Chapter 119: Chapter 70: The Pigs’ Black Twelfth Month

That one time, she’d seen an old ox weeping and had cried her heart out. But that night, she ate braised beef all the same.

That’s why country folk were so strange. They didn’t have much of a taste for things like old turtles, yellow eels, or frogs, and few people ate them. Yet, when it came to the oxen and dogs that had been with them for years, they could be ruthless.

Juhua had no food taboos and would eat almost anything, but in her past life, she had firmly refused to eat pet dogs. ’They’re truly part of the family,’ she thought. ’The bond they share with their owners is extraordinary. Some are so smart they can understand a great deal of human speech.’ Yet there were always those damnable people who went around stealing dogs—they’d throw down some food, slip a rope around the dog’s neck, and drag it off without a sound. Her family had lost several dogs this way, and each time, she’d been left teary-eyed.

Over the next few days, the New Year’s atmosphere grew thicker. More and more families in the village began to butcher their pigs, and the animals’ miserable squeals frequently echoed all the way to Little Qing Mountain. Wisps of cooking smoke no longer rose only at mealtimes but drifted constantly on the cold wind. The sound of children’s laughter grew more frequent, underscoring the twelfth month’s blend of bustling activity and festive joy.

For the pigs, however, it was a “black December.” All those that were sufficiently fattened met the end of their short lives, making their contribution to the happiness of the farming families.

Juhua carried a bucket of slop—a mix of dishwater, acorns, and rice bran—to the pigpen. Hearing her approach, the large black pig immediately trotted over, grunting. Its big ears flopped over its eyes, so it had to strain its head upward to peek at Juhua from underneath them. It hopefully nudged its snout against the gate, either wanting to get out or just hoping Juhua would pour the food in.

Seeing how fat and sturdy it was, Juhua sighed. ’Not many more meals left for you,’ she thought. ’I hope you’re reborn as a human in your next life. After all, you’re about to bring our family a few taels of silver.’

Once the pig was fed, Juhua ambled back, carrying the empty slop bucket. The little Black Dog bounded playfully ahead of her. It ran to the kitchen door, then stopped and turned, its bright, sparkling eyes fixed on Juhua as it waited for her to catch up. When it noticed she had stopped walking, it hurried back and snuggled against her feet, circling her legs.

Juhua gazed out of the courtyard. The bleakness of winter didn’t seem to affect anyone. The distant sounds from the village—pigs squealing, dogs barking, and children laughing, punctuated by the pop of a firecracker or two—mingled with the sight of smoke drifting from chimneys. It all conspired to lift one’s spirits, filling them with a light, joyful anticipation for the New Year.

The Zheng Family’s generosity had earned them the villagers’ sincere gratitude, and now, as families began butchering their pigs, that gratitude was being warmly repaid.

Zheng Changhe and his son were constantly being invited over by villagers for “butchering soup.” Sometimes they would go, like when it was the Zhao San or Zhang Huai families’ turn. Other times, they would politely decline, claiming to be busy. But regardless of whether they attended, the families would always send over some meat. As a result, Juhua’s family had already collected over ten pounds of pork, and they hadn’t even butchered their own pig yet. It just went to show that navigating social relationships was a subtle art.

Now that they had meat, Juhua decided to make some steamed pork with rice flour. She started by dry-frying white rice and star anise in a wok until the grains turned a golden brown. That evening, after Qingmu got home, they ground the roasted rice and star anise into a fine powder and filled a large jar with it.

Seeing his sister trying out another new recipe, Qingmu asked, “What’s this for? It smells amazing.” ’If you were just going to mix this powder with hot water to eat,’ he thought, ’you wouldn’t add star anise.’

Juhua steadied the jar as her brother poured the rice powder in. “You mix it with pork and steam it,” she explained with a gentle smile. “It should be delicious.”

Qingmu laughed. “Is there any doubt? Pork is delicious no matter how you cook it.”

Juhua shot him a sideways glance. “Well then, wait until I’ve made it. You can try it and see which you like better: this or the way we usually cook pork.”

“Alright, I’ll look forward to it tomorrow,” Qingmu said with a grin. He deftly lifted the top half of the stone mill, used a bamboo brush to gather the remaining powder into a pile, and swept it into the jar.

The weather had turned even colder over the past few days. He had wanted to take Juhua up the mountain to play, but they never got the chance.

Juhua asked, “Brother, when does your school let out for the holiday?”

Qingmu replied without looking up from his work, “Not until the twentieth of the twelfth month. We go back on the twentieth of the first month next year.”

Juhua heard this and thought, ’Good, at least he’ll have a few days off. With my brother home, my workload will be much lighter.’

The next day around noon, Juhua started by marinating bite-sized pieces of pork belly in soy sauce and salt for two hours. Then, she mixed the pork with the rice powder, tossing it until evenly coated. She lined a steamer with a layer of large leaves from a yellow-heart cabbage, poured the pork mixture on top, put on the lid, and lit the fire to begin steaming.

When Mother Yang got home, she caught a whiff of an unusual, fragrant aroma. She entered the kitchen, beaming. “Juhua, what are you making now?”

Seeing her mother, Juhua said cheerfully, “I’m steaming pork! Mom, you have to try it later and see if you like it.”

Mother Yang had heard Juhua mention this steamed pork last night. Seeing that she had actually made it, she smiled. “I don’t even need to taste it. I can tell it’s delicious just by the smell. From now on, I’ll do the cooking. I’m not going out to sell vegetables starting tomorrow. During the twelfth month, nearly every family butchers a pig, and even those who don’t will buy a few pounds of pork, so not many people are buying vegetables anyway.”

Juhua was even more delighted to hear this. She took her mother’s arm and said, “I’ve been wanting to suggest that for a while, Mom, but I was afraid you’d be reluctant to stop. Selling pig offal makes a little money, but it’s such a hassle and keeps the whole family tied up. Before, when money was tight, we had no choice—it was a way to make ends meet. But now that we have our own land and we’re planning to raise more pigs, we just don’t have the energy for that business. Besides, since we told everyone how to clean the organs, it’s probably going to be hard to buy them cheap anymore anyway.”

An extra Chapter to thank my readers for their support. To those reading pirated copies, please be merciful. (To be continued. If you like this work, you are welcome to come to Qidian (qidian.com) to vote with recommendation and monthly tickets. Your support is my greatest motivation.)

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep