The Great Ming in the Box-Chapter 179: Laba Rice Noodles
Early in the morning, the villagers of Wangjia Village once again rode their sun chariots out to plant sorghum.
The nearest surrounding villages—Zhuangjia Village, Zhangjia Village, and Li Family Village—had already received rain from the Dragon King. Now that conditions allowed for farming, the villagers, though temporarily without buses to ride, were in high spirits as a cement road was under construction. Hoisting their hoes, they cheerfully set off toward their own fields.
The militia, who usually trained early at dawn, were unexpectedly late today. Cheng Xu had postponed their assembly by two hours, allowing everyone ample rest before commencing their drills once re-energized.
Li Daoxuan followed his usual routine. He rose early, holding a colossal steamed bun stuffed with braised meat. He’d take a bite of the bun, then a sip of soybean milk.
The Old Village Chief of Gaojia Village lay reclining in his hand-woven bamboo chair, engrossed in a comic book titled Yang Family Generals.
“This book… truly wonderful! Heh…” The Old Village Chief squinted, beaming with delight. “Thrilling! So thrilling!”
Back in his youth, the old man had frequently traveled to and from the county seat. There, he’d listened to storytellers recount tales of the Yang Family Generals and snuck glimpses of the troupe performances on stages. Yet, lacking money for tipping, he’d been too ashamed to get closer.
Thus, his knowledge of the Yang family’s saga remained fragmented, lacking a coherent structure.
With his very own comic book now at hand, the story instantly flowed seamlessly. He devoured it with boundless delight, utterly captivated.
He hadn’t even prepared breakfast, choosing to hunger while rereading the book a good ten times instead.
Just then, his stomach let out a loud grumble, seemingly protesting its neglect.
Right at that moment, a shout sounded nearby: “Rice noodles for sale! Southern delicacy! Rice noodles! Hehe—anyone care to try? Only five coppers a bowl!”
The Old Village Chief froze in surprise.
Li Daoxuan also froze in surprise.
Someone was selling that here in Gaojia Village?
Li Daoxuan followed the sound and spotted Gao Laba. Oh, Laba! A few days prior, Daoist Ma Tianzheng had taught Gao Laba how to make southern rice noodles. Li Daoxuan had watched out of curiosity but, finding the rice soaking step too time-consuming and disliking “static scenes,” had shifted his focus elsewhere. Now, unexpectedly, the venture had already reached the sales phase.
Gao Laba embodied the perfect vendor, carrying a small shoulder pole across the Hakka roundhouse courtyards of Gaojia’s Main Fortress, calling out, “Rice noodles for sale!”
The Old Village Chief yelled out, “Laba! You selling noodles? Come over here!”
Laba couldn’t see him but recognized the chief’s voice. Winding through corridors and making a few turns, he swiftly appeared before the Old Village Chief. Setting his load down, he cheerfully greeted the elder. “Village Chief! Care for a bowl?”
The elder chuckled. “I’ll take one! Got lost in this book, too lazy to cook myself. Let’s taste what this ‘rice noodle’ business is all about!”
Laba’s shoulder pole held a large earthenware pot. Lifting the lid revealed steaming hot, freshly boiled rice noodles. Ladling out a portion, he sprinkled a few grains of salt and passed it to the chief.
The Old Village Chief slurped a mouthful. Instantly, his face brightened. “Huh? That’s… unexpectedly delicious!”
Gao Laba grinned. “Daoist Ma taught me. Southerners came up with this. They’ve got loads of tricks with rice—tricks we northerners hardly know!”
Thoroughly pleased by the taste, the Old Chief began pondering. At five copper pieces a bowl, eating one daily until his dying day wouldn’t even dent his savings. Why cook himself daily? His limbs, old and weary, lacked a spouse for support; cooking solo was just exhausting.
“Laba, bring me a bowl every morning from now on,” the chief declared.
Gao Laba was overjoyed. “Sure thing!” A splendid start! His confidence soaring, Laba hoisted his load and trotted through the entire fortress. Within moments, he’d sold dozens of bowls. After all, the main fortress housed “Old Villagers”—each comfortably rich. Spending a mere five coppers on a novel bite was absolutely trivial.
Even Gao Sanwa got a bowl! Cradling it, he slurped-slurped-slurped with pure bliss.
Boasting a successful launch and a completely emptied pot, Gao Laba’s confidence peaked. Privately, he planned: Tomorrow, I’ll prepare more noodles. Earn a bit more…
But…
Rice noodles, once prepared in bulk, risk turning mushy if not sold quickly. So, how to handle that problem?
Gao Laba sought out Ma Tianzheng, sharing his fresh dilemma.
Ma Tianzheng chuckled. “Set up a shop. Wait for customers to walk in. When they order, then boil a bowl for them. That’s how southern rice noodle shops operate!”
Gao Laba had an epiphany: “Of course! But how do I get a shop? Building a place costs an arm and a leg!”
Ma Tianzheng pointed toward the hill’s plastic houses—the “Gaojia Business Circle.” Numerous brightly colored structures stood vacant. “Isn’t that the Grand Marketplace placed by our Deity? Plenty of empty spots. Go consult the Saint Lady. See if you can obtain the Deity’s grace, rent one of those unused huts.”
Watching this unfold, Li Daoxuan inwardly rejoiced: Excellent! A promising start. The bud sprouting from Gaojia’s commerce—absolutely must be nurtured. But… those darned plastic houses… open fire inside won’t do. Those plastic houses would be a disaster if caught alight. Must get Laba to build his own stove for fire.
Swiftly, Li Daoxuan’s command flowed downwards through Gao Yiye:
Special policy for Gao Laba: zero rent for three months. Starting the fourth month: just a token fifty copper coppers per month. Incremental hikes to follow later.
Originally, Li Daoxuan had surmised that building a stove would be burdensome for the man—yet, he hadn’t anticipated:
Most ancients dwelt in wooden abodes—far more fire-susceptible than sturdy plastic. Hence, from childhood, natives mastered stove-building techniques for flammable surroundings. Using earth and stones fetched nearby, Laba swiftly constructed a humble hearth. Now, within this stove, regardless of the flames danced, the plastic house remained untouchable.
After completion, Gaojia Business Circle welcomed its second establishment: “Laba Rice Noodles,” inaugurated beside Thirty-Two’s “Gaojia Bookstore.”
Villagers purchasing comic books would carry their finds to the neighboring rice noodle shop. Settled there, book open, they’d call out to Gao Laba: “Boss! One bowl of noodles, please.”
“Sure thing!” Laba would respond. Grabbing a handful of noodles, he’d toss them into the boiling water. A mere few minutes later, he’d scoop them up, scatter a few salt grains, and hand the customer their bowl.
The customer’s left hand flipped their comic book pages. The right held chopsticks. With a slurp—the noodles entered their mouth. Ahh… feeling like an immortal.
Chapter 179: Laba Rice Noodles
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