In her previous life, she was an inheritor of intangible cultural heritage, guarding a jar of wine koji until her death, and the ancestral craftsmanship was almost cut off.
When I opened my eyes again, I returned to the poor mountain village in 1983, and became Shen Suining, an orphan girl who had just been sold by her grandmother to the Wang family Chongxi - her father was gone, her mother had remarried, and she was dragging her eight-year-old brother with her.
In this life, she will not marry.
Half a bag of sorghum, two borrowed vats, the fifty years of craftsmanship from the previous life are all in the bones. When the first jar of wine comes out of the cellar, the whole village is so fragrant that it can't sleep; restaurants in the town are rushing to get it, and the best relatives want to get a share of the pie? No discussion.
Slap grandma in the face, fight off the aunt, and pay off the debt one by one.
The silent young carpenter next door always appeared when she needed him - borrowing pots, repairing stoves, and building shelves. He spoke very little, but said "um" more effectively than anyone else.
Make wine, get rich, take your younger brother to school, and then continue this broken recipe one jar after another.
