10 Offering

On the mountain, Jiang Zhu was also digging for bamboo shoots. However, he was gathering those that grew near their home. Bamboo is incredibly resilient and grows at an astonishing rate. To avoid damaging the house and to maintain sunlight in the yard, they only kept an old locust tree nearby, cutting down all other large trees, and cleared bamboo and shoots every year.

The crutches were ready. Shen Qingyue tried walking steadily with both and then, feeling restless, followed Jiang Zhu outside the yard to enjoy the scenery. Jiang Zhu couldn’t sit still, while Shen Qingyue insisted on resting. So, Jiang Zhu brought a chair out for Shen Qingyue and placed it by the bamboo grove, where Shen Qingyue watched him cut bamboo and dig shoots.

“The doctor said to move as little as possible,” Jiang Zhu reminded him.

“I know, but if I stay still too long, my leg hurts more,” Shen Qingyue replied.

Jiang Zhu was silent.

Shen Qingyue picked up a young bamboo shoot, too mature to be called a shoot but not quite bamboo yet, and suggested, “Master Jiang, why don’t we steam bamboo tube rice tonight?”

“Bamboo tube rice?”

“Yes, just use these tubes, wash the rice, put it inside, and steam it. We can make it sweet or savory. How about it?”

It was feasible. Such rice was sold in the town and county, but Jiang Zhu had never made it before. Cooking for one was troublesome; compared to brown rice, he preferred noodles, and steamed rice didn’t keep well like dry cakes—it took longer to cook and wasted firewood. However, since Shen Qingyue wanted to eat it and there were two of them now, the weather wasn’t too hot, and leftovers wouldn’t spoil by morning, Jiang Zhu agreed readily.

“Let’s soak the rice first?” Shen Qingyue asked.

“...Soak it?”

“Soaking helps soften it before steaming!”

“Oh...”

“Master Jiang, can we skip adding all your mixed grains this time? Too much nutrition is overwhelming for me.”

Jiang Zhu was puzzled.

They divided the tasks: Shen Qingyue sorted the rice—he insisted on picking the parts of brown rice closest to polished rice to steam—while Jiang Zhu went to the yard to pick vegetables. His small Chinese cabbages were growing fast lately; adding some wild greens meant they could spare a cabbage to grow longer.

Dinner was later than usual; night had fallen, but thankfully they had a glowing "magic tool," so no need for oil lamps. Moonlight and lamplight illuminated the door; Jiang Zhu had never seen such a bright night.

The meal was abundant: leftover chicken soup from the afternoon, a plate of fried tofu, stir-fried bok choy, a cold dish of wild greens, and over a dozen small tubes of bamboo tube rice. They lacked ingredients, so on Shen Qingyue’s suggestion, they made it sweet, with just a little sugar in Jiang Zhu’s kitchen, yet both tasted the sweetness.

Jiang Zhu hadn’t eaten such soft rice in years. He wouldn’t have the patience to sort the brown rice by grade or soak rice beforehand for porridge when cooking alone. Besides, he usually ate mixed grains; even if the rice was soft, the harder grains mixed in made the meal the same.

Jiang Zhu ate heartily, unaware that Shen Qingyue had stopped eating long ago, leaving all the food on the table to himself. Jiang Zhu finally put down his chopsticks.

“Eat more if you can,” Shen Qingyue urged, offering him more food. “At your age, you’re still growing. If you don’t eat enough, I’m only 1.8 meters, but you’re shorter than me by a head. Back where I’m from, you’d be mocked as ‘under 1.7 meters.’ Why save your food then?”

He couldn’t understand. Jiang Zhu had bamboo groves, was skilled at handicrafts, hunted rabbits and wild chickens, yet kept himself so thin. It wasn’t that he lacked carbohydrates; when Shen Qingyue checked Jiang Zhu’s kitchen, his grain reserves were diverse and sufficient for one or two months. He could also sell handicrafts and game to buy more food.

So why avoid polished grains?

Shen Qingyue felt it necessary to give the naive boy a nutrition lesson. Mixed grains were healthy, but not every meal! He wasn’t trying to lose weight. Moreover, others’ mixed grains were mostly polished grains supplemented with some coarse ones. This boy’s grains were purely coarse.

Shen Qingyue sighed. “Do you know what ‘under 1.7 meters’ means?”

Jiang Zhu shook his head but sensed it wasn’t a compliment.

“It means being shorter than 1.7 meters,” Shen Qingyue said.

Jiang Zhu looked confused.

“I’m not saying being under 1.7 meters is bad, but being taller is generally better, got it?”

Jiang Zhu nodded. Being tall gave an advantage in fights; others would think twice before picking on a big guy. He’d suffered losses before.

“Do you want to grow taller?” Shen Qingyue asked.

Jiang Zhu nodded again.

“Then you need a balanced diet,” Shen Qingyue explained.

Jiang Zhu shook his head, not understanding.

“That means eating meat, eggs, vegetables, and enough staple food to meet your body’s needs.”

Jiang Zhu looked puzzled. “I have those.”

“Better if it’s polished grains.”

Jiang Zhu was speechless.

“Your beans and such can be a supplement, but polished grains must be the main part.”

“Everyone eats like this,” Jiang Zhu said.

“Then that’s why they’re short.”

Jiang Zhu was stunned, speechless; his pupils trembled—so that was the reason?

Shen Qingyue sighed deeply, baffled. “I see you don’t dislike polished grains, so why do you always cook mixed grain porridge?”

“I eat whatever I can get.”

“Then why not get polished grains?”

Jiang Zhu hesitated. “If I only want polished grains, they’ll find someone else to trade baskets with.”

