Chapter Thirty-Five: Paying the Wages

With money in hand, all problems were readily resolved!

“Steward Sun Wangcai, three months’ wages overdue. Thirty strings of cash due, thirty-six strings paid.”

“Thank you, young master!”

“Foreman Hu Si, three months’ wages overdue. Nine strings due, ten strings and eight hundred coins paid.”

“Thank you, young master!”

“Worker Wang Xiao’er…”

Inside the distillery, Li Zhao was distributing wages to the workers.

Not only were all three months’ back wages paid at once, but each received an extra twenty percent as compensation. Furthermore, Li Zhao purchased ample supplies of chicken, duck, fish, rice, and fine flour to improve everyone’s meals.

What had been two meals a day became three, with no restrictions—eat as much as you liked, until you were full.

The workers, clutching their heavy purses of silver and copper coins, were moved to tears. When he said he would pay within three days, few believed it, yet here he was, fulfilling his word.

This young master was truly a man of his word!

Still, some shrewd fellows calculated that the silver Li Zhao brought was more than enough to pay the wages, but far from sufficient to settle the outstanding debts. Without repaying those, the distillery would not be saved, and everyone would lose their livelihood.

Thus, Steward Sun and several master brewers volunteered to take reduced wages, saving money to buy raw materials and hasten the brewing of a new batch of liquor—only then could the distillery hope for revival.

Li Zhao refused the proposal. Wages would be paid in full; as for the debts, he had other ways to resolve them.

...

When the wages were settled, Li Zhao issued a new order: everyone was to mobilize and thoroughly clean the premises.

The workers were puzzled but dared not disobey their new master. For an entire day, they scrubbed every corner inside and out, especially the brewing and fermentation pits, cleaning them seven or eight times until they were spotless.

Even the old “De Li Hou” tavern sign was torn down and used for firewood on Li Zhao’s command. With new ownership came a new name.

After some thought, Li Zhao christened his first business with a name both resonant and meaningful: Ren Yi Chang—Prosperity in Benevolence and Righteousness.

Commerce was indeed about profit, but one must never forget the path of virtue. Only with righteousness at heart could prosperity endure for generations—this held true for both commerce and governance.

...

The next day, Li Zhao did something even more unusual: he sent White Bun and several workers to the countryside, returning with five hundred catties of plump, juicy grapes.

The most urgent task was to brew new liquor, the only hope for survival. Why buy so many grapes? The workers were even more perplexed.

Was he planning to make wine?

Li Zhao offered no explanation. Instead, he fetched a small jar of sour wine, some grapes, and various jars, then locked himself in a room with strange noises emanating from within.

“If the pH is below 7, it’s acidic; above 7, it’s alkaline... Acid and base neutralize to form salt and water. The ratio should be about… Haha, success at last!”

After half an hour, Li Zhao emerged beaming. “Someone bring a large vat of sour wine, pour it into the big iron cauldron, then add one liter, three measures, and two spoonfuls of grape juice—no more, no less. Then heat, stir, and filter... Hurry!”

“Young master, what are we doing?”

“No questions. Just follow orders.”

“Yes, sir!”

Wine is already acidic—adding grape juice would only make it more so, wouldn’t it? Everyone exchanged bewildered glances, but none could fathom what was happening.

...

Still, they obeyed. Some fetched wine, some stoked the fire, others pressed grapes—everyone was busy.

First, whoever provides your rice bowl commands your loyalty—an unchanging truth through the ages.

Second, despite his youth, this young master exuded a quiet authority, making obedience feel natural and unquestionable.

Thus, cauldrons were set, wine poured, grape juice added, then heated, stirred, and finally filtered through a dozen layers of muslin. After half an hour, the vat of wine looked unchanged.

Yet, on closer inspection, the sharp sourness had vanished.

Steward Sun, a clever man, sensed something. He scooped a ladleful, sniffed, sipped, and his eyes widened in disbelief—it was no longer sour.

“Heavens! The wine isn’t sour anymore! How is this possible?”

“Let me taste—truly, the sourness is gone!”

“The young master is a sage! Turning waste into treasure—our admiration knows no bounds!”

...

The workers crowded forward to taste for themselves. Stunned, they burst into cheers, gazing at Li Zhao as if he were a deity.

Soured, ruined wine had been transformed into fragrant liquor with just a little effort—was this not a miracle?

