Chapter 50: Southerners Eat Year Cake

For six-and-a-half-year-old Yang, the winter solstice of the twenty-first year of King Zheng of Qin was something he would never forget for the rest of his life.

Yesterday, Second Father and Uncle used the newly made "treadle pestle" to hull a whole dan of paddy rice in one go — two-thirds of it was long-grain rice, and one-third was glutinous rice. Hulling it into brown rice wasn't enough; they kept hulling until dusk, sifting and winnowing several times before they finally removed all the bran and chaff, yielding pure white polished rice.

Second Father took two dou each of the polished long-grain and glutinous rice, placed them in clay pots, and soaked them in cold, clear well water. Then he scooped up Yang and his little sister Yue, one in each arm, gave each a kiss, and boasted that tomorrow he would make them something delicious...

Because of those words from Second Father, Yang, at an age when his mouth was always craving treats, couldn't fall asleep very late, constantly wondering just what delicacy Second Father had meant.

"It must be malt sugar! I heard Second Father send Uncle to the village market to buy malt sugar!"

His little sister, five-year-old Xiao Yue, opened her eyes wide, and Yang felt as if he could see stars filling the eyes beneath her fringe. Sweet, delicious malt sugar — they only got to eat it two or three times a year.

"It definitely has something to do with that rice." That was what Yang thought.

In his eyes, that polished rice was already a delicacy in itself. Yang was at an age when he was always hungry; eating polished rice, he could gulp it down in big mouthfuls without worrying about the bran scraping his throat raw. But normally, Father had to drag an injured leg out to the fields, and Mother was also terribly busy — she had to keep house, weave cloth, and look after Grandmother; where would she find the time to hull rice so finely?

In the midst of their brimming anticipation, the two children drifted hazily off to sleep. When Yang opened his eyes again, it was already broad daylight the next day — the winter solstice had arrived...

For their family, the winter solstice was not just a solar term; it was also a special day.

Their kindly Grandmother always loved to hold Yang and Yue and ramble on about the old days.

She said that Second Father was born at daybreak on the winter solstice. By coincidence, Uncle Jing was also born on the winter solstice two years later, at dusk. His birth was a complete accident — Grandmother was on her way to bring Grandfather his meal when a rabbit darted past and startled her, and he suddenly came into this world...

So Grandmother often joked about it, saying Uncle Jing had rushed into being born just so he could share the same birthday as Second Father.

Every time they heard this, Yang and Yue would ask curiously how children were born — did they pop out of rocks? Were they fished out of a well? Or was he that rabbit, transformed?

At this, the adults would all look at each other and avoid the subject.

But regarding Heifu and Jing being born on the same day, their grand-aunt, who lived in the village and, though illiterate, understood the Day Book and often fixed dates and hours for people, had this to say: people born on the same month and the same day are surely bound by a shared life-thread; Heifu and Jing were not just brothers — they were fated to live and die together... It all sounded rather mystical.

In any case, the winter solstice was somewhat special for their family, and this year it was even more special — all because of Second Father!

When Yang rubbed his eyes and walked out of his room, he found his mother and aunt already busy in the kitchen, lighting the fire and setting up the cauldron, with a wooden rice-steaming vat placed on top. Once the water in the clay cauldron came to a boil, they ladled the rice, now swollen and white from soaking, into the steaming wooden vat and steamed it over a roaring fire.

Before long, the kitchen was billowing with steam, and the rich fragrance of rice kept wafting out, making Yang's mouth water.

At that moment, Second Father also ducked into the kitchen. Their family had been poor for generations and knew nothing of that strange rule about "a gentleman keeping his distance from the kitchen." Ignoring the acrid smoke, Second Father crouched by the stove, fanning the flames while keeping a close eye on the heat.

When he called that it was ready, Uncle and the others all came in together, lifted the wooden vat, and while the rice was still hot, poured the ninety-percent-cooked grains in one go into a meticulously cleaned stone mortar.

Next came the part Yang found most entertaining. Uncle-in-law Chuan took off his winter clothes, bared his upper body, and gripped a large wooden mallet, while Second Father stepped onto the newly built "treadle pestle."

One on each side, they first mashed the rice in the stone mortar until it was pulpy. Then Uncle-in-law raised his wooden mallet and pounded with force, while Second Father matched his rhythm, lifting his foot to tread. One strike, one step — the stone hammer and the wooden mallet rose and fell in turn upon the mortar, ceaselessly pounding and smashing the scalding rice, producing a "thump-thud, thump-thud" sound, until it became a sticky mass of dough...

Oh, it shouldn't be called dough. Second Father told Yang that this stuff was called "year cake."

"We didn't get to eat it at New Year's, so we'll just have to eat it at winter solstice." Second Father said this with a smile, but Yang didn't understand — if that was the case, why not call it "winter cake"?

