Peixian's Generous Hand (5): Like a Pure White Flower
The next morning, after seeing Liu Bang off to the government office as usual, I headed straight for the kitchen. In the corner, the yellow soybeans I had soaked in clean water overnight had swollen plump and full, having absorbed every drop they could hold. I swallowed hard, carefully lifted one, and pressed it between my fingers.
“Oh.”
The bean crushed without resistance. A savory aroma of raw soybean spread alongside the slightly rough texture of the skin. The preparation was perfect.
“Good.”
I carried the basin of beans out to the wooden platform in the yard. Next came the grinding. I positioned the millstone I had prepared between my legs and, without hesitation, scooped a handful of beans into the opening. Gripping the handle, I took a deep breath.
Rumble. Rumble.
The millstone began to turn with a harsh grinding sound. White soy milk seeped out through the cracks.
“...Ugh.”
But the millstone was far heavier than I had imagined. After only a few rotations, my slender arms started trembling like leaves in the wind. I should have just asked Liu Bang to do it… The regret came too late. Still, I could not stop now. Protein was right in front of me—how could I possibly give up?
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve and kept turning the stone. When my right arm felt ready to snap, I switched to the left. When that failed, I used both hands and threw my body weight into it. Thirty minutes. One hour. Several hours must have passed. By the time my shoulders screamed as if they would pop from their sockets, every last soybean had finally become a thick paste.
“...Whew.”
A rush of proud accomplishment swept over me as I stared at the empty basin. My arms had gone completely numb, as though they no longer belonged to me, but the task was not finished yet. I lay spread-eagled on the platform for a moment, gasping for breath, then forced myself up again. Carrying the ground soybean paste back to the kitchen, I thought, Next, I dilute the paste with water.
The savory aroma rose gently. I strained the finished paste through the fine hemp cloth I had bought for the extravagant sum of ten jeon. Drip. Drip. The extracted milky liquid was soy milk—or more precisely, bean water. The residue left behind in the cloth was okara. I set the okara aside in a separate bowl, poured the strained liquid into a pot, and set it over the stove fire.
Next comes heating…
Raw bean water, I knew, tasted awful. It carried a strong grassy odor and was a sure way to upset the stomach. For tofu, it had to be boiled. That process broke down the trypsin inhibitors and greatly improved digestibility. I fed the fire with firewood, keeping the flame low so the liquid would not boil over, then squatted on the earthen floor and waited.
“...Haaam.”
Fatigue rolled in like a tide. The savory smell, the cozy warmth of the stove—my eyelids grew impossibly heavy. I nodded off several times, jerking awake with a start. I pinched my thighs hard to fight the drowsiness. And then… the bean water…
“Sister-in-law?”
“Huk!”
The thunderous voice snapped my eyes wide open. I turned to find Fan Kuai standing at the entrance to the earthen floor, peering at me with round, curious eyes.
“General Fan… what brings you here at this hour?” I stood, pressing a hand to my startled chest.
Fan Kuai took a step back and scratched his head. “I had business with my brother. Looks like he’s gone to the office?”
“Yes. He won’t return until evening.”
“Hmm, I see. …What are you making, though? It smells incredibly savory.”
Fan Kuai stepped inside, sniffing with open interest.
“I’m experimenting. I’m not sure it will succeed.”
“Experiment? What kind?”
“I’m trying to create a new dish from beans.”
“Beans? You mean those tasteless things?”
“Yes, those round beans. I want to make them delicious.”
Fan Kuai tilted his head. “You always choose the strangest tasks, sister-in-law.”
“Is it strange?”
“Of course. Most people chase what already tastes good. They don’t try to force something bad to become good.”
A fair point. Yet if something does not exist, Koreans will invent it. That is simply our nature.
After watching the bean water for a moment, Fan Kuai rolled up his sleeves. “So, is there anything I can help with?”
“Well…”
There was a mountain of work. The Liu household’s day had only just begun. I glanced at the towering pile of laundry in the yard and began, “While I handle the laundry…”
“You want me to fold it? Got it. I’ll finish it quickly.”
“...Pardon?”
“Isn’t that what you meant? All that laundry lying around.”
“......”
