Chapter 37: Communication
What should have been a solemn and serious sacrifice had turned into a cheerful sporting event.
Awe is a mixture of reverence and fear. As the old grandmother said, only death witnessed firsthand can make a deep impression—that is true fear. However, the tribespeople now only felt reverence for their ancestors.
This reverence was not rooted in fear, which made the sacrifices more lively. It made no sense to live well all year, only to turn a festival into a gathering of weeping and wailing prayers.
Among the devoutly religious, few are motivated by a love for heaven; most are driven by a fear of hell. Chen Jian had no desire to create a hell to frighten his people. He simply hoped they wouldn't spend their lives looking forward to an afterlife.
He alone could not devise a complete set of laws, nor could he establish a comprehensive social system. He was reminded of his previous life, after the Mongol Yuan dynasty's invasion had devastated China. When the Ming dynasty, founded by Zhu Yuanzhang, sought to restore the systems of the Han, Tang, and Song dynasties, they found the old ways shattered. They could only grope for clues between the lines of ancient classics.
Even with the collective genius of an entire nation and the foundations of a previous civilization, it took a century to rebuild a semblance of order from the ruins. Chen Jian, on the other hand, was starting from scratch.
For now, the sacrifice was just the beginning. In the future, once the land was cultivated, the most important sacrifice would naturally precede the planting season. The various activities the clansmen enjoyed during these festivals had to be preserved.
He envisioned these future sacrifices evolving into large-scale cultural events. As the gathering grew into a town and then a country, this event would become a grand athletic competition, solidifying into a cherished tradition.
This year's sacrificial activities were not lacking in variety. Running, archery, stick fighting, javelin throwing, tug-of-war, and wrestling were all featured. These sports, originating from the essential skills of hunting and labor, were second nature to the men; they were the very skills they relied on for survival.
The women did not need to prepare for war, but they also had their favorite sports: shuttlecock kicking, tree climbing, and wicker basket weaving. However, only other women watched these events; the men preferred contests filled with the thrill of simulated combat.
The prize for the men was a dagger made from a pig's tusk. For the women, it was a wreath and a comb carved from horn. The pig-tusk daggers were relatively easy to make. Those with poor health or disabled limbs were tasked with grinding them into shape using flint on the pottery wheel.
The horn combs were far more laborious to create. The process was similar to cutting jade, using a technique involving abrasive sand. A thread was tied to a piece of wood to form a simple bow saw. Then, using stone tools, small notches were carved into the horns to guide the thread. Two people worked together: one poured a mixture of water and fine sand over the horn, while the other pulled the bow saw back and forth. The sand-coated string slowly abraded the horn, cutting one tooth at a time.
Fortunately, goat horns were not excessively hard. A few of the less able-bodied tribesmen managed to produce three combs in a single day, though the teeth were spaced a bit far apart.
When the old grandmother presented the three crude combs to the winning women, they drew looks of envy from the others. The women passed them around, rubbing the smooth material in their hands.
Without any instruction, the women instinctively knew how to use them. They undid their braids and combed their hair smooth, giggling with delight.
Like the amulets, these combs were considered private property, not communal. Having lived alongside the other two groups for so long, the clanspeople had begun to grasp the concepts of private, clan, and communal ownership.
A few women were already scheming to ask Chen Jian to polish a ram's horn for them next time; it was truly a wonderful thing.
The three winners wore their flower garlands and proudly showed off their combs to the rest of the tribe, even letting others use them to comb their hair. After each use, they would proudly reclaim them, holding them tightly to prove ownership.
After the unconventional sacrifice concluded, the old grandmother and Shi took out their knives and divided the sacrificial food. Everyone received a small portion, which was considered a blessing from the ancestors.
Chen Jian ate a piece of cured meat, watching the bustling crowd. He knew that work would resume tomorrow, so he decided they should enjoy themselves to the fullest today.
The best way to liven things up was with wine. He had prepared it when they were picking apricots. Originally, he had planned to make vinegar, as a single jar of apricot wine would be finished off by two or three people, while a jar of vinegar could last for many meals.
He loved this lively atmosphere. Seeing the people of his clan laughing and joking made him happy. There was no need to be so serious all the time. These living, breathing people stood before him, and he had truly become a part of their world.
Seeing the changes his presence had brought to the tribe filled him with both pride and gratification. He decided to stop worrying about the distant future, at least for a little while, and just cherish these days free of intrigue and bloody conflict.
Pushing aside his heavier thoughts, Chen Jian had someone bring over the clay pots filled with a mixture of apricots and maple syrup. As he tore off the layer of thatch sealing the top, the rich aroma of wine immediately wafted out.
The scent drew the attention of the tribespeople, and Chen Jian's own mouth began to water. He dipped a finger into the liquid and tasted it. The wine was very light, sticky, and turbid. This kind of undistilled brew was mild enough for even the elderly and children to drink.
