Chapter Fifty-Four: Drying, Windmills, Grinding, and Pounding Rice

On May 23rd, there were twenty-four units of spiritual essence remaining. Now, on the third day of the sixth lunar month, although three units are added every three and a half days, accumulating twenty-seven, a single session of farming instantly depleted nearly half of the reserve.

After finishing the fourth round of transplantation, Chen Yu counted the glowing grains of spiritual essence in his mind; they were scattered and sparse, with only fourteen left. This meant he had consumed a full thirteen units of spiritual essence for this round of transplantation—almost more than the previous three rounds combined!

However, there was no helping it. The medicinal field had expanded significantly and was no longer that cramped little patch. While it still paled in comparison to the mountain fields, the number was within his expectations based on previous ratios. It was not an overreach.

In finer detail, the grain and medicinal seeds did not consume much spiritual essence; rather, the Primal Spirit Root and the Lanting Divine Fruit were the true heavy consumers, far exceeding the Moisturizing Grass and the Green Spirit Root.

As time slowly passed, after filling the medicinal field, Chen Yu waited in the courtyard, sitting on a stone stool and occasionally turning the crops. The spring millet had not been placed on a drying mat, so he had to be careful when flipping it to avoid losing too many grains.

The morning sun was quite strong. By the afternoon, he spread out the drying mat and set it aside, holding a stick, ready to thresh the grain. There were many steps involved, but fortunately, the amount of spring millet was not large; it took him a little over an hour to finish.

At this moment, besides the millet, the mat was scattered with a large amount of debris and grass leaves. Chen Yu did not mind; he would use the winnowing machine for a couple of passes later, which would clear away most of the chaff.

*Thump! Thump!*

The last handful was threshed clean. He gathered the remaining dry, yellow stalks into bundles and carried them, one cluster in each hand, outside the courtyard. These dried grasses would be useful later, whether for building sheds or as firewood.

He rolled up the drying mat and folded it from both sides; after repeating this a few times, the millet inside was gathered into a pile. He then used a dustpan to scoop it into wooden buckets. The Taoist temple had several other fields in the past, and when the population was thriving, it could be self-sufficient without needing to go down the mountain for supplies. Although most of the fields were now abandoned, with only half an acre left outside the courtyard, the various farming tools remained, including seven or eight wooden buckets used for storing grain.

Some had rotted, but he still picked out four usable ones and placed them before him. After pouring a full bucket of millet into the hopper of the winnowing machine, the remainder was just enough to fill the four wooden buckets. Chen Yu had estimated a harvest of about 170 to 180 catties, and as it turned out, that was indeed the case. This small patch of medicinal field was no less productive than the half-acre of soil on the mountain.

Perhaps the spiritual liquid served not only to accelerate ripening but also to increase yield. Of course, it could also be a natural characteristic of the spring millet itself. It was hard to say for sure. Regardless, it was a good thing.

*Whir-whir—*

He cranked the red pine winnowing machine. A gentle breeze blew from the open end, carrying away a large amount of dust and broken leaves, while the side opening near the front rattled as it spat out many broken stems and husks. Meanwhile, the millet was filtered and ejected from the lower opening of the hand-cranked machine.

He reached into the top to stir the contents; seeing that there wasn't much grain left, he clicked a wooden board into place to jam the fan wheel. He lifted one of the buckets of millet and poured it into the hopper. Repeating this process, the hundred-odd catties of grain were quickly winnowed. In the end, he obtained three and a half buckets of millet.

The half-bucket of grass leaves and chaff was dumped into the chicken coop for the birds to peck through.

After cleaning the drying mat, especially the dust on it, Chen Yu moved the buckets of millet to his feet. Using a dustpan, he poured some onto a circular sieve and began shaking it back and forth, occasionally tossing it with his wrists to prevent the millet grains from spilling out.

*Swish!*

It sounded like large and small jade beads falling—a crisp, delicate noise. The plump but small-sized millet fell through the gaps of the sieve into the bucket below, leaving behind the debris that had managed to escape the winnowing machine. This was another step in the selection process.

After tossing the debris into the chicken coop, the level of millet in the buckets was visibly lower, leaving just over three full buckets. With this, the selection was barely complete; the next step required further drying. He would have to wait for them to turn a golden hue before beginning to husk the rice.

However, that step might release a rich, alluring fragrance, so he would need to keep the little deer under control to prevent it from causing trouble.

He put away the winnowing machine, the sieve, and the dustpan, leaving the drying mat spread out in the courtyard. The millet was spread across it. Compared to the morning, the spring millet—now stripped of stalks and long leaves—didn't take up much space, so he laid it out in an open area of the courtyard, far away from the pine trees.

He shut the courtyard gate tight and went to his usual stone platform to sit in quiet meditation.

By evening, the grains were much drier and no longer as round as before. He pinched two grains; the rich, fragrant aroma lingered at his nose, not diminished by the loss of moisture but rather becoming more mellow. It was almost like the scent of fermenting wine.

He gathered them up, shoveled them into the wooden buckets, and sealed them. Judging by their appearance, they would need to dry for a while longer before they could be husked.

In the blink of an eye, four days passed. On the seventh of the sixth lunar month, the sky finally cleared. Chen Yu shielded his eyes and looked into the distance, a smile like that of an old farmer appearing on his face. He hurriedly poured the millet he had stored for the past two days onto the drying mat.

In truth, the heavens had been quite kind. There had been bright sun for the second and third days after threshing, but perhaps because the spring millet had absorbed so much water after being nourished by the spiritual liquid, the grains were exceptionally plump and succulent; two full days of drying, plus the half-day during threshing, had not been enough to reach the desired level of dryness.

He had no choice but to wait, but then it rained. Though the rain was light, it still interrupted the drying process. Fortunately, it stopped in time, and the next day showed only a few lingering clouds without further rain.

Now, the sky had returned to clarity. After drying them for another half-day, he picked up a handful of millet near sunset, squeezed it, and finally let out a long breath.

It was ready.

The yellow-skinned millet of this region was different from the millet of his past life, and the difference lay in this very drying process.

After much work, he carried a shoulder pole with the millet to the spot where the stone mill was placed, near the old well in the inner courtyard. As he had said long ago, his strength would eventually be put to use here, and sure enough, it had come to pass.

Although the method of crushing to remove the husks was primitive, Chen Yu was different from ordinary people—even common martial artists could not compare to him. A martial artist's strength was often not much greater than that of an ordinary person; their advantage lay more in explosive power, combat techniques, force application, and resilience.

Chen Yu, however, was different. His body had undergone various changes under the nourishment of the spiritual liquid, and his internal energy and blood were vast. Now, with the support of Primal Blood, he could almost manifest it into a physical state. Turning the millstone was an effortless task for him.

After a few rotations, the fragrance became so rich it felt as if it could drift for miles, lingering in the courtyard for a long time. However, when he looked again, he realized that after drying, the millet—which had originally filled three buckets—had shrunk again, becoming just over two buckets.

He scooped up a handful; the golden grains scattered in his palm. Chen Yu shook his head—it wasn't enough. There were still many husks left; further pounding was required. The stone mill could crush most of it, but many grains still retained their husks.

He took the prepared stone mortar, which glowed with a dark greenish hue and felt smooth to the touch. It was clearly an old object that had been used for over a decade. Pounding rice was not a craft and required little technique; like turning the mill, it relied on pure strength.

He used a long wooden pestle to pound the rice in the mortar, stripping the husks just as one would pound medicine. While he couldn't guarantee every grain would be husked successfully, it was sufficient. Even the farmers down the mountain rarely used both the mill and the mortar; most chose only one, resulting in rough, unrefined rice.

By using both processes, the result would be much more refined. If it were rice, it would look pleasingly white and be called "refined rice," implying it was something only the wealthy could afford. Yellow-skinned millet didn't have such a distinction; whether fully husked or not, it remained golden, and ordinary people could hardly tell the difference with the naked eye.

Chen Yu was no nobleman, but for the sake of a tastier meal in the future, he employed both processes and pounded with extra care. As time passed, the fragrance gradually mellowed.

Outside the courtyard, the little deer had been absent for the past few days; otherwise, it would have been bleating incessantly.

Once the pounding was finished, he performed one last screening to separate the husks from the tiny, broken bits of grain. After going through so many steps, the two buckets of golden millet were finally ready for the pot.

He carried them into the kitchen. The rice jar had contained white-skinned millet, which was harder and more slender. Since the taste of the two was actually quite similar, he poured the new harvest directly in, mixing them together.

He reached in and stirred them; the snowy white grains were dotted with bits of brilliant gold, exuding a fragrant aroma that couldn't help but remind him of the egg-fried rice from his memories.