What I had actually intended to say was, While I fold the laundry, could you watch the fire? In this era, it was only common sense for a strong man to tend the stove while a delicate woman did the washing. I stared up at Fan Kuai in a daze.
“You’ll… fold the laundry for me? You, General Fan?”
“Sure. It’s not difficult.”
Fan Kuai nodded without the slightest hesitation. A wave of cultural shock crashed over me. A man of this era folding laundry? And doing so willingly?
“I’ll be back soon. Finish what you were doing, sister-in-law.”
He whistled as he strode into the yard. Watching his retreating back, I unconsciously covered my face with both hands and bent forward. Your future husband is truly… very kind, Sua. It was the exact moment my favorability toward Liu Bang dipped by the tiniest fraction.
Fan Kuai even helped sweep the yard before leaving with his usual brisk attitude. Finally, the pot of bean water began to bubble vigorously.
This should be enough.
I lowered the flame and let it simmer. The true challenge began now: the coagulant. The magical powder that would solidify the bean water. Modern tofu factories used nigari or calcium sulfate, but in this era…
I cannot obtain nigari.
Nigari was a byproduct of salt production from seawater, and Peixian lay far inland. Salt itself was precious; acquiring nigari was virtually impossible. The first alternative that came to mind was gypsum. Gypsum contained calcium sulfate, and China had long produced “gypsum tofu,” which was said to yield a far smoother and softer texture. Besides, gypsum was used both as a building material and in herbal medicine. Even in this rural area, a pharmacy should carry it.
Of course, not immediately.
I had planned to consult Xiao He about obtaining gypsum yesterday, but he was overwhelmed with selecting corvée laborers for winter preparations. The kitchen-friendly substitute I settled on instead was…
Vinegar!
Acidic substances could also coagulate protein. Lemon juice or vinegar caused proteins to denature and clump together—a phenomenon known as isoelectric precipitation. I had learned it as a child during a farm visit, in a children’s cheese-making activity. The principle was the same as adding vinegar to milk to make ricotta.
The taste will be a little sour, of course…
Strictly speaking, the result would not be pressed tofu. It would be closer to fluffy sundubu or cottage cheese. But what did shape matter? I had achieved the supreme goal of protein intake.
I took a small jar from the shelf—aged grain vinegar, sharp and sour. Let’s do this. I breathed deeply and added the vinegar to the bean water little by little, stirring slowly, ever so slowly, with a wooden spatula.
At first, nothing happened. Only the smell of vinegar filled the air. Had it failed? Was the temperature wrong? Was the vinegar too old?
But after adding a little more and waiting—
“Ha!”
White clumps began to form and float like fluffy clouds on the surface. It worked! The protein was coagulating. Cloud-like masses tangled together inside the bean water, blooming like white snow flowers.
Suppressing my excitement, I prepared a basket lined with clean cloth and carefully poured the coagulated mixture onto it. The transparent, pale yellow liquid drained through, dripping steadily below. What remained on the cloth was nothing but soft, steaming white curds.
“...Gulp.”
With trembling fingers I scooped up a small piece, placed it in my mouth, and—
“Ugh…”
The first taste was sour. Then the rich, deep flavor of the soybeans filled my mouth. And it was so soft… Everything melted on the tongue like snow, sliding down the throat without any need to chew. The texture was on an entirely different level from coarse porridge or tough jerky.
It was not identical to modern tofu, of course. It lacked perfect smoothness and carried a strong sour note from the vinegar. Yet my conclusion was simple: It’s delicious! Every starved cell in my body cheered.
There was still room for improvement. Using gypsum later would make it smoother. A pinch of salt would balance the flavor. But today’s experiment was a resounding success. I had transformed hard, beany soybeans into something soft and easily digestible. Protein worries were now behind me. With further refinement, I might even sell it for profit.
“...I did it.”
I clenched my fist in pure ecstasy.
From the following day, I repeated the experiments daily. I adjusted the amount of vinegar, changed the heating temperature, and varied the concentration of the bean water.
“...Ugh.”
Failure after failure. Too much vinegar produced overly sour curds. Insufficient heating left a grassy porridge. Once I misjudged the straining and sent hot bean water splashing everywhere in a minor disaster. Yet with every failure, data accumulated. My experience grew, and the results gradually improved.