Hearing this, Shen Qingyue was puzzled, “Why don’t you just ask for money?”

“People who pay money usually come to the docks or county town. Nearby villages and town mostly trade goods for goods.”

“Then why not go to the docks or county?”

“The dock merchants only want rare items or whole shipments, at least half a ship’s cargo, and it’s too far. The county is even farther and charges entry fees.”

“So you keep bartering?”

Jiang Zhu nodded. “The grass market can also get money; dock merchants buy there, but it only happens every half month.”

Shen Qingyue was stunned. So the market here was a buyer’s market where only barter worked?

He was silent for a long moment before asking, “What counts as rare items?”

Jiang Zhu thought but couldn’t define a standard. He seldom went to the docks and wasn’t sure. “Just things not common, obviously valuable. The things I weave aren’t good enough; they don’t want them unless it’s a whole shipload.”

Shen Qingyue understood: either rare goods with high profit or common goods with low profit but large volume. Bamboo crafts weren’t rare, so only volume sold. Even if Jiang Zhu made a whole shipment, dock merchants might still haggle.

Selling at the market might be more profitable than selling to the merchant ships.

So the situation was...

“You can’t get money, so you have to barter, taking what others offer, which is coarse grains without polished grains, so you end up eating coarse grains?”

Jiang Zhu felt awkward and explained, “Not really. Trading coarse grains is more cost-effective.”

“Why?”

“You can trade a pound of polished grain for almost two pounds of unhulled grain. Trading for coarse grains yields more, so you can eat your fill!”

Thus, villagers preferred to barter for coarse grains, which kept better than polished rice or white flour. For festivals or offerings, they would mill polished grains themselves.

Shen Qingyue never expected this. He had been presumptuous, forgetting that in this underdeveloped era, ordinary people valued filling their stomachs more than eating well.

Seeing Shen Qingyue silent again, Jiang Zhu guessed he must have lived well before, eating polished rice and white flour without worries.

Patiently, Jiang Zhu explained, “Not all coarse grains are cheaper. Here, green and red beans are more expensive than white rice. Sometimes I get money for them. If you want white rice and flour, it’s actually more economical for me to trade for brown rice and wheat and mill it myself than to trade directly for polished rice or flour.”

Shen Qingyue was stunned: green and red beans more expensive than rice, and milling it yourself?

He suddenly understood why Jiang Zhu seemed to avoid polished grains. It wasn’t a lack of food—his kitchen had plenty, including green and red beans more costly than rice. Their problem wasn’t hunger but rough eating.

Before Shen Qingyue came, Jiang Zhu was alone, but even at seventeen, he was more capable than the adult Shen Qingyue. Jiang Zhu grew vegetables, tended a bamboo grove, hunted, and could trade handicrafts for staples. Even without money, he lacked nothing.

Shen Qingyue’s gaze grew complex. He suspected Jiang Zhu kept such a variety of grains because he lacked nothing and was willing to take whatever he could get, then eat what he had.

Pouring himself tea, Shen Qingyue thought he’d never seen anyone so undemanding—easier to care for than a pig.

Jiang Zhu felt unnerved under his gaze, timidly asking, “You... you want white rice and white flour?”

Shen Qingyue laughed, “Why me? Well, yes, I want noodles, steamed buns, rice, soft cakes, and meat. Master Jiang, don’t you remember? I’m a ‘deity.’ How did you offer sacrifices to the mountain god, and how do you offer to me?”

“Offerings?”

Jiang Zhu was stunned, bewildered.

“Yes!” Shen Qingyue cheekily added, “A banished deity isn’t a deity anymore?”

“Isn’t it a trial?” Jiang Zhu asked.

“Same thing,” Shen Qingyue improvised.

Not really, but Jiang Zhu somehow believed it more. So he was banished! No wonder there were disasters and sickness.

Thinking about Shen Qingyue, being banished seemed oddly fitting.

“Snap out of it, what are you thinking?”

Jiang Zhu shook his head quickly. “How do I offer sacrifices?”

“...How did you offer to the mountain god?”

“During New Year, early spring, Mid-Autumn, and the god’s birthday, we burn incense and candles, set offerings.”

Shen Qingyue was speechless. That would starve him!

He pondered. “No, we’re different. The mountain god has many people offering sacrifices; I only have you. The mountain god is still a god; I... ahem... am undergoing a trial, no powers, hungry like a mortal.”

Jiang Zhu nodded repeatedly, understanding.

“So you must offer three meals a day.”

Jiang Zhu nodded again.

Shen Qingyue felt his shamelessness skills rising rapidly. “Considering your situation, let’s do polished grains once a day, meat once every ten days, tofu every three days, one egg a day?”

Jiang Zhu hesitated but nodded, thinking offerings could be negotiated.

Shen Qingyue thoughtfully added, “If no eggs, substitute tofu or vegetables. Seasonal fruits and vegetables must be included, at least one cooked dish daily, no more boiling or cold dishes! Use more oil, less salt.”

It wasn’t easy. He used to tell restaurants to use less oil and salt.

“Alright, that’s enough for now. I’ll add more later if I think of it. Eating and drinking are important. Why work so hard if you’re just going to get by? Treat yourself better.”

Jiang Zhu nodded. For some reason, his chest felt tight and his eyes warm.

Shen Qingyue chuckled, “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.” He hadn’t shed tears.

“Oh,” he laughed, “holding it back. Living alone, suddenly having someone to talk to can make you sentimental.” He pushed the dishes toward Jiang Zhu. “I misjudged you. Eat up.”

Jiang Zhu nodded silently, lowering his head to eat, not telling Shen Qingyue that no one had ever talked to him like this before.