During this process, Second Father even allowed Yang, the just-woken Yue, and Uncle-in-law and Aunt's four-year-old daughter Chen to each grab a handful of glutinous rice from the stone mortar and run off to one side to eat it with relish. The three children's hands and the corners of their mouths were all smeared with sticky grains of rice. Finally, pointing at how each other looked, they giggled and began chasing and roughhousing around the courtyard. Before long, the big yellow dog from the front yard joined in too.

Uncle Jing also watched them and laughed. Normally, this overgrown ringleader of children would already have run over to play with them, but right now, Second Father had assigned him a task. Crouching beside them, in the gap every time the wooden mallet fell, Uncle would quickly wet his hands with clean water, reach into the stone mortar, and flip the unpounded dough over to cover the already-pounded part.

This cycle repeated over and over, until finally it was pounded into one solid, dense mass — only then was it considered done.

By this point, Yang saw that Uncle-in-law was already panting like an ox, saying the work was truly exhausting, his arms sore and the web of his thumb numb. But looking at Second Father, who had been working the treadle pestle, his face wasn't flushed and he wasn't out of breath — he looked as if nothing had happened.

Second Father continued directing everyone: knead the large slab of rice cake, now pounded and placed on the long worktable, a few more times. Then shape it into several long strips, smooth out the creases, and evenly brush on a little warm oil. Finally, he personally used a knife to cut the long strips into roughly equal small pieces — a dozen or so — and then pressed them with a chopping board. One by one, round year cakes resembling little dishes appeared before them.

Second Father even took the playful trouble to carve a seal out of a radish. Holding Yang and Yue, he let them use their little hands to grip the seal and press it firmly onto the year-cake patties. A round stamp and a crescent-moon stamp appeared on the year cakes...

"I want to too."

Aunt's little Chen was also lifted onto the table. Second Father made one for her as well, pressing it onto a year cake and leaving a five-pointed star...

"The round one is Yang, the curved one is Yue, and the star is Chen. Isn't that fun?"

"Fun!"

Seated in Second Father's broad arms, Yang and Yue couldn't help but widen their eyes. Chen, riding on Second Father's shoulders, also cried out in delight.

The children discovered for the first time that the rice they ate every day could become this much fun!

"Not just fun — it's delicious too." Draped with three children, Heifu laughed heartily.

Over the next two thousand-plus years, the cookbook of the land of China would gradually change. Millet would slowly step down from its leading role. In the end, the north would become the domain of wheat, while the south would forever remain the kingdom of rice.

Chinese people love unity — the country is not divided into north and south — yet when it comes to food, a north-south divide is unavoidable.

In the eyes of northerners, southerners "eat rice and make soup of fish" — what a hard life that must be; they might even feel sympathy for them.

But if you let southerners speak for themselves, rice paired with a delicious fish soup makes for a flavorful, satisfying life; gnawing on dry steamed buns and flatbread every day — now that's what you call dull!

For southerners, things like steamed buns and noodles can serve as breakfast or a late-night snack, but the main meal, the proper staple, has to be a steaming bowl of white rice to keep you full for the day. In their eyes, rice is like an old wife — hand in hand, you enter the hall together, and you can eat it for a hundred years without tiring of it. Wheat is a concubine — kept in the outer chamber, fine for an occasional taste of novelty. Northerners, on the other hand, would feel that this relationship is probably the wrong way around...

To put it plainly, dietary differences are simply a matter of "each place's water and soil nourishes its own people." Whatever the land grows, you have to make it flavorful, make it vivid and lively — that is the true nature of a nation of foodies.

By the same logic, northerners have their way of celebrating the New Year, and southerners have theirs. Northerners have dumplings; for southerners, the taste of the New Year cannot do without year cake.

In his previous life, Heifu was a southerner through and through. As it happened, this Nan Commandery, Anlu, was also the southernmost commandery and county of the current Qin state. In another thousand years or so, this place would be known for "when Huguang ripens, the whole realm is fed" — it counted as a land of fish and rice. The crops were half millet and half rice, with even some glutinous rice; only wheat was planted sparingly.

So Heifu recalled the scenes of his childhood in his hometown during the New Year in his previous life, and replicated that lively spectacle of pounding year cake here, over two thousand years ago...

Unfortunately, he hadn't had the time to make a mill, so he couldn't grind the rice into flour first and then steam it; he couldn't make proper, authentic year cake. The stuff before them wasn't that refined — calling it "ciba" would probably be more accurate.

But the New Year's scene Heifu wanted — the whole family working together to pound year cake, old and young alike, with laughter and cheerful chatter — that was absolutely real.

The children especially loved this scene. The three of them chased each other around the courtyard, shouting and calling, with things to eat and games to play — utterly delighted.

