Chapter 50 - Chapter 43: Bottled Sunlight and Fire

🍷Chapter 43: Bottled Sunlight and Fire

🌍 March 21, 96 BCE – Early Spring 🌱

Festival Illustration: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1I4l-t97b-MdRzmT_D9_ENN0kvJGmJiYw/view?usp=drive_link

Too bad Webnovel doesn't let me embed pictures in here like other sites do. 😉 

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With the second spring, as snowmelt spread across the valley floor, the people of the hidden village turned their eyes to the slopes—sun-warmed hills that caught the golden rays from morning to dusk. Junjie, Claudia, and a group of elders stood gazing up at the terraced potential.

"It's time," Junjie said—time to plant vineyards.

The southern and eastern slopes, long cleared and fertilized during the first two years of resettlement, were finally ready for long-term crops. They planted rows of grapevines, their young shoots twisted around stakes, each chosen from hardy mountain varietals found in surrounding regions. With Nano's data mining and soil analysis, they could pinpoint the best rootstock for local conditions—drought-resistant, cold-hardy, and fruit-rich.

It wasn't just grapes. On the lower slopes and riverbank terraces, they planted barley and hops, plums, apples, and other fruit trees and herbs destined to become the backbone of a booming brewery and distillery operation. But planting alone wasn't enough—life needed help to flourish.

🍯 The Golden Airforce

Not long after the first vineyards clung to the lower slopes and the orchards began blossoming in the valley's gentler pockets, a realization settled over the growers: they needed pollinators—lots of them.

Junjie, Chengde, and a few of the herbalists gathered beneath a blooming apricot tree, watching a meager cluster of native bees do their best. It wasn't enough.

So they built the Bee Gardens—a quiet corner of the valley tucked near the orchards and warmed by sun-trapped stone walls. Here, they introduced a dozen wooden Langstroth-style hives, hand-built from the Twin Teeth Sawmill's finest cuts. Each hive housed carefully introduced and selectively bred Valley Gold Bees—a gentle but hardy strain descended from Silk Road species, now thriving in their mountain home.

Nano optimized the hive entrances to regulate airflow, and even suggested pollen trap attachments to help measure foraging range and efficiency. Some of the herbalists treated the hives with calming smoke blends, which they swore made the honey taste better.

Before long, the bees were everywhere—buzzing between flowering grapevines, cherry blossoms, and apple trees. They worked as tirelessly as the villagers. It was said that if you stood still in the vineyards during midsummer, you could feel the air itself hum with the golden pulse of life.

By the time the first honey harvest came, they bottled it alongside the wine and brandy. It was dark, floral, and rich—Valley Gold, they called it.

With so many animals already producing milk, mead and cheese pairings were also on the table.

🍇 Winery & Brewery

Near the edge of the lower village, where the workshops sprawled between the blacksmiths and bakers, new buildings sprang up:

A Winery with vaulted underground storage for fermentation and aging. Nano-designed fermentation barrels kept consistent temperatures and pressure—even if no one quite understood how.

A Brewery with copper kettles and wooden vats large enough to bathe in—though if anyone ever tried, no one admitted it.

And tucked behind both, in a secured compound: the Distillery, where gleaming glassware and carefully tuned stills coaxed spirits from mash and wine into crystal-clear brandy, liquors, and future experimental blends.

Nano, of course, had optimized every process. Sugars were balanced, yeast strains curated, and even the bottling system was semi-automated thanks to a pedal-powered conveyor.

Within a few months, the village had casks of crimson wine and golden ale, stone-brewed lager and aromatic brandy, all tested in-house by the village council. The best of it was loaded into crates stamped with the trade shop's insignia: The Whispering Valley Trading House—quiet, elegant, and utterly mysterious.

In the city, the branded bottles sold like wildfire. The story helped, too. The merchant staff—trained by Claudia and coached by Junjie—spun vague tales of hidden groves and mountain-spring-fed vineyards. Rich folk paid extra for the mystery, and inns scrambled to stock it.

Back home, the best batches were reserved for something greater than profit—ritual and memory. The vines and hives, the casks and stills—these weren't merely industries. They were the village's claim on permanence.

🔥 The Four Great Festivals

The villagers now had four official holidays, each one tied to the rhythms of the land, each one deserving of fine drink:

Bloomrise

Held in early spring, when the first flowers and fruit trees bloomed. It was a festival of music, bright colors, and bonfires melting the last of winter. Children wove flower crowns. Elders toasted new beginnings with chilled white wine.

Midsummer

Fertility, fire, and light. At the year's hottest point, couples danced under fire-lit ribbons. Barrels of beer were tapped, and torches burned all night in a massive spiral dance around the fire circle.

Harvest Festival

Feast of feasts. After the fields were cleared and the stores full, the village gorged on roast meats, bread, sweet cakes, and bottomless mugs of ale and mulled wine. Stories were told. Blessings were offered. A whole wheel of brandy-soaked cheese was ignited at the height of the party.

Winter Solstice

The darkest night was greeted with light and drink. Candles in every window, glowing lanterns in the trees. Villagers drank spiced mead and plum brandy while children were gifted sweets and charms. The return of the sun was toasted with solemn joy.

Each festival was more than a party; it was anchor and memory, stitching the village together through seasons of hardship and plenty.

This wasn't just about celebration or profit. Drink had become part of their cultural fabric: brandy in medicine, wine in blessings, beer in labor feasts. Even children were allowed tiny sips at festivals—a rite of passage, carefully supervised, naturally.

And in every bottle, every drop, was a memory of the valley itself. The sunlit slopes. The clean river water. The sweat of hands who planted, pressed, and poured.

Junjie raised a glass with Claudia on the hilltop one night, looking down at the terraced vines bathed in moonlight. "We built all this," she whispered. He nodded. "And we're just getting started."