Chapitre 2: Monkey Wine
Come, call me Yi Ge, but drop the 'er' at the end..."
After placing the rabbit over the fire pit, Fang Yi settled into his master's rocking chair, wrinkling his nose in delight as he said, "If you call me nicely, I might just bring out that exquisite monkey wine for you to taste. If your sincerity falters, however, I shall keep it all to myself..."
"Monkey wine? Fang Yi, you actually have monkey wine hidden away?"
Upon hearing Fang Yi's words, the portly fellow sprang to his feet, his substantial frame lunging towards Fang Yi with indignation. "Three years ago, you told me that wine was gone; turns out you've been hoarding it all along!"
"Hey, are you trying to be tough? When have you ever bested me?"
Despite weighing nearly two hundred pounds, the portly fellow was no match for Fang Yi. With barely a movement, Fang Yi deftly twisted one of the portly fellow's arms behind his back, causing him to yelp in pain.
"Yi Ge, I... I was wrong, alright?"
Knowing Fang Yi's temperament well, the portly fellow forced a smile that resembled a blooming chrysanthemum and said, "From now on, you shall be my brother. If you say go east, I'll never go west; if you say chase the dog, I won't pursue the chicken. Is that acceptable?"
"Now that's more like it..." Fang Yi released his grip and replied, "That monkey wine is something I've brewed myself over the past few years; the previous stock has long since vanished. If you dare to accuse me again, you can forget about tasting it..."
The topic of monkey wine was a closely guarded secret among Fang Yi, the portly fellow, and his master.
When Fang Yi was around seven or eight years old, the surrounding cities were still in the primitive stages of developing Fang Mountain. A troop of monkeys, numbering around fifty or sixty, thrived not far from the Taoist temple, and Fang Yi had grown up watching them, resulting in their low wariness of him.
Fang Yi's master, fearing that the monkeys might harm him, seldom permitted any interaction. However, being a mischievous child, Fang Yi once snuck away to play with them when his master was distracted. The old Taoist, realizing Fang Yi had not been harmed, chose not to intervene.
Yet one day, when Fang Yi failed to return home by nightfall, the anxious old Taoist stormed into the monkey's territory, dispersing the troop. To his shock, he found Fang Yi, merely eight or nine years old, unconscious beneath a large tree, reeking of alcohol.
The old Taoist, having lived through the Qing Dynasty and well into his hundredth year, had seen much in his time. After a moment's contemplation, he deduced that the monkeys had been brewing monkey wine.
Monkey wine refers to the concoction made by mountain monkeys that gather various fruits in tree hollows. Initially intended as a means to store food for winter, if the monkeys find themselves well-stocked, they may forget about their stash, leading to fermentation and the creation of fruit wine.
The conditions for producing monkey wine are exceptionally stringent; the monkeys must select hollow trees that can adequately preserve the fruits through winter. Such trees are rare, and the hollows must be sealed, making monkey wine a rare and elusive treasure.
This wild brew is a serendipitous occurrence, with genuine monkey wine worth its weight in gold. The old Taoist had only tasted authentic monkey wine once in his life, on Mount Emei, and never expected to encounter it on Fang Mountain.
When he brought Fang Yi back to the temple, he carried with him a gourd of monkey wine, understanding the principle of sustainable harvesting. He took only a gourd of wine and concealed the tree hollow.
Monkey wine is not particularly high in alcohol content, being fruit-based, so Fang Yi and the portly fellow would occasionally sneak sips. The old Taoist turned a blind eye, as even the wine he consumed had been pilfered by Fang Yi.
However, good times do not last forever. With the urban transformation below, the once pristine Fang Mountain was affected, and within five years, the monkey troop vanished without a trace, taking the monkey wine with them. The last remnants were consumed by the old Taoist before his death.
In the years following his master's passing, Fang Yi, with nothing to occupy his time, repurposed the abandoned tree hollow. Each harvest season, he would toss some fruits inside, and by sheer happenstance, he managed to brew a version of monkey wine that bore a striking resemblance to the original.
"Hey, brewing my own is still good. Yi Ge, you sit back and relax while I roast this rabbit..." Upon hearing of the monkey wine, the portly fellow's face lit up with a sycophantic grin, almost rushing to help Fang Yi settle into a more comfortable position. He scampered into the house and emerged with oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar in hand.
The portly fellow had always been a glutton. Even though they had little money as children, the abundance of wild game on Fang Mountain meant that Fang Yi would set traps while the portly fellow handled the cooking, and they would feast until their mouths dripped with grease.