A family must truly have warmth among its members; only when hearts are united can you pound out a year cake that sticks together without falling apart!

"This is the life I wanted." Heifu couldn't help but sigh with deep emotion.

By this time, the physical labor was mostly done. Heifu selected a portion of the year cakes and had Sister-in-law and Elder Sister take them back to the kitchen to steam once more. Once the piping-hot year cakes came out of the cauldron, they were soft — tear off a piece, and you could wrap it into a year-cake ball to eat by hand.

Impatient by nature, Jing tore off a chunk and stuffed it into his mouth, only to yelp as it scalded him. Heifu, on the other hand, slowly blew on his until it cooled a little before putting it in his mouth. He couldn't help closing his eyes — that chewy, soft, glutinous texture was incomparably familiar and deeply missed.

Besides eating it plain, you could also dip it in the malt sugar he'd sent Jing to buy at the village market. The sweetness as it entered the mouth was beyond words; the three children especially loved it and ate until they couldn't stop grinning.

Little Yue also considerately held up a piece of year cake dipped in malt sugar and brought it before Heifu's mother, saying in her milky voice, "Grandmother, eat." Mother accepted it with gratification, but the year cake was a bit sticky on the teeth and not very friendly to an old person with loose teeth and hair. Mother just ate a little, then went back to her congee, watching this scene of the whole family reunited — for a mother, this was the finest delicacy of all...

Of course, year cake could also be dipped in sauce or salt, but Heifu did not advocate that way of eating.

"Sweet year cake is the orthodoxy; salty ones are all heresy!"

Heifu began pulling his nephew and nieces aside and saying all sorts of strange things, while Jing, right in front of him, ate a piece of year cake fried in lard with salt in one bite, smacking his lips and saying it tasted better than the sweet kind...

The others also ate until their bellies were round, full of praise for the rice cakes, saying they were glutinous and fragrant, delicious and refreshing.

In the past, they made merry amidst hardship; today, they enjoyed pleasure amidst sweetness.

The whole family sat together to finish this meal. Although nobles in this era all practiced individual dining, each with their own small table before them, feasting with bells and tripods, Heifu's family had been poor for generations. When eating, they didn't even have a table — just set a wooden stump in front, squatted on the ground, and started eating. Where would they get so many fussy rules?

Heifu actually liked this atmosphere. It was also, as someone from a later era, a deeply ingrained mindset — he just felt that sitting together in a circle was nice, lively, intimate. After eating, they could still sit facing each other and chat idly, shooting the breeze. That sense of estrangement found in noble houses, brothers fighting within the walls — it didn't exist here.

The poem says:

Set out your bamboo and wooden vessels, drink wine to your fill. When brothers are all gathered, harmonious and joyful, full of affection.

Wife and children in loving union, like the playing of lutes and zithers. When brothers are in concord, harmonious and joyful, deep and lasting.

Though here there are neither bells and tripods, nor wine and feasts, the happy laughter and cheerful voices of this family are more pleasing to the ear than any drum or zither in this world…

The night deepened. Heifu, in high spirits today, was still explaining to his brothers the N ways to eat rice cakes.

"The leftover rice cakes — dry them in the winter sun, and they'll keep for a long time. When you want to eat them, just slice them, then either boil or roast them, either works. Just three or five slices will keep you full all morning."

Heifu was speaking with great enthusiasm here, not noticing that his eldest brother Zhong, after listening with a smile for a long time, suddenly said with a touch of melancholy: "Our family, since Father passed away, has not been this lively for a long time…"

For a moment, the whole family fell silent. Indeed, over these past few years, their family had suffered many misfortunes, ultimately falling from a perfectly comfortable middling household to barely scraping by.

Then, Zhong actually rose to his feet and bowed to Heifu with clasped hands!

"Second Brother, that day in the county town, you told me you would make our family's life better and better. At the time, I didn't believe it. But now, Second Brother, I truly do!"

PS:

When rice ripens after millet, count the rice under the next year's accounts. After harvest and reporting the yield, distinguish between indica rice and glutinous rice. Distinguish the brewing of indica and glutinous rice, store them separately each year, do not increase the stockpile, use them to supply guests. In the tenth month, write the quantities on wooden tablets and report to the Interior Minister. — Yunmeng Qin Slips, Statutes on Granaries

Translation: When rice ripens after millet, the rice should be counted under the next year's accounts. When reporting the yield after harvest, indica rice and glutinous rice should be distinguished. The indica and glutinous rice used for brewing wine should be distinguished, stored separately each year, and not added to the main stockpile, but used to supply guests. In the tenth month, write the quantities on wooden tablets and report to the Interior Minister.

In the Qin dynasty, indica rice and glutinous rice were already distinguished.

(End of Chapter)