At the end of the winding mountain road, there is a small old and peaceful village. The houses here are made of bluestone, the roofs are covered with thick thatch, and the smoke rises from the cooking, which contrasts with the surrounding green mountains and waters. Every year on the 25th day of the lunar month, the village will be filled with the rich aroma of tofu, which is the day when the villagers grind tofu and is also their important annual celebration.
In the heart of the village is a huge stone mill, which is larger and older than any other house's stone mill. The surface of the stone mill has been polished smooth by the years, and the lines on it seem to contain some mysterious power. According to legend, this stone mill is a treasure given to the village by the gods, and it can grind the most delicate and delicious tofu.
The old people say that this stone mill has an unwritten rule, and only on the twenty-fifth day of the lunar month, when it is pushed by a person with a pure heart, can it exert its magical power. Therefore, at this time, the whole village bathes and changes clothes in preparation for this sacred occasion.
As the footsteps of the twenty-fifth day of the lunar month are getting closer and closer, the expectations of the villagers are getting stronger and stronger. They believe that as long as they grind tofu according to the traditional ritual, they will be protected by the gods, and the coming year will be smooth and the family will be able to live a good life. And this year, this responsibility will fall on the shoulders of a young man named Huiming, who will become a new witness to this legend.
In the cold wind of the wax moon, every corner of the village is filled with a busy and excited atmosphere. Hui Ming, a twenty-year-old young man, was chosen to be the promoter of this year's tofu grinding, which made him feel both honored and nervous. With rough hands and firm eyes, he is recognized as a hardworking and kind young man in the village.
Hui Ming's father, Li Laohan, was an experienced farmer who taught Hui Ming how to choose the best soybeans for grinding tofu. Together, they walked through every field in the village, carefully selecting the plump and golden beans. When he returned home, Huiming began to soak the soybeans and wash them over and over again until the water was clear and free of impurities.
At the same time, other families in the village are busy with their own preparations. The women sew new tofu bags from the cloth they weave, while the children gather dry firewood in the yard to prepare for the tofu grinding fire. The whole village is like a sophisticated machine, and everyone is an integral part of it.
Hui Ming's mother, Granny Wang, was a kind old man, and she reverently burned incense and prayed in front of the shrine at home, hoping that the gods would bless this year's tofu grinding ceremony well. She also specially prepared a new dress for Huiming, hoping that he could welcome this important day in the best condition.
As night fell, the village gradually quieted down, but Huiming's heart could not be calmed for a long time. He knew that tomorrow he would have to take on the expectations of the entire village and complete this sacred and ancient ritual. In the moonlight, he repeatedly practiced pushing the stone mill until the movements became smooth and natural. On this lunar night, Huiming's heart is full of anticipation of the unknown and awe of tradition.
In the early morning of the 25th day of the lunar month, the village was shrouded in a layer of mist, and the air was filled with a fresh smell mixed with the scent of beans and earth. Huiming put on the new clothes that his mother had prepared for him, stood in front of the stone mill, took a deep breath, and prepared to start his tofu grinding ritual. However, just when everyone was looking forward to it, an unexpected challenge arose.
Outsider Zhao Dafu, a shrewd businessman, walked into the village with a few retinues. He was dressed in gorgeous clothes, with a glittering jade pendant hanging from his waist, and he looked rich and compelling. Zhao Dafu's eyes greedily looked at the legendary stone mill, and a sly smile appeared on the corner of his mouth.
Villagers, I heard that you have a magical stone mill here that can grind the world's first tofu, and I am willing to pay a lot of money to buy it! Zhao Dafu's voice was particularly harsh in the quiet village. His words immediately caused a commotion, and the villagers looked at each other, not knowing what to do.
Hui Ming clenched the wooden handle in his hand, his brows furrowed. He knows that this stone mill is not only a tool for grinding tofu for the village, but also carries the beliefs and traditions of the villagers and is the sustenance of their spirit. If the stone mill is sold, then the soul of the village will also dissipate.
Facing Zhao Dafu's threat and temptation, Huiming straightened his waist and said firmly: "Zhao Dafu, this stone mill is the treasure of our village, not something that money can measure. We won't sell it to you! Zhao Dafu didn't expect to be rejected by a young man in person, and his face suddenly became gloomy.
The villagers gathered to support Huiming's decision. They know that this challenge will not only test their courage, but also their adherence to tradition. On the morning of the 25th day of the lunar month, the village is facing an unprecedented crisis, and Hui Ming and the villagers must unite to protect their stone mills and traditions.
Zhao Dafu's face was gloomy as water, he didn't expect that these simple villagers would reject his ** so resolutely. He looked around, and when he saw that no one was shaken, he sneered, brushed his sleeves away, and threatened to come again. Although the villagers breathed a sigh of relief for the time being, they all knew that it was only a temporary calm.
Hui Ming didn't