Before long, the rabbit, weighing four to five pounds, was perfectly roasted, filling the entire courtyard with a mouthwatering aroma. After tearing off the plumpest hind leg, the portly fellow presented it to Fang Yi, grinning broadly as he said, "Try it and see if it suits your palate. If it does, let's have that monkey wine!"
"Just a moment, I'll fetch it..."
Fang Yi, undeterred by the heat, tore off a piece of rabbit meat and popped it into his mouth. He jumped up and walked into the room, returning with a gourd slightly larger than his palm, the fragrant aroma of the wine wafting through the air.
"This truly smells like monkey wine..." The portly fellow's face lit up with surprise as he snatched the gourd from Fang Yi, uncorked it, and took a swig. His already small eyes squinted even further in delight.
"What a fine wine, truly splendid..."
The portly fellow smacked his lips, eager for another sip, but Fang Yi snatched the gourd back, exclaiming, "I've only brewed this little bit over three years; today, it's three sips each, and no one gets more..."
Brewing wine requires fermentation, and the previous monkey wine had undergone years of aging to yield its essence. In contrast, Fang Yi's recent brew had consumed a great deal of effort, making him reluctant to let the portly fellow indulge excessively.
"Three sips it is then..."
The portly fellow tore off half a rabbit's leg and took a bite, then extended his hand toward Fang Yi, mumbling, "I've traveled far and wide and tasted many fine wines; that Maotai and Wuliangye cannot compare to this monkey wine by any measure..."
"Maotai?" Fang Yi replied, intrigued. "You've tasted Maotai? My master said that's the finest wine; what does it taste like? I must try it when I come down from the mountain..."
Having followed a wine-loving master, Fang Yi had honed his drinking skills, though the quality of his own brewing was still in question. He primarily consumed the old Taoist's homemade grain liquor, which was no less than fifty proof, and had often heard his master extol the virtues of good wines, with Maotai reigning supreme.
"I... I've only smelled it, never tasted it..."
The portly fellow's face flushed at Fang Yi's inquiry about the taste of Maotai. During his six months working in Shanghai as a security guard, he earned a meager salary of a thousand to eighteen hundred yuan a month, hardly enough to afford Maotai.
However, he had indeed caught a whiff of Maotai's aroma just three days prior, when he was helping a resident carry items and accidentally knocked over two bottles of Maotai, losing his job in the process.
"Ha, so you were just bragging..."
Fang Yi, well-acquainted with his childhood friend, recognized the expression on the portly fellow's face and realized he had never actually tasted Maotai. As for Wuliangye, he likely had only caught a scent of it.
"What's the big deal about Maotai? Once I have money, I'll buy a couple of bottles and drink one while pouring the other out..." The portly fellow's face displayed indignation, clearly still upset over being dismissed for breaking the bottles.
"You're right; from now on, we'll drink Maotai every day, and let's have rabbit meat daily too..."
As the saying goes, a growing boy can impoverish his father; for Fang Yi and the portly fellow, a single rabbit barely filled the gap in their appetites. Within minutes, they were left with only a few bones devoid of any meat, and had it not been for the portly fellow bringing five or six steamed buns, they might have gone hungry.
"Fang Yi, the outside world isn't as easy as it seems. I've been getting by for years, and I can only afford four yuan a pack for cigarettes..."
Reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the gourd of wine in Fang Yi's hand, the portly fellow pulled out a pack of Hongmei cigarettes, expertly lighting one and reclining in Fang Yi's rocking chair, savoring a deep drag.
"Drinking is one thing, but why have you taken up smoking?" Fang Yi reproached him, having always favored wine but never tobacco, recalling that the portly fellow had previously abstained from smoking.
"I've been feeling down, so I started..."
The portly fellow sighed, saying, "Fang Yi, people like me, apart from having served in the military, have no other merits. In the big city, all I can do is be a security guard. Do you know what they call us? Security boys—no one respects us..."
The portly fellow had an unusual background; at fifteen, his father, the village secretary, had used connections to send him to the army, hoping he would bring honor to the family. However, he ended up as a cook instead.
Though revolutionary work knows no class, the portly fellow's love for food led him to indulge during his three years in the army, compensating for his childhood deprivation. As a result, he transformed from merely chubby to exceedingly rotund, gaining fifty to sixty pounds.
While cooks are not judged by their physique, the portly fellow had a chance to become a volunteer soldier. However, after he secretly simmered a soup from the old hen belonging to the new regiment's political officer, that dream was dashed, and he returned home in disappointment.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone