Under the persimmon tree, Li Xiang was making salted duck eggs with his grandma.

He knew the process of curing salted duck eggs, having watched as a child, but this was his first time actually doing it himself. He needed his grandma by his side to guide him through the finer details.

It was also a way for him to bond with his grandmother. This was the simple joy of family life.

And sure enough, his grandma was beaming, working with far more enthusiasm than when she usually cured the eggs by herself.

"This yellow clay is still a bit coarse. Grind it finer, then run it through a sieve," Grandma said after checking the ingredients.

His family’s recipe for curing salted duck eggs was passed down through generations in Li Family Village. The main ingredient was, of course, green-shelled local duck eggs, while the secondary ingredients were yellow clay, plant ash, salt, and water.

The yellow clay was dug from a sunny slope about a mile from his home, a hill composed entirely of yellow earth. Li Xiang had dug up about twenty pounds of it, brought it back to bake under the Sun, crushed it, and then used a sieve to remove any impurities.

The plant ash came from their own new rice straw from this year, as well as from wood they had gathered from the mountains, all burned down to embers in their cooking stove. Plant ash was a wonderful thing—not only was it an excellent fertilizer, but it also had medicinal uses, such as relieving internal cold, reducing swelling, and breaking down abdominal masses or stagnation.

*This Scripture* records that its taste is pungent and its nature is slightly warm, and that it enters the liver and kidney meridians. It is also known as winter ash, chenopodium ash (from *This Scripture*), and firewood ash (from the *Compendium of Materia Medica*).

It is also the raw material for a disinfectant widely used in rural areas. It has a strong ability to kill pathogenic bacteria and viruses, with an effect similar to that of caustic soda, a commonly used potent disinfectant.

The main reason for adding plant ash when curing salted duck eggs is to sterilize them, preventing bacterial contamination and spoilage.‌

It’s worth mentioning that salted duck eggs cured with plant ash are particularly delicious. The yolk becomes so red that it oozes oil, and they don’t turn out too salty.

According to legend, during the Kangxi era, a seventeen-year-old girl named Chen was chosen for the imperial court. Despite her humble origins, she was deeply favored by Emperor Kangxi because of her love for making various specialty foods from her hometown. In particular, her hometown-style cured duck eggs were delicious and perfectly salted, completely different from the salted eggs usually eaten in the palace. One of her secrets was the addition of plant ash, along with more than ten types of precious Chinese medicinal herbs.

Li Xiang’s family came from a poor background, so their inherited recipe naturally couldn’t include precious medicinal herbs. But even with just ordinary plant ash and yellow clay, the cured duck eggs were still quite delicious.

His family’s local duck eggs were of excellent quality—large, plump, and with green shells. This type of egg was also known as a "Green Fruit."

The eggshell is green, possibly related to the duck’s breed. According to some research institutions,‌ the green color of green-shelled duck eggs is mainly caused by the synergistic effect of two single-base mutations upstream of the duck’s ABCG2 gene.‌

These mutations, by binding to the transcription factor CTCF, prevent upstream methylation signals from being transmitted downstream. This upregulates the expression of the ABCG2 gene, which transports biliverdin into the uterine tissue and colors the eggshell green.‌

Other studies suggest it might be related to the ducks’ diet.

Li Xiang’s family had saved up a good number of green-shelled local duck eggs, about a hundred of them filling two baskets, though he hadn’t counted them exactly.

Following his grandma’s instructions, he sifted out about five pounds of fine yellow clay. Naturally, he discarded the fine sand, Stone fragments, and grass roots, as well as the larger, harder clumps of earth. He set the sifted clay aside for later use.

First, he put a little over a pound of salt into a bucket, then added two large spoonfuls of mountain spring water—about two pounds worth—stirring until the salt was fully dissolved. Then, he poured the five pounds of fine yellow clay he had prepared earlier into the bucket, added about a pound of plant ash, and stirred everything into a uniform paste.

