Chapter 36: Celebrating the New Year (2)

Early the next morning, Madam Liu began bustling about in the kitchen, preparing the offerings for the evening’s ancestral rites as well as the family’s meals for the day. These were the most exhausting days of the year for women, especially in households with dozens or even hundreds of relatives. Ancestral sacrifices, visiting friends, preparing offerings, the New Year’s Eve feast—every dish and every necessity was the responsibility of the women. Men never entered the kitchen, a custom passed down through countless generations. (Of course, bachelors were an exception...)

Fortunately, the Liu family was small, with only a handful of distant relatives whose ties to them were nearly broken; they might not even visit for New Year’s. Madam Liu did not have to prepare much, making her workload far lighter than that of others.

Ancestral offerings required wine, meat, grain, and incense. The wine must be poured into large bowls, the meat served in whole pieces, the grain heaped high, and the incense made to last. From New Year’s Eve until the Lantern Festival, the offerings were replaced daily and the incense kept burning. Though this was no small expense, few ever complained—ancestral rites were sacred.

That morning, Wang Zhihong sent a man to deliver the one hundred and twenty strings of coins to the Liu family, surprising Liu Yitiao greatly. He had assumed Wang Zhihong would wait until after the holiday, but the money arrived on New Year’s Eve. Evidently, Wang Zhihong had profited handsomely this time.

But none of that concerned Liu Yitiao; what mattered was the money in hand.

When the oxen had been delivered a few days prior, Liu Yitiao had considered ordering several ploughshares, to prepare for breaking new ground and tilling the fields. But his funds had been insufficient, so he had postponed the idea. Now with money in hand, these plans could finally proceed.

Liu Yitiao had become a small but respectable landlord. For sowing, harvesting, and ploughing, he needed the best tools available. It would be a laughingstock to have oxen but lack proper implements.

In the early Tang dynasty, the main farming implement was the straight-beam plough. The Liu family owned one, which Liu Yitiao had examined several times. His conclusion: this was a wildly primitive era—how could such a plough suffice for tilling?

The straight-beam plough was heavy and unwieldy, required great effort to use, and was difficult to turn or reverse. It lacked flexibility, severely hampering efficiency, and was ill-suited for rapid land reclamation.

So, if Liu Yitiao hoped to ready thirty acres of wild land before spring planting, he would have to improve the tools.

He had been pondering how to do so.

He recalled a lesson from history class years ago, when the teacher had explained the curved-beam plough of the late Tang in detail.

The teacher had even brought in a model plough, so every student could understand its structure and advantages over older designs. The manufacturing process and the function of each part were explained thoroughly.

Yet most students had paid no attention, thinking that no matter how advanced the curved-beam plough was, it was irrelevant to their lives—what was the use of understanding it? Liu Yitiao, too, had thought so at the time.

So, after that lesson, all he remembered was the general shape of the curved-beam plough and that it consisted of eleven parts. The names of those parts, he had forgotten.

Relying on his faded memory, Liu Yitiao sketched its outline on paper. Now he could only ask experienced craftsmen or blacksmiths to attempt making one based on the drawing, to see if it could be done.

But with the New Year upon them, everyone was busy with rites, visits, and festivities; no one was available. Everything would have to wait until the holiday passed.

Liu Laoshi requested a bowl of paste from the kitchen and began pasting red paper and images of the Door Gods—door gods for the main entrance, red paper for side doors. As night fell, two large red lanterns would be hung at the main gate and the entrance to the hall, each lit with red candles that would burn through the night until dawn. This ancient custom was said to ward off the mythical beast "Xi," which was believed to appear only on New Year's Eve.

The day slipped by quickly, carried along by the joyful laughter of Liu Xiaohui.

Liu Laoshi once again sent Madam Liu to the hall, then led Liu Yitiao and Liu Ertiao into the kitchen to welcome back the Kitchen God, whom they had sent "to the Western Paradise" on Little New Year.

The ceremony for welcoming the Kitchen God was much simpler than sending him off, hardly worthy of being called a ritual at all. A few sticks of incense were lit, and the new or returned image of the Kitchen God was hung up—done.

Then came the ancestral rites.

Liu Laoshi first set out the offerings, lit incense, bowed thrice before the ancestral tablets, knelt, and prayed aloud for the ancestors' protection and the family's safety. Rising, he stepped aside.

Next, Madam Liu, Liu Yitiao, Liu Ertiao, and Liu Xiaohui, in order from eldest to youngest, approached to burn incense, bow, and make their offerings.

Once the whole family had finished, Liu Laoshi led them into the courtyard, where Liu Yitiao lit the bamboo purchased that morning. They listened to the popping sounds as it burned, and Liu Laoshi declared, “All right, let’s eat the New Year’s meal!”

As soon as Liu Laoshi finished speaking, Liu Xiaohui and Liu Ertiao rushed to the dining table in the main hall. Tonight’s dishes were the richest of the year. No wonder they were so eager and delighted. At this time, no one would scold them—New Year’s was meant for such joyous children.

Yet the absence of dumplings left Liu Yitiao feeling something was missing.

He had intended to make some that afternoon, but as soon as he entered the kitchen, Madam Liu had chased him out. Preparing the New Year’s meal was the privilege of women; the men of the family were not allowed to meddle. Liu Yitiao had wanted to suggest something, but Madam Liu’s scolding had left him dispirited, and he said no more.

He poured a cup of wine for Old Liu, carried it to him, and said, “Father, on behalf of myself, my younger brother, and our little sister, I offer you this cup. Thank you and Mother for all your guidance these years. We wish you and Mother health, long life, and everlasting youth!”

“Ah, good, good, I’ll drink this!” Old Liu had never heard such words before, and he felt his children had grown wise. He accepted the cup happily and drank it all in one gulp.

Old Liu was a lightweight; his face flushed red after a single cup. He picked up his chopsticks and took a bite, saying, “Thanks to the ancestors’ blessings, I, Liu Fengkai, have been granted such children. Especially you, Yitiao—having you in the Liu family is my fortune!” He raised his cup and said, “Come, since we’re so happy tonight, let us father and son have a few more!”

“Yes, Father.” Liu Yitiao raised his cup, clinked it with his father’s, and drank. Just as he was about to drink again, Madam Liu interjected, “Don’t drink too much, you two. Tonight you must keep vigil—if you both get drunk, how will that work?”

“Oh, right, right, tonight we must keep vigil. We’d better drink less.” Old Liu set down his cup and said to Liu Yitiao, “We’ll drink again tomorrow. Let’s eat.”

Liu Yitiao nodded. He knew something of the New Year’s Eve vigil custom, but wondered—did they really have to stay awake until dawn?