Apocalyptic Hoarding Diary

Chapter 442 Busy

The wood ear mushroom soup in the pot had been boiling for several rounds, and the soup was thick and shiny.

Xu Xiaoyan stood up from the pot, walked around the waterproof tarpaulin, and took a few steps toward the construction site of the log cabin.

The four men were still busy. Old Wang squatted by the door frame, holding a chisel in his hand, chiseling the hole for the door hinge.

The young, strong man carried the neatly carved elm wood door hinge down the hillside, rain streaming down his bare arms, but he didn't care.

The other two were nailing wall panels and tidying up excess wood. All four of them were soaked to the bone, but their hands never stopped working.

"Several masters," Xu Xiaoyan said, standing by the construction site. Her voice wasn't loud, but every word was delivered clearly.

"Take a break, come and have a bowl of soup to warm yourself up. Today's wood ear mushroom soup is complimentary, just so everyone can have a taste."

The hammering stopped first, and the young man who was nailing the wall panel turned around, the hammer in his hand suspended in mid-air, rain dripping down between his fingers holding the hammer handle.

He glanced at Old Wang, who also stopped chiseling, straightened up, and put his hand on his brow bone to shield himself from the rain.

He glanced at Xu Xiaoyan and saw the iron pot steaming under the tarpaulin. The tension on his face, which had been tense for most of the day, immediately relaxed.

"Coming!" The younger one responded first, put the elm wood door hinge on his shoulder on the ground, and jogged over in a few quick steps, his shoes making a slapping sound in the mud.

Old Wang tucked the chisel behind his waist, stood up slowly, stretched his knees from squatting for so long, and waved to the other two people:

"Come on, come on, the host has served soup. Let's finish this first and then drink the rest. It won't make a difference if we wait a little longer."

The four people crawled under the waterproof tarpaulin one after another.

The large waterproof tarpaulin was originally meant to cover the wood ear mushrooms and the iron pot, but now that six people had squeezed in, it suddenly felt cramped.

Lan Yue quickly moved to the side, giving the innermost spot to the four burly men who were soaking wet, and squatted down on the edge of the cloth, with half of her shoulder exposed, but she didn't care.

She was holding a plastic bowl and ladling soup into it. The bowl was full of wood ear mushrooms, and the soup was so thick that it dripped down the rim, steaming hot.

Lan Yue poured the first bowl into the wooden bowl that Lao Wang had brought. When Lao Wang took it, he held the rim of the bowl with his two rough, large hands.

Looking down at the clusters of black fungus unfolding in the bowl, the dark brown broth swaying gently within.

He took a deep breath, and the rich aroma of wood ear soup, mixed with salt and thirteen spices, wafted over him, instantly dispelling most of the dampness that had accumulated in his chest from the rain.

"This taste..." Old Wang's mouth moved as if he wanted to say something, but he didn't say it.

He brought the bowl to his lips, blew on it, and carefully took a sip.

The first sensation upon tasting the broth is its heat, followed by saltiness, and then layers of complex spice flavors that rise up.

Star anise, cinnamon, Sichuan peppercorns, fennel, and some other things he couldn't name but found very fragrant, all burst open on his tongue.

He paused for a moment, then took another sip. This time he drank it too quickly, and it was so hot that he hissed, but he couldn't bear to spit it out.

He swallowed it whole, letting out a satisfied sound that was almost a sigh.

"Delicious!" he blurted out.

The young man next to him had already drunk more than half of his bowl, ignoring the heat, slurping and nodding, "This wood ear mushroom soup is so delicious, what did you put in it?"

Lan Yue was serving soup to the fourth person when she heard this and couldn't help but laugh. She pointed at Xu Xiaoyan and said, "She added thirteen spices."

"Thirteen Spices?" The middle-aged man in charge of arranging the wood stared wide-eyed, holding a bowl in his hand.

"Thirteen Spices still exist these days?" he said, looking down at the soup in the bowl and sniffing hard, as if trying to inhale every last bit of the aroma into his lungs.

"No wonder, I knew this tasted wrong, it didn't taste like something you could drink these days."

Xu Xiaoyan leaned against the edge of the tarpaulin, holding a half-bowl of soup in her hands. She didn't explain the origin of the "Thirteen Spices" seasoning, but simply smiled faintly and gestured with her chin towards the bowls in the four people's hands.

"Where did you get the bowls that you drink from, masters? They look like they're made of wood."

Old Wang was sweating profusely from drinking when he heard this, so he took the bowl away from his mouth and held it up to show her.

It was a wooden bowl, not very big, the mouth of which was not much bigger than a fist, but it was dug very deep, the bowl walls were thick, the inner wall was polished smooth and delicate, and some knife marks were still left on the outer wall.

The bottom of the bowl was not varnished, but it had been soaked in tea or soup countless times, turning it into a deep chestnut color.

"I made it myself," Old Wang said, turning the bowl over to show her the bottom. There was a crooked "Wang" character carved there, with strokes of varying depths but full force, each cut penetrating deep into the wood.

"Old Li and I both know how to make them. He planes the wood and I carve the bowls. We just do it haphazardly, and we can't compare to a proper carpenter, but it's sturdy and durable. It can withstand being dropped and burned, and it should last for three to five years without any problems."

The middle-aged man next to him, called Old Li, also raised his bowl. The bottom of his bowl also had the character "Li" engraved on it, but the handwriting was neater than Old Wang's, and the bowl was thinner.

He took a sip of soup, wiped his mouth, and continued, "Back in my hometown, I learned carpentry from someone. I could make bowls, plates, spoons, and chopsticks, but it was time-consuming."

"Given the current conditions and lack of tools, the things we can make are very crude."

Xu Xiaoyan's gaze lingered on the two wooden bowls for a long time, examining them carefully from the rim to the bottom and from the outer wall to the inner wall.

The wood ear mushroom soup in the iron pot was still bubbling away, and the steam rising up blurred her vision, but the light in her eyes did not dim at all.

"If we use the wooden bowls in your hands as the standard," Xu Xiaoyan raised her head, her gaze sweeping from Old Wang's face to Old Li's face, and then back to Old Wang.

"Can you make it? The same specifications, the same polishing, the same mold."

Old Wang placed the bowl on his lap and slowly ran his fingers along the rim of the bowl, as if he were assessing its size and weight.

He didn't answer immediately, but turned to look at Old Li.

Old Li put down his bowl, leaned out from under the tarpaulin, and picked up a small piece of elm wood—a scrap left over from cutting the door hinge.

He held it in his hand, weighed it in his hand, then pinched the surface of the wood with his fingernail, and nodded.

"I can do it," Old Li said calmly, without a trace of hesitation in his tone. "Elm, locust, and birch are all fine. Pine is too soft and won't last long."

As for tools... all you need is a good round chisel and a curved shovel to get the job done, but it's slow. From cutting the material, carving out the blank, coarse grinding to fine grinding, you can only make three to five bowls a day.