Chapter Fifty-Eight: All for Nothing!

The twenty-eighth year of the Kaiyuan era—seventh day of the twelfth lunar month. The day had finally arrived for the grand opening of the new distillery.

In the spacious courtyard, the altar for the ancestral rites was already set up. Atop it hung the portrait of the founding master, Du Kang; below were offerings of the traditional three sacrificial animals: chicken, fish, and a pig’s head.

Li De, Madam Zheng, and their two plump sons, all dressed in splendid attire, stood at the head of the assembled staff, both young and old, before the altar, awaiting the auspicious hour.

It was an ancient custom that business openings must be held on a propitious day and at a lucky hour. For this, Li De had even consulted a fortune-teller, who had cast the divination and declared that the second day of the second month next year was a perfect yellow-path day, suited for worship, blessings, and commencing business—nothing would be inauspicious.

But Li De paid the fortune-teller no heed. He was unwilling to wait another two months; time was precious, and every day the distillery opened late was a day’s profit lost. More importantly, he had signed a contract with several major merchants, stipulating that he must provide a sufficient quantity of distilled spirits within a set period. Any delay would require him to pay tenfold the deposit—a sum of astronomical proportions.

Thus, after careful consideration, Li De chose to open on the seventh day of the twelfth month, which happened to coincide with Madam Zheng’s thirty-ninth birthday—a double celebration.

Incidentally, Madam Zheng was born in the first year of Dazhu (the reign title of Empress Wu Zetian), under the sign of the Ox, and of the fire element.

“My husband, with the opening of our new distillery, business will surely flourish and wealth will pour in. In just a few years, you will be counted among the greatest magnates in Guanzhong. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you!”

“Haha, my dear, we are as one. When I am master of fortunes in this land, you will of course have your share. You will live in silks and eat delicacies, commanding servants at your whim.”

“Father, what about us?”

“Never fear. I won’t forget you. Soon you’ll be young masters, free to carry gold and silver, and enjoy yourselves in the city of Chang’an!”

Dreaming of days when their fortunes would blaze as brightly as oil on fire, Li De and Madam Zheng could barely contain their delight, nearly forgetting their own names in their joy.

Yet amidst his pride, Li De glanced around and realized someone was missing.

“Where is Steward Sun?”

“Master, Steward Sun has been running himself ragged for the distillery’s opening. He caught a chill from all the rushing about and is bedridden at home, having taken a few days’ leave.”

“I see.”

Steward Sun had indeed contributed greatly to getting the distillery ready so quickly, to the point of losing several pounds from exhaustion. Still, Li De and Madam Zheng felt no gratitude; instead, they were planning to find an opportunity to deal with him. The fewer who knew they had stolen the Erguotou secret recipe, the safer they would be.

“Master, the auspicious hour has arrived. The ancestral rites should begin.”

“Very well!”

The butler, Hou Si, approached and handed over three sticks of incense, already lit.

Li De took the incense, performed deep bows before the portrait of Du Kang, and uttered prayers for blessings and prosperity. He then placed the incense in the burner.

No sooner had he done so than a strange wind swept through, extinguishing all three sticks.

What was this omen?

“It’s nothing, Master. Your fortune must be too strong for just three sticks. Let’s offer three more,” Hou Si flattered, lighting another set and handing them over.

Li De repeated the ritual, but again a gust snuffed out the incense.

Refusing to believe in ill omens, Li De personally lit a third set, but as soon as they were placed in the burner, another wind put them out.

“Three offerings, three times extinguished—this is too strange. Does the ancestral master refuse to bless us?” The workers watched, murmuring among themselves. A few of the senior brewers mustered their courage and stepped forward. “Master, with the incense blown out by the wind, perhaps today isn’t auspicious. Should we choose another day for the opening?”

“Hmph. A day’s delay is a day’s profit lost. It’s just a bit of wind. There’s nothing to fear. The opening goes ahead!”

“Master, please reconsider!”

“Proceed!”

“Yes, Master!”

With the owner’s command, the staff had no choice but to press on.

They fetched the fermented ingredients from the storeroom, loaded them into the enormous steam cauldrons, lit the fires, and began the distillation process: heating to produce alcohol vapor, which condensed upon cooling, then was drawn off through bamboo pipes…

To make a long story short, after over half an hour, the first batch of distilled spirits was ready. The workers quickly filled a large bowl and respectfully presented it to Li De.

“Master, please sample our new brew!”

“Very well… Ugh! Ugh!”

The moment the liquor touched his lips, Li De spat it out violently. It was sour, bitter, and astringent—worse than month-old dishwater.

