Early morning in Wangzhou City, the streets were sparsely populated.
"Brother Mu, what are we doing? San Gou and the others went outside the city to kidnap girls."
"Kidnap nothing." Xu Mu glanced around and led Si Hu forward. Even if silver came quickly, he refused to stain his conscience.
"Brother Mu, you seem like a different person."
Xu Mu didn't reply. His eyes lit up as an early-morning carriage wobbled down the street, trailing a faint aroma of wine.
"Brother Mu? Why are you spacing out again?"
"Si Hu, follow me!"
"Brother Mu, what are we doing?"
"Making wine!" Xu Mu's voice held excitement. He'd just remembered that ancient wine, made almost entirely by fermentation, had low alcohol content—similar to 后世 beer, with a slightly sour taste. But distilled wine would be completely different: high-proof, burning smoothly down the throat, making every pore tingle with pleasure.
Moreover, distillation materials weren't hard to find—just ordinary grains. Even earthen jars could substitute for distillation pots.
Taking Si Hu, Xu Mu hurried to the market, spending half a tael of silver on twenty catties of old corn. At the pottery shop, after much haggling, he bought three lantern-sized earthen jars for two qian.
With everything ready, Xu Mu rushed back to the dilapidated courtyard, eager to start his private liquor venture.
"The servant wife's gone out again." Si Hu commented as they arrived.
Holding the jars, Xu Mu paused. Looking up, he noticed several stacks of fresh firewood had appeared in the courtyard. The nearby old cattle shed had been cleaned out, its roof covered with straw, and inside stood an old wooden bed with a neatly folded new quilt.
A faint warmth touched Xu Mu's heart. No matter how shabby, this courtyard finally felt like a home.
"Si Hu, bring the wooden bucket and wash it."
"And 搓 those corn kernels, then wash them too."
"Brother Mu, I don't eat corn."
"Want some good wine instead?"
"The February Spring from the Fortune Inn?"
"Pah, that's nothing! Do as I say, and in a few days, I'll treat you to the best wine under heaven."
Xu Mu was confident. Distilled wine, once introduced, would be an astonishing marvel in this era.
Rubbing his forehead, a thought struck him. He cleared half the cattle shed, moving all jars and buckets inside. There was no such thing as intellectual property here—might made right. He didn't want pirates ruining his venture before it even began.
After washing the corn kernels and putting them in the bucket, Xu Mu added well water in proportions from his past-life memory, then covered it tightly with a tattered winter coat, waiting for fermentation.
Technically, he could've distilled the yellow wine from taverns directly, but that would lower the purity and fail to achieve the fiery taste he wanted. Better to follow the full process; any mistakes would be lessons learned.
"Si Hu, find something to weigh this down."
Si Hu ran around the courtyard, returning with several stones—and even a rusty old woodcutter's knife.
"Where'd you get that knife?" Xu Mu startled.
Da Ji's laws forbade commoners from owning iron weapons on pain of severe punishment. His private liquor venture had just started; he didn't need trouble.
"Hey, Brother Mu, you forgot? The officials saw it. This old knife's so rusty and blunt, they didn't even bother registering it."
Xu Mu relaxed, then realized something: the original owner's memories, aside from brothel girls, were mostly trivial nonsense.
"Brother Mu, when can we drink the wine?" Si Hu wiped his hands, squatting to stare at the coat-covered bucket.
"Patience. In a few days." Xu Mu had decided—aside from letting Si Hu taste a little, he'd use the first batch of distilled wine to make a name for himself. In modern terms, it was called experiential marketing.
"Si Hu, stop staring. Rest a bit."
After half a day's work, Xu Mu was exhausted. Spotting the new quilt Jiang Caiwei had bought, drowsiness washed over him. He climbed onto the wooden bed and quickly fell asleep.
When he woke, it was dark. Rubbing his eyes, he saw, far off, Jiang Caiwei's busy silhouette swaying with the dim tung-oil light in the small broken house.
Getting up, he noticed a wooden gate had been built beside the cattle shed—undoubtedly her doing.
He hesitated, not wanting to disturb her, but his movements were too loud. Jiang Caiwei hurried out, and as the night before, held out coins without speaking.
"X-Xu Lang, this humble one earned twenty coins washing clothes today."
Her hands were clearly swollen. God knew how many buckets of clothes she'd washed that day.
Xu Mu hesitated, then took the coins—a second time. He felt like a small tyrant collecting debts.
Jiang Caiwei looked overjoyed, rushing back inside to bring out a bowl—still taro paste, but mixed with wild greens this time.
"Have you eaten?"
"This humble one had two big bowls."
Xu Mu didn't believe her. Waving a hand, he said, "I ate at the restaurant. Keep it for yourself." To convince her, he deliberately burped loudly.
"Go on, eat it. I'm full."
Holding the bowl, Jiang Caiwei stood a moment, then accepted his words, turning back to the house.
Soon, under the tung-oil light, a thin figure ate hungrily, movements slightly stiff but full of joy.
Xu Mu turned away, smiling.