Chapter 174 – Timber in the Cave

Huanghuali wood—of course Zhou Yimin knew it was quality material.

He figured it must have been purchased by someone long ago and hidden in that cave. For whatever reason, it had never been moved, and now Zhou Dachun had gotten lucky.

“Is there a lot of it?” Zhou Yimin asked.

Zhou Dachun gave a slight nod. “There are still several dozen pieces left, and they’re all pretty big. I can’t carry them by myself.”

This one he had brought back was one of the smaller pieces. After he carried it home, his father immediately recognized that it wasn’t ordinary wood and told him to bring it over to Sixteenth Uncle.

After all, it was thanks to Sixteenth Uncle’s help that his younger brother had been able to become Doctor Chen’s apprentice. Their family was well aware of that.

Hearing there was still so much left, Zhou Yimin became even more convinced of his theory.

During the Ming and Qing dynasties, massive amounts of precious wood had been felled—not just within China, but throughout Southeast Asia and even South Asia. Woods like huanghuali, golden-thread nanmu, small-leaf red sandalwood, and so on.

Red sandalwood and huanghuali grow slowly. Even after a hundred years, their trunks are barely the thickness of a grip. Due to the aggressive logging by the Ming and Qing rulers, by the late Qing dynasty, such resources had become scarce, and now they’re practically extinct.

That’s why, even when the Western world entered the Age of Exploration and began plundering everywhere, they still couldn’t find timber that could compare.

Little did they know, China had already cleaned out almost all the usable timber.

“My dad says this wood might date back to the Qing dynasty,” Zhou Dachun continued.

“Your dad knows that? Don’t tell me your old man knows how to appraise antiques?” Zhou Yimin was surprised.

“He said that someone from our Zhou Family Village used to work in the imperial palace as a procurement officer. That wood was probably embezzled and hidden away by him,” Zhou Dachun revealed.

Whoa—there was such a thing?

Zhou Yimin was truly taken aback.

Looks like he’d need to go back and ask Grandpa about this in more detail.

“Come on, let’s head to my place first.”

Zhou Dachun hoisted the huanghuali timber with some effort and followed behind Zhou Yimin.

Once they got home, Zhou Yimin told him to just leave the wood beside the house. Then he invited him inside for something to eat—after all, this was quite the generous gift.

Zhou Dachun held onto the piece of sachima in his hand, reluctant to eat it. After all, he was a married man now—when it came to good food, he always thought of his wife first.

Sachima is a sweet Manchu pastry, also known as “saqima,” made by deep-frying noodles and mixing them with syrup before cutting into squares.

It has a pale yellow color, a light, airy texture, and a fragrant sweetness with strong notes of osmanthus and honey. It became popular in Beijing after the Manchus entered the Central Plains, and ranks among the city’s four traditional seasonal pastries alongside vine cake, rose pastry, and mung bean cake.

“Eat up! There’s more! Take a box home with you later,” Zhou Yimin said.

He understood how people in the village thought—really, it was how most Chinese thought: when you have something good, you share it with your family first.

Zhou Dachun quickly waved it off, saying it wasn’t necessary.

It wasn’t until the old man gave him a glare that he fell quiet and stopped refusing.

“Grandpa, I heard someone in our village used to work in the palace as a procurement officer. The wood Dachun found might have been stashed in that cave by him,” Zhou Yimin said to the old man.

The old man thought about it for a while before saying, “Yes, there was someone like that.”

“In that case, doesn’t that wood technically belong to someone?” Zhou Yimin asked, thinking aloud.

The old man paused, then shook his head. “Belong to who? That man became a eunuch in the palace. He had no descendants.”

“What about his brothers or other relatives?” Zhou Yimin asked.

“Our ancestor was his brother. But strictly speaking, a lot of folks in the village could inherit that legacy.”

Back then, more than two hundred years ago, everyone in the village had shared a common ancestor.

Zhou Yimin thought it over—better not to keep it all for himself. He would notify the village, have the villagers move all the timber out, get it appraised, and then let him handle the sale.

Either way, it would end up in his hands in the end.

He’d take the lion’s share and let the village sip some soup.

“Dachun, take these back with you, and on the way, let Old Party Secretary and the team leader know to come see me,” Zhou Yimin said, handing over a box of sachima, a bag of flour, and an opened box of Hua Zi cigarettes.

Zhou Dachun jumped—wasn’t this a bit much?

He was about to refuse when the old man gave him another glare, and he swallowed his words.

“I’ll head back then.”

Inside, he was thrilled. That bag of flour had to be over twenty jin—that’d last their family quite a while. And that box of Hua Zi cigarettes? Just thinking about it made him smile.

“Alright, go on!”

Zhou Dachun stuffed the cigarettes into his pocket, carried the flour in one hand, and the box of sachima in the other as he walked home. The closer he got, the more confident his stride became.

Once inside, he saw his grandparents and wife—all present except for his younger brother, Zhou Daqiu.

Zhou Zhicheng’s face darkened. “You took stuff from your Sixteenth Uncle again?”

Zhou Dachun replied, “I didn’t want to, but Sixteenth Uncle insisted. If I refused, Great-Uncle would’ve scolded me.”

Bringing up Zhou Yimin’s grandfather left Zhou Zhicheng speechless.

Then, Zhou Dachun put down the flour and the sachima.

“Grandma, Grandpa, Xiaofang—this cake is really good, you all try it,” he said, offering the treats to his grandparents and wife.

As for the box of Hua Zi cigarettes—he planned to keep that for himself. He didn’t even mention it.

His grandpa smiled. “This is sachima—it really is good stuff.”

He was old now, and even though they were from the countryside, they’d definitely seen this traditional treat before.

Xiaofang was happy too. Since marrying into this family, she had never felt shortchanged. Life here was far better than at her parents’ place, where the village canteen barely functioned—there wasn’t even enough grain, so everyone just ate at home.

Zhou Zhicheng noticed the cigarette tucked behind his son’s ear.

He waved him over. “Your Sixteenth Uncle gave you smokes too?”

Zhou Dachun’s heart skipped a beat—he’d forgotten he still had one tucked behind his ear. Regret flooded him as he reached up and handed it over to his father with both hands.

“Hmm?” Zhou Zhicheng’s gaze drifted to his son’s pocket, where there was clearly something hidden.

Zhou Dachun’s face turned pale—he knew the box of Hua Zi was done for. He reluctantly pulled it out, planning to sneak out a few sticks before handing over the rest.

But then came another “Hmm?” from his father.

Heartbroken, Zhou Dachun gave up and handed over the full pack.

Zhou Zhicheng accepted it, gave an approving nod, and said, “Hmm!”

His grandma opened the bag and was surprised. “This is premium flour. And so much of it.”

Zhou Dachun said, “Grandma, how about we have noodles for lunch?”

“Sure! Grandma will make it for you.” The old woman smiled.

She was quite content with her life at her son-in-law’s home. As for her youngest daughter, she no longer had any hopes. Just a few days ago, her daughter had brought her husband to Zhou Family Village, hoping to get money from them, thinking the old couple still had some funeral savings.

But they hadn’t even gotten past the village entrance before being stopped and turned away.

That daughter had really been raised for nothing.

Zhou Zhicheng said, “Take out five jin of flour—let Xiaofang bring it to her parents another day.”

He knew things were hard for his in-laws.

(End of Chapter)