At the same time, several master brewers came to taste it and immediately doubled over, retching uncontrollably, nearly vomiting bile. It was truly undrinkable.

Li De and Madam Zheng were dumbfounded. After acquiring the secret recipe, they had tested it three times, each batch producing fine liquor, every bit as good as the Erguotou on the market. How could it now turn into something undrinkable?

Was there a problem with the ingredients? The process? Or had they somehow offended some spirit?

They could not make sense of it.

“Master, what do we do?”

“Clean out the cauldrons. We’ll try again—quickly!”

“Yes, Master. And what about this… this batch?”

“Set it aside. Don’t let it get in the way.”

“Yes, Master.”

At Li De’s urging, the workers hauled dozens of vats of the “dishwater” aside, cleaned the cauldrons, prepared new ingredients, and began distilling again.

Another hour passed. The second batch was ready, but the heavy sour smell in the air suggested disaster had struck again.

Who would dare taste it?

“Brother Zhang, why don’t you try the first sip?”

“No, Brother Li, you have over thirty years’ experience as a brewer. It should be you.”

“Impossible! I’ve been unwell lately—my sense of taste is off. Brother Zhang, you try it.”

The senior brewers all tried to pass the task to someone else, fearing it would make them sick. In the end, they forced a young worker to try it.

The boy mustered his courage, sipped the liquor, and collapsed as if struck by lightning, convulsing and foaming at the mouth, and instantly fell unconscious.

If the previous batch had been like month-old dishwater, this was medicinal broth—no ordinary decoction, but a super concoction of the most bitter herbs: coptis, sophora root, gentian, andrographis, mountain bean root, and over a dozen more, simmered together, then spiked with horse and cow urine as a medium.

Bitter, sour, astringent, fishy, foul—the five worst flavors combined. The smell alone could drive a person mad; to taste it would make one dash oneself against the wall. Even a glance could trigger retching.

How could this be? What had gone wrong?

After two failed batches, Li De and Madam Zheng were frantic, their eyes red with anxiety. They sensed something was amiss but could not pinpoint what.

“Someone, fetch Steward Sun immediately! He’s the expert—he’ll know what’s wrong.”

“Master, Steward Sun is bedridden at home!”

“The house is burning and he’s still resting? Send someone to bring him here, carry him if need be.”

“Yes, Master!”

While sending for Steward Sun, Li De urged the workers to try a third batch, hoping to find the problem.

But those sent to fetch Steward Sun soon returned empty-handed—not only had they failed to bring him, they could not find him at all.

“What? He’s missing?”

“Yes, Master. We searched everywhere but found no trace. The neighbors say he left for his native Sichuan early this morning to recuperate.”

“What? Gone home? Impossible! Impossible!”

Li De and Madam Zheng exchanged worried glances, sensing real trouble.

If Sun were gravely ill, he should be resting in bed, not setting out on a thousand-mile journey along the perilous Sichuan roads, which even the healthy would struggle to traverse, let alone an invalid.

Even if he insisted on returning home, he ought to have come to bid farewell, not disappeared without a word.

There was only one answer: he had not gone home, but deliberately vanished.

Why would he do so? Clearly, he had done something he wished to hide. Given the disastrous events unfolding, could it be that the secret recipe he supplied for Erguotou had been tampered with?

But if so, why had their first three trials all succeeded?

Li De and Madam Zheng racked their brains, but before they could unravel the mystery, a new calamity struck—fire!

“Fire! The cauldrons are on fire!”

“Don’t panic! Don’t panic! Get water, quickly!”

“It’s spreading! Another cauldron is ablaze!”

During the third distillation, something went wrong with one of the cauldrons. Instead of the liquor flowing smoothly through the pipes, it erupted from the top, splashing everywhere. Some of it spilled into the fire below, instantly igniting the flames.

The workers rushed to douse the fire, but before they could contain it, several more cauldrons caught ablaze. Thick smoke billowed and flames raced in all directions, quickly spreading out of control.

Because of the rush, hundreds of barrels of the earlier “dishwater” and “herbal brew” had not been put away, but were stacked near the cauldrons. Though undrinkable, they were rich in alcohol, and when the fire reached them, they exploded into flames, igniting the nearby buildings.

At that moment, nature itself conspired against them—a fierce wind arose, fanning the flames ever higher. Fire fed the wind, wind drove the fire, turning half the sky a blazing red.

Seeing this, the workers abandoned all hope of fighting the fire. They scattered in all directions, fleeing for their lives, and watched as the brand-new distillery was reduced to ashes.