Was Li Zhao truly a god?

No. The sourness was gone for a simple reason: the power of knowledge.

...

As the saying goes: “Fish are not caught in spring, wine is not brewed in summer.”

The summer heat raises the temperature in wine cellars, accelerating fermentation and providing ideal conditions for bacteria. The acidity rises, and the wine easily spoils.

Seasoned distilleries would close for the summer heat, resuming when it cooled.

Li De, however, driven by greed, forced the workers to toil through summer, and to speed things up, he skipped several steps.

On top of that, his nature was harsh—he beat and berated the workers, drove them like beasts, fed them worse than animals. With resentment in their hearts, the workers did only the bare minimum, neglecting even to properly seal the vats, letting in all manner of filth.

It was this confluence of missteps that led to the failed batches and nearly ruined the distillery.

Li Zhao understood all this. So, upon taking over, he promptly paid the wages, improved their living conditions, and devoted a day to cleaning every inch of the premises, determined not to repeat past mistakes.

As for the sour wine, the solution was even simpler.

Just add an appropriate amount of alkaline substance to neutralize the acids, then filter.

Though grapes taste slightly sour, they are actually alkaline fruits, rich in calcium, sodium, potassium, and magnesium ions—perfect for neutralizing acids.

The principle was simple, but to Steward Sun and the workers, it was pure sorcery. They saw only a miracle: Li Zhao transforming sour wine into fine liquor. Their awe was complete; they regarded him as a sage descended from heaven.

But with thousands of bushels of sour wine in storage, Li Zhao could not do it all himself. He needed someone to take over.

“Steward Sun, come here.”

“What are your orders, young master?”

...

“Here is the formula for neutralizing sour wine. Keep it safe; the rest is up to you.”

“Me, sir?”

Li Zhao called Steward Sun into the room and handed him a sheet of paper detailing the exact method—how many catties of grape juice per vat, every ratio clearly marked.

Staring at the recipe, Steward Sun trembled with excitement and disbelief.

The problem of sour wine had plagued the industry for years—many distilleries had fallen to it, countless people had agonized over the solution.

Such a recipe would fetch a king’s ransom, yet Li Zhao entrusted it to him. What immense trust!

Should he accept it or not?

Steward Sun was torn. It was not just about a recipe, but a question of loyalty.

Before leaving, Li De and Lady Zheng had secretly instructed him to spy on Li Zhao, report his every move, and sabotage the distillery if possible.

At the time, Steward Sun had agreed under duress.

But since Li Zhao’s arrival, he had been sincere, kept his word, and won the hearts of all the workers. His wisdom inspired not just respect but devotion—truly a master worth serving!

To betray an old master was shameful, but as the proverb goes: “A wise bird chooses its tree, a worthy minister his lord.”

Moreover, Young Master Zhao was the rightful owner of the distillery; serving him was only proper—how could it be called betrayal?

“Thank you for your trust, young master! I will serve you with all my heart!”

After an internal struggle, Steward Sun stepped forward, read the recipe thrice, memorized it, then chewed and swallowed the paper, vowing to follow only the young master hereafter.

At the same time, Li Zhao appointed White Mouse as the second steward, responsible for procurement and sales. Having spent his life in the streets and alleys of Wu’an county, White Mouse was better suited than anyone for the job.

Just days ago, he had been despised as a petty thief; now, transformed into the distillery’s second steward, his excitement matched Steward Sun’s, and he too swore undying loyalty.

...

In the days that followed, Steward Sun led the workers in a round-the-clock effort. In just ten days, they had neutralized all the sour wine in storage and sent it to Drunken Immortal Pavilion.

With the backing of Duke Cui Zongzhi of Little Qi, Drunken Immortal Pavilion promptly accepted the wine and paid ten thousand strings of cash.

With money in hand, Li Zhao immediately allocated three thousand strings to repay the merchants. But when Steward Sun returned from his errands, the money was untouched—Cui Zongzhi had already settled the debts himself.

“Duke Cui is truly generous and righteous! Should we send these three thousand strings and a fine gift to Drunken Immortal Pavilion in gratitude?”

“Let it be. No need.”

“No need?”

Steward Sun suggested repayment, but Li Zhao shook his head. At this point, it was no longer a matter of money, but of owing a great favor.

Such favors must be repaid with even greater ones.

And such a debt lasts a lifetime.