They had prepared over forty jars in total. Half were set aside for making vinegar; the rest were all here for the celebration.
From fruit came wine, and from wine came vinegar. But what Chen Jian truly wanted was the yeast at the bottom of the jars—specifically, the culture from the jar that fermented the fastest, which would contain the best strains. After extracting it, he planned to make `koji` (a fermentation starter) with tubers and fern root powder, add the juice from this apricot wine, and let it slowly ferment in a dry place.
This `koji` would be useful for making steamed buns in the future. Delicious steamed buns depended heavily on the quality of the starter dough or `koji`. Different bacteria would produce different flavors, and the culture would need to be improved over generations.
The traditional method was to save a piece of dough as a starter each time. If starting from scratch, it could take dozens, or even hundreds, of attempts before the yeast culture was stable enough to produce soft, sweet, and odorless steamed buns.
The `koji` he made from tubers and fern roots was already fermenting. He wondered if he could improve it further when the peaches ripened.
In any case, the yeast in these apricot wines didn't seem very active. The conversion rate was low, and bubbles were still rising, indicating incomplete fermentation. A few jars had even spoiled, covered in a layer of green mold.
The clansmen were all watching him, curious about what he had produced this time.
"This is wine!" he shouted.
The fragrance of fruit wine filled the air, the distinct aroma of ethyl esters hanging in the evening breeze. After more than ten days of fermentation, the golden apricots were suspended in a cloudy, bubbling liquid, and some of the fruit pulp had not yet fully decomposed.
It wasn't perfect wine, but it was a perfect day.
Wine could always be brewed again, but a day this good was a rare occasion.
The tribe didn't care about the impurities. The strange, intoxicating smell captivated them. The gods only knew why the ancestors favored Jian so much, always enabling him to bring such good things to the clan.
To filter out the solids, they simply used blades of grass. Chen Jian recalled a story about Duke Huan of Qi, who, during his quest for hegemony, used Chu's failure to pay tribute of cogon grass (used for filtering wine) as a pretext for war. Lacking cogon grass, they made do with whatever blades they could find.
After filtering, there wasn't much apricot wine for each person.
The first three bowls were offered to the ancestors. The rest was shared among the people. The yellow liquid tasted slightly different from jar to jar.
The aroma was tempting, but none of the clansmen drank. They held their bowls foolishly, as if waiting for Chen Jian to say something. Their hesitation amused him. Staring at their raised pottery bowls and the sweat on their faces from the earlier festivities, he felt an indescribable joy.
He raised his own bowl and shouted, "To our better life! Drink!"
"Drink!"
The clansmen tilted their heads back and gulped down the cloudy wine. Many of them then stared wistfully at the jars, which now held only dregs.
Yu Qian'er pursed her lips. "It's sweet, spicy, and a little sour. It doesn't taste good at all."
Chen Jian laughed heartily, took her bowl, and drained it in one go.
A few jars of murky wine kept the clan's celebration going long into the evening.
The joyful sounds from the village by the Cao River did not travel far. The other tribes didn't know what had happened there today, but they knew that the moon had been full last night.
At the meeting on the mountaintop, Chen Jian had promised that after the next full moon, they could trade those strange pottery rings for clay pots and bowls, or for other things they desired.
The dozen or so clay pots and bowls, along with the bows, arrows, and slings they had already acquired, had changed their lives. These items had subtly become indispensable. With bows and arrows, the tribes ate better and had more time to practice writing 'one, two, three, four' on clay tablets. With clay pots, they learned to boil tubers and fern roots, making them easier to digest.
In the past, the days before the various fruits ripened were always a struggle, but now life was much easier. Having grown accustomed to boiled food, the thought of eating raw grass seeds again was difficult to bear.
Finally, the full moon arrived. All the tribes sent representatives, carrying the goods they hoped to exchange, and set off toward the village by the river.
Their own lives were much better than before, which made them dare not even imagine what life was like for the people in Chen Jian's tribe.
With a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, spurred on by the eager gazes of their clansmen and the exhortations of their mothers and grandmothers, they set out. They carried wicker baskets filled with strange, colorful stones and hard-to-catch wild beast cubs, all to trade for the clay pots and bowls that had so transformed their existence.
The baskets were heavy with black, white, green, and yellow stones. Every step was a strain, but they didn't dare discard a single one. Each stone represented a chance to trade for those wonderful pots and bowls.
Before leaving, they had carefully combed their hair by a stream, for they had been told that trade was only for those who acknowledged the same ancestor. Now, their hair was messy and sticky with sweat, and they once again longed for that magical soap.
The annual gathering, which had once been solely for finding mates, had changed because of these new, wondrous things.
And because of this change, the life of Chen Jian's tribe became even more unimaginable.
"What is their life like?"
Everyone on the road, bent under the weight of their wicker baskets, was pondering this question, but no one could find an answer.
What is a house?
Why do they have so much fish?
How are the pots made?
What have the two tribes who followed them to the river become like now?
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