Carrying a Jurassic on me
Chapter 123 - 64: Diary of Making Wine_1

Chapter 123: Chapter 64: Diary of Making Wine_1

Yan Fei examined the remaining alcohol, estimating how many jars he could infuse, then holed up in his room to begin his research. He had many alcohol infusion recipes to choose from, so he had to carefully decide.

Once his selection was made, he hopped onto his motorcycle and sped off to town.

The thriving alcohol business only lasted for a few days. He guessed he could still sell for a few more days before the wheat harvest season passed, and things would return to normal.

The so-called normal situation meant it was normal to have no business for a day or two. It didn’t matter whether his shop was open or not because if someone truly wanted his alcohol, they would knock on the door to buy it. After all, bottle alcohol was more preferable for casual visits; some bottled alcohol had a pleasant taste. Bulk alcohol was only suitable for personal consumption, the advantage being you could drink freely without fear of drunken incidents.

The money from selling alcohol was then reinvested in purchasing more sorghum to continue brewing. The new brew would be stored and sold during the busy autumn period and the New Year. By then, the alcohol’s initial strength would have subsided, leaving only its mellow aroma.

Actually, it would taste even better if left for a few years. When you opened the jar, the aroma would drift for miles.

Only true alcohol enthusiasts, who had experience with aging grain liquor, could appreciate its value. Most people never even had the opportunity to taste, let alone smell, such fine alcohol. Most bottled alcohol just couldn’t hold a candle to it. They couldn’t mature with age; their taste would remain the same no matter how long they were left.

However, aging the alcohol was a costly investment. Even Ma Chao’s family seldom did it and would only age a small amount for personal consumption.

Yan Fei returned home on his motorcycle in the blink of an eye and began to work on the medicinal wine.

A jar for curing old cold legs, no, rather, for dispelling wind and relieving pain; a few jars for strength and growth, called something like dispelling wind and promoting blood circulation, strengthening muscles and bones, and enhancing knee strength; and a jar that was said to be beneficial for stroke patients.

Apart from the stroke and old cold leg cures, Yan Fei hadn’t seriously studied any other cures. He had mainly concentrated on the ones promoting physical wellness, which had a wide range of options for the elderly, children, women, and young people.

There was no need for Yan Fei to make all of them at once. He still primarily used the recipes his grandfather and father had tested and proven effective.

In rural areas, strokes and paralysis were a serious issue. If a family had a sick member, they could be brought down instantly, dealing a heavy blow to people who couldn’t yet be considered affluent. Suffering from such a disease was almost worse than Ma Chao’s father’s situation, who had a straightforward bout with cancer, sparing the family the pain of dragging on.

The elderly with ’old cold legs’ and weak waists and knees were also commonly seen in people engaging in farming work. These two conditions were the most common ailments Yan Fei came across, so he singled them out, preparing to see how effectively he could treat them. Finding test subjects was easy; even Yan Fei knew many people suffering from these conditions.

He was busy till midnight.

At this moment, in the holiest high school in the county seat considered by the local people, a girl in a female dormitory was also busy.

After evening self-study, the girls would each hold their notebooks, writing their diaries. But today, Miss Xu Xiaoyan’s entry was notably lengthy. She was leaning on her bedhead, biting her penholder, blushing so much that even the girls in her dormitory noticed something was off.

"Oh my, look, someone is yearning for love...."

"Go away...."

Blushing, Xu Xiaoyan drove away the several students who had come to tease her. She hid under her bedsheets and began to write today’s diary entry.

However, after biting her penholder for a while, she was still unsure about what to write. She alternated between biting her penholder and looking at her new clothes and shoes on the bedhead. Suddenly, the words started to flow onto the paper.

She wrote continuously until lights out, then resorted to a small flashlight and continued writing under her blanket.

At that time, it was fashionable to be a literary youth, so all these high school students had the habit of keeping diaries. If anyone failed to produce a few sentences, they would be embarrassed to show themselves in front of others.

Unsurprisingly, even when Xu Xiaoyan hid away to write her diary mysteriously, the other girls sharing her dormitory would at most tease her lightly.

Who didn’t have a little secret?

Besides, although these girls were usually reluctant to splurge on meals, they were more than willing to spend money on diary notebooks. They all used hardcover books and stored them at the bottom of their boxes once they’d filled them.

The girl kept writing and drawing deep into the night, and only then did she lie down. But her big eyes shone brightly in the darkness; it was clear that she couldn’t fall asleep.

In her heart, she kept mumbling the words she had written in her diary:

In those years, you were a goofball, and they all called you a big idiot.

In those years, they said if I grew up, I would burden someone, that I was simply extra.

In those years, I held your hand as we walked around that ancient tower built three hundred years ago.

They told us that we were a pair of fools and that I was your child bride.

I smiled at your goofiness, and you never cared about my raggedy clothes.

Together, we walked hand-in-hand along the bluestone road laid 300 years ago, listening to the intermittent sounds from the bell in the ancient tower.

It has watched countless white clouds leisurely pass by, always brimming with ancient elegance.

The 300-year-old elm tree was so tall and large; a lot of people played under it.

They all laughed at me because my clothes were always tattered.

But you, my goofy boy, why did you fall asleep again all of a sudden?

I carried you on my back, praying to Grandpa Guan in the temple to make you wake up quickly.

Let people not see me.

They are laughing at me.

The shadow of the ancient tower was so large that I couldn’t leave it despite walking for so long.

The ancient bluestone road was so rugged that it was unbearable. My cloth shoes were worn out over the years by my sisters.

And now, my toes are peeking out.

My feet hurt so much, and I’m crying, but I can’t wipe away the tears because I’m still carrying a little goofball on my back.

You little goofball, you’re restless as soon as you wake up, and you start fighting and swearing before getting off my back,

your voice is so loud that we end up being pelted with mud.

We become a pair of dirty mud dolls.

That year, the snowflakes were falling gently. That year, I carried you walking on the snow. That year, I almost lost my toenails from frostbite.

That year, you went home wailing after being beaten, because there was a large hole in your small jacket, missing a lot of new cotton.

Over those years, I grew attached to those 300-year-old green bricks and tiles.

Despite feeling rough and crumbling when touched, they held a special charm.

Because you once said, you would use them to build us a home.

I knew you weren’t a little goofball because goofballs don’t speak sweet words.

You said you would marry me when you grew up, that you would get me meat when I was hungry and watermelon when I was thirsty,

and you’d earn money to buy me beautiful clothes.

That year, I made many wishes in front of Grandpa Guan.

But you said he was a wooden puppet with a red face who couldn’t do anything.

You said you would practice martial arts and wield a big knife that could cleave mountains when you grew up.

That way, no one would laugh at us.

Actually, you’re just a little goofball who often forgets what he says.

The bell in the ancient tower has been ringing, ringing for three hundred years.

Grandpa Guan with the red face is silent.

You, my little goofball, I don’t know when

You’re always doing goofy things, you’re always bragging and always forgetting what you say.

But how could I forget

The new cotton in my shoes that year.