Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Second Distillation!

The blacksmith Jin worked with remarkable efficiency. Upon returning to Qingluan Stronghold, he immediately summoned a dozen skilled and trustworthy craftsmen—blacksmiths and carpenters alike, all of whom were discreet and reliable. Among them was his good friend, Carpenter Yang. They gathered their tools and materials, and by the very next day, reported to the distillery, kicking off an ambitious renovation project.

To make a long story short, the craftsmen organized themselves into two shifts and toiled around the clock. With Li Zhao personally overseeing the work, it took a mere five days to construct a complete set of distillation equipment.

Next came the selection of an auspicious day and hour to commence brewing the very first batch of distilled spirits in the Tang Dynasty!

It was the twenty-eighth year of the Kaiyuan era, the tenth day of the ninth lunar month.

Auspicious for: opening a business, seeking wealth.
Inauspicious for: hiring, marriage.

In the courtyard of the distillery, an altar had been erected, upon which sat a portrait of an elderly man with snowy hair and beard, his left hand raised in a toast, his right clutching a wine jar. His expression was tipsy yet endearing, his bearing jovial and unrestrained.

This was none other than the revered ancestor of the brewing trade—Dukang!

Legend has it that during the reign of the Yellow Emperor, there was an official named Dukang responsible for managing grain. With the advancement of agricultural methods, harvests were bountiful and surplus grain abounded, more than people could consume. The excess was stored in caves, but the damp, shadowy conditions led to spoilage over time.

Dukang, anguished as the official in charge, could find no solution to prevent the waste. One day, while strolling among the woods, he stumbled upon several dead trees—nothing but hollow trunks remained. Inspiration struck, and Dukang poured the grain into these trunks for storage.

After some time, Dukang returned to inspect the grain, only to find many wild animals sprawled around the trunks, fast asleep as if dead. From fissures in the hollowed trees, a fragrant liquid seeped forth. Tasting it, Dukang felt instantly invigorated and as if transported to a celestial realm.

Thus inspired by the method of storing grain in tree hollows, Dukang discovered the art of brewing. The people could now enjoy this miraculous liquid, and Dukang himself was honored as the “God of Wine” and patron saint of brewers.

From then on, every time a new brewery opened or a new brew was made, a solemn ritual would be held to seek the ancestor’s blessing.

At the hour of Chen that morning, Steward Sun, the White Day Rat, and dozens of workers assembled in the courtyard. Young Lord Cui Zongzhi, scion of the Duke of Qi, as well as Manager Jia of Drunken Immortal Tavern, arrived as honored guests.

With preparations complete, the ritual began.

Before the ancestor’s portrait, offerings of a fish, a chicken, and a large pig’s head were laid out. The workers knelt and bowed three times, burning incense in reverence.

Li Zhao stepped forward, unrolling a ceremonial script and reading aloud:

Sun and moon grand and bright, rivers vast and mighty,
Heaven bestows sweet dew, earth yields fertile soil,
Grains grow in abundance, clear springs flow,
A thousand years of culture, ten thousand of trial.

Forebears of Huaxia, honored Yan and Huang,
Saints of Pengya, counselors to kings,
The birth of script, the dawn of civilization,
Brewing’s first master, all hail Dukang.

Appointed chief of agriculture, honored by the Yellow Emperor,
Charged with great duty, keeper of the harvest,
Exploring mysteries, daring in thought,
Spirit of heaven and earth, fragrance of wine.

Scholars raise their cups, poetry soars,
Heroes drink deep, awe spreads abroad,
A gentle sip for health and cheer,
The virtue of wine, ever held dear.

Was the ceremonial verse not stirring? Did it not evoke a heroic spirit, making one long to drink three hearty bowls of fine wine?

Li Zhao had racked his brains to craft it, exerting more effort than nine oxen and eight camels combined—well, perhaps he borrowed a bit here and there. But as the saying goes, all writing is a form of imitation; it’s how skillfully you adapt and blend it with fresh ideas that makes it your own!

With the rites concluded, it was time to begin brewing.

Under Li Zhao’s direction, the workers brought forth the already-fermented ingredients and placed them in the great iron cauldron at the base of the steaming vat—not refined grains like rice or wheat, but the more economical sorghum, with a little wheat bran and rice husk.

Water was added, the hearth lit, and as the fierce flames heated the mixture, the alcohol vapors began to rise.

Atop the steamer sat a “sky pot” filled with cold water, constantly stirred by a worker to maintain an even temperature. Beneath the sky pot, a finely wrought iron tray awaited.

As the alcohol vapors met the sky pot, they condensed into droplets that fell into the tray below. Once accumulated, the liquid ran through a spout into a waiting wooden barrel—crystal clear and redolent with rich fragrance.

“Look, it’s flowing! The wine is coming out!”

“Where’s the ladle? Let me be the first to taste this new brew!”

Two elderly master brewers, their hair streaked with gray, had kept vigil by the barrels. Seeing the quality of the liquor, their faces lit with joy and they eagerly reached for a taste—only to be stopped by Li Zhao.

