Now, she systematically cuts straw, fetches the dry branches left from pruning mulberry trees, and starts a fire to boil water.
Following a ratio of 1:1.5, she adds soda ash and salt to the boiling water. Using a mixture of mulberry ash, quicklime, and yellow clay in a ratio of 1:1:0.3, she slowly pours it into the salt-alkali boiling water, stirring to create a thick slurry. One by one, she immerses eggs into the slurry, patiently wrapping them. As she contemplates the next steps, she loses track of time, feeling as if the sun has risen and set multiple times, or perhaps time has come to a standstill. Looking at the multitude of clay-wrapped eggs on the ground, possibly over a thousand, she can't help but wryly smile.
The age-old habit remains unbroken. Now, where can she find a container large enough for sealing them? Oh well, for now, she'll just dig a pit and bury them.
Achieving a pit temperature of 25-30 degrees Celsius might depend on this hot spring.
Next to the pit for burying honey wine, she digs a trench, bringing water over.
In the middle, she excavates a pit, covering it with bamboo branches and leaves.
One by one, she places the clay-covered duck eggs inside, covering them with bamboo mats and compacting the soil.
She then immerses herself in the nearby hot spring, contemplating the feasibility of the same-city postal route.
Drying off and sitting at the camp, she sketches the layout of the postal station with the stacked beehives.
The difficulty of traveling lies in a few things: eating, sleeping, bathing, transportation, and a home-like warmth.
On the postal route, the most challenging thing is to have an inn waiting for you 24/7. However, the most challenging aspect of an inn is that it can't afford so many staff.
Same-city postal routes with self-service might solve the staffing issue, but can ancient people understand self-service?
It seems a blend of ancient and modern, half self-service and half service, might be the only solution.
The roadside restaurant features simple and familiar cold dishes, set meals, and a self-service kitchen.
The campsite provides covered areas to shield from wind and rain, warm accommodation for travelers with heating, hot and cold water facilities, and warm lighting. Lighting?
Apart from oil lamps and candles, she once personally helped build a village's biogas digester while participating in an ecological poverty alleviation project—biogas lamps!
New ideas bubble up as she satisfies her hunger with fruits, hot spring eggs, and honey water. Calculating the sunrise and sunset six times, the plan in her hands takes shape, with some details still to be adjusted.
Heading towards the preserved pit where she buried the century eggs seven days ago, she opens the sealed mud cover and senses the heat imbued with the smell of lime. It's time to expose them; keeping them covered any longer might cause alkaline damage.
As she steps out and returns to bed, before she can close her eyes, Cheng Mo lightly knocks and enters.
She quietly leaves some things and exits. Lifting the curtains, she finds a complete set of clothing and accessories.
Not understanding the origin of these jingling accessories, someone else pushes the door open, and it's Duo Er.
After a gentle morning greeting, she quietly tends to Xiangbei—washing her face, changing clothes, and styling her hair in Xiangbei's customary braided look. Then, she tidies up the washbasin and leaves. Adorned in a full set of sky-blue, pink, and white spring clothes, with long, fluttering dark blue leaves and the enchanting fragrance of orchids, it seems to exude a hidden fragrance.
The yellow and blue-dyed chiffon is tied on the outer layer, ready to be lifted by the wind, revealing the information of spring in the mountains. Really liked it, Xiangbei expresses her fondness, standing in front of the highly polished full-body copper mirror.
Xiangbei gracefully turns, assessing the reflections of various poses of the beauty in the mirror, like a swan.
"Do you like it? This was personally tailored by the renowned seamstress Yang Wudie, (named meaning of "Butterflies Dance"), and her accomplished apprentice completed the embroidery under her guidance. It was delivered just last night." As Duo Er pushes the door open, Cheng Mo walks in.
"Yang Wudie? Butterflies Dancing,A woman with a name that sounds beautiful and skillful. "
"Yes, the younger sister of Yang Die, the master of embroidery at Fuhai Building. The Yang family declined after the turmoil of the previous dynasty, leaving only a pair of young siblings. However, they inherited the exquisite skills and profound arts of the Yang family. Yang Die worked as a teaching maid in the Imperial Clothing Workshop thirty-five years ago. Due to the palace coup, she was implicated and demoted, ending up in exile in eastern Fujian. There, she encountered my grandmother, who purchased her freedom, settling her in Zebei Manor and arranging her marriage to Uncle Cheng Shan. This is why Master Yang has never left Fuhai Building since."
"So, you're saying this Master Yang is also your servant?"Xiangbei surprised.
"She has long been emancipated. However, she and Uncle Shan are harmonious, and they have two sons, both acknowledged under her family name. They all chose to stay with her, finding happiness and beauty in this life. That's why she truly enjoys living here."