The consistency of this mud slurry was very important; it couldn’t be too thin or too thick. If it was too thin, it wouldn’t stick; if it was too thick, the coating would be uneven.

The yellow clay and plant ash slurry Li Xiang mixed was the perfect consistency, so he wouldn’t have to do it over.

There was a little trick to check it: take a duck egg and place it in the slurry. If half the egg sank while the other half remained above the surface, the mixture was ready.

Li Xiang prepared a large crock and began to cure the salted duck eggs.

He coated each fresh duck egg in the mud slurry, took it out, and then rolled it in dry plant ash to add a thin outer layer. This was to prevent the eggs from sticking to each other. It also helped set the slurry, which would otherwise drip down due to gravity, resulting in an uneven coating and affecting the curing process and final texture.

He carefully arranged the hundred-plus eggs, which perfectly filled the crock. He poured the little bit of leftover slurry over the top layer of eggs, then sealed the lid. Li Xiang moved the crock to a cool, dry, and ventilated side room for storage. They would be ready to eat in about thirty to forty days.

If they were cured in the summer, the process was a bit shorter, around twenty days. In the winter, however, it might take fifty to sixty days.

Then, Li Xiang let his grandma know, grabbed a hoe, slung a bamboo basket over his back, and headed to the back mountain to dig for winter bamboo shoots.

His family owned several slopes of moso bamboo, which produced a good number of winter shoots each year. In the past, however, his grandma lived alone and didn’t dig much, just getting enough for herself. Even if she had dug more, there was nowhere to sell them.

Giant pandas had been spotted in their area; what family didn’t have a few acres of bamboo forest? They had more winter and spring bamboo shoots than they could eat themselves, so who could they possibly sell them to?

Set up a stall in the county seat and sell to the people in town?

For one, there were too many local winter bamboo shoots, so they couldn’t fetch a good price. For another, it wasn’t convenient for rural folk to go into town, and they were liable to be driven away.

Now that Li Xiang was back and farming, he naturally wanted to harvest this delicacy and sell it. He had over 100,000 fans now, most of whom were active followers from all over the country. There ought to be a market for them.

Digging for winter bamboo shoots is a skilled job. Much like hunting for Black Truffles, it requires a search. You can’t see them at all; if a shoot has already broken through the soil, it’s old and unappetizing. Shoots like that are best left alone.

To guarantee the quality of the winter bamboo shoots he sold, Li Xiang naturally had to choose the "bamboo teeth"—the tenderest shoots still buried underground.

The bamboo leaves were a vibrant green. The autumn wind blew, making them RUSTLE. Li Xiang walked through the bamboo grove, searching carefully.

Having grown up in the mountains, he had naturally mastered the knack for digging winter bamboo shoots.

Many people might think that the older the bamboo stalk, the more likely you are to find winter shoots beneath it, but that’s not the case.

Instead, it’s the two- to three-year-old "adult" bamboo that are most likely to have winter shoots growing underneath.

This type of bamboo is relatively dark in color. Its leaves aren’t a fresh green but a darker blue-green, and some may even be tinged with yellow.

You can also check the bamboo’s root system. If a stalk has large, dark-colored rhizomes, there are most likely plenty of winter shoots underneath.

This technique is called "reading the bamboo to find the shoots."

Additionally, you have to observe the terrain.

Plants need plenty of sunlight to grow. Although winter bamboo shoots have yet to break through the soil, the bamboo plant is quite "smart." It guides its offspring to sprout in places that face the Sun. Therefore, you can find winter shoots by searching in sunny spots that get plenty of light.

Areas like north-facing slopes, or even south-facing corners that are dark and damp, are out of the question. The bamboo isn’t that foolish. Even if you found any shoots there, the yield would be too small to be worth the effort.

Before long, Li Xiang had harvested a great deal. While he was busy on the mountain, a few elders from the village arrived at his house.