The first liquid to emerge is called the “head,” typically around seventy percent alcohol—powerfully aromatic, but unsafe to drink. It contains methanol, fusel oils, and other impurities; not only is it pungent, but prolonged consumption can harm vision, even cause blindness. Fortunately, the head makes up only about one percent of the batch.

Once the head had been collected, Li Zhao had the workers switch barrels to catch the “heart”—the prime middle cut, pure and mellow at about forty percent alcohol. Tasting it, they found it rich and lingering on the palate.

“What superb wine! In all my sixty years, I’ve never tasted anything like it. To drink such nectar today, I could die with no regrets!”

“Compared to this, what we used to drink was little more than water. Our young master must be a sage sent from the heavens!”

The brewers and workers crowded round, each eager to sample the new spirit. The courtyard erupted with praise, laughter, and even some who wept or stamped their feet in delight.

A few workers, too enthusiastic with their ladles, were soon overcome by intoxication and nearly collapsed.

Those who work in distilleries are rarely lightweights, but they’re accustomed to drinking fermented wine of about fifteen percent alcohol. This forty-proof spirit was something entirely new—no wonder it caught them off guard.

“Young Lord, you must try this wine!”

Cui Zongzhi, famed for his love of drink and prowess at the cup, had tasted countless fine spirits—including those reserved for the emperor himself. If anyone could judge the quality, it was him.

He accepted a bowl, inspected the clarity, inhaled the bouquet, and his eyes lit up. He sipped, then drained the bowl in one go—saying nothing, but raising his thumb high in silent acclaim.

Such wordless praise surpassed any speech.

Meanwhile, Li Zhao continued to taste the emerging liquor. When the proof began to drop, he instructed the workers to switch barrels again—this was the “tail,” containing more impurities and bitterness, unfit for drinking.

Of course, neither the head nor the tail would be wasted. After repeated filtration and dilution to about fifteen percent, they would be added to the next batch to enhance the flavor.

Even the spent grains were not discarded. After cooling and loosening, a little fresh grain and yeast were mixed in, and the mash returned to the pit for fermentation—ready for another round of distillation in five days, and then a third. From a thousand catties of grain, three runs would yield about five hundred catties of distilled liquor—far more than the old fermentation method. The leftover mash could feed livestock, letting nothing go to waste.

With the fine wine brewed, what name should it bear?

Everyone put forward suggestions:

Immortal’s Drunkenness—so fragrant and potent even deities would fall.
Diliang Wine—naming it after the ancient word for sorghum.
Jade Nectar of the Jade Pool—a wine to rival the banquet of the Queen Mother of the West.

Alas, Li Zhao rejected them all. Instead, he personally christened this distilled spirit with a name both sonorous and profound, steeped in ancient style and meaning: Erguotou—“Double Pot Head.”

A few peanuts, a bottle of Erguotou,
Old friends discuss the ages, tipsy and proud before princes,
Wealth is but dust, riches mere dirt,
Life’s journey is long—let us wander free!

As a man out of his own time, perhaps there was no going back. Where could his lonely soul find solace, except in the flavors of home recalled in a drunken dream?

With the success of the brew, a grand celebration was in order.

Li Zhao, never one to be stingy, sent for chickens, ducks, fish, and several fat sheep. Paired with the freshly-brewed Erguotou, he and all the staff feasted in high spirits.

Cups clinked, laughter rang out.

Halfway through the revelry, Manager Jia approached, looking as if he had something to say but hesitated.

Li Zhao guessed his intent and drew from his sleeve a contract he’d long prepared—stating clearly: the Ren Yichang Distillery would split profits eighty-twenty, with twenty percent going to Cui Zongzhi, the rest to Li Zhao.

“Master Li, your righteousness reaches the heavens! Let me bow to you…thump, thump!”

Manager Jia, with years of experience in the wine trade, knew full well the value of Erguotou. He had hoped to negotiate exclusive sales through Drunken Immortal Tavern, but never expected Li Zhao to grant him a full twenty percent share! Though it was only twenty percent, given the bright future of Erguotou, it was as if he’d been handed a mountain of gold—he knelt and kowtowed without restraint.

He had once had his doubts about tearing up the old contract and covering the debts, but now he saw the young lord’s judgment was keen. Li Zhao was not only capable but a man of rare honor.

On the other side, Cui Zongzhi also saw the contract. He said nothing, only drank bowl after bowl of fiery spirit until he was dead drunk.

Gold and silver have their price, but a true friend is beyond price.

To gain such a friend in life—what greater fortune is there?

With the distillation process mastered, the next step was naturally to expand production.

Manager Jia took charge of supplying all necessary capital, no matter the amount, and leveraged the Duke of Qi’s connections to open up every channel—preparing for Erguotou’s triumphant debut on the market.

With a shortage of equipment, Blacksmith Jin, Carpenter Yang, and the others were commissioned to build eight large stills in one go.

Soon the storerooms of the distillery were stacked high with fresh Erguotou, and as the workers grew more adept, the quality of the wine only improved.

Now, the question remained: how to turn all this fine liquor into real silver and gold?