While everyone was looking towards the dishes, Maomao poked Chue. “Please stop making me do the unreasonable,” she sighed. Honestly, she was covered in cold sweat.
“I believed Maomao-san could do it,” Chue said with an air of innocence, then grinned and joined in with the scramble for the feast.
(It’ll be great if it goes well though.)
Maomao was drained, so she decided to rest in the tent first.