On the sixth day, I finally produced something I could call “tofu-like.”
“This is it…”
The secret was premixing vinegar and salt with water to create a nigari-like solution. The result was not fluffy but had a pleasing elasticity. I pressed it in a wooden frame beneath a heavy stone, and it formed a reasonably square shape.
“Hmm~ hum~♬”
I hummed as I placed the white block on a plate. It was not yet as smooth as commercial tofu—the surface was rough and the edges uneven. But it was edible. More than that, it was delicious.
Carrying the plate, I opened the bedroom door while still humming.
“My lord.”
Liu Bang was already seated at the table, waiting. His eyes widened slightly at the pure white object in my hands.
“What is that?”
“A new dish. I made it from beans.”
“Beans? Those tasteless ones?”
Liu Bang’s brow furrowed. He had never properly watched me make this before; lately he left early each morning and returned late.
“Yes, the soybeans you brought home previously, my lord.”
“Hmm…”
His expression stiffened with honest reluctance. He clearly remembered grumbling for ages when I had served bean porridge before.
“This time is different. Consider yourself tricked and try it.”
“......”
“Eat.”
“Fine, I’ll eat.”
Liu Bang picked up his chopsticks as if humoring me and reached for the white block. It immediately fell apart.
“...It won’t hold.”
“Relax your grip. Don’t squeeze—lift it gently, as if setting it down.”
“Even if I try…”
Every clumsy movement of his chopsticks tore the neat squares I had cut. This man really… Unable to watch any longer, I rose, moved to his side, and covered his large hand with my smaller one.
“Like this. Understand?”
“Uh…”
His body flinched. Ignoring it, I guided his fingers to pick up a piece of tofu, exactly like a mother teaching a child.
“There. See?”
I returned to my seat. Liu Bang, still slightly dazed, finally brought the tofu to his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring it.
“...!”
His eyes widened. “It’s delicious?”
His dark pupils trembled with surprise. “You really made this from those beans?”
“Yes.”
“How? There’s no beany smell at all, and it’s incredibly savory.”
“I soaked the beans, ground them, extracted the milk, boiled it, and added vinegar to coagulate it.”
Liu Bang nodded and took another bite—this time the largest piece he could manage. “Delicious.” Another exclamation escaped him. Awe crept into his expression. “Zhi, you really… there’s nothing you can’t make.”
“There are still improvements to be made. I want it softer, and the sourness reduced.”
“It’s plenty good as it is.”
“I cannot settle for ‘good enough.’ Once I begin something, I must see it through.”
“Hah…”
Liu Bang chuckled and quickly finished every piece on the plate. “Any more?”
“I will make it again tomorrow.”
“Please do. This would be perfect with wine.”
He licked his chopsticks with clear regret, then looked at me again. “So, what is this dish called?”
“So suddenly?”
“You created it. We cannot keep calling it ‘that delicious white thing made from beans.’”
A name. Of course it was tofu. Yet saying “tofu” felt strangely guilty, as if I were wronging my future grandson Liu An. Besides, a new product’s name shaped its first impression. “Tofu” (豆腐—rotten beans) would be marketing suicide for something this delicious.
After a moment’s thought, I offered another name. “How about Duhua?”
“Duhua…?”
“Yes. It means ‘bean flower.’ The way it clumps looks like white flowers blooming in the bean water.”
It sounded a little girlish, but it suited a premium positioning perfectly. The character for “flower” made it feel more expensive.
“Duhua…”
Liu Bang rolled the name on his tongue, then smiled softly. “It’s a good name. Easy to remember and beautiful.” He started to add, “Just like you, Zhi…” then cleared his throat and swallowed the rest.
Just like you, Zhi. An obvious, cringeworthy line. Pretending I had not heard the latter part, I nodded with a light smile.
“Then from now on, I will call it duhua.”
I pushed the empty bowl aside, straightened my posture, and looked directly at Liu Bang. “Lord Liu.”
“Yeah?”
“With that in mind, tomorrow I will go see Lord Xiao.”
“Xiao He?”
Liu Bang tilted his head, puzzled. I nodded firmly, eyes sparkling. “We need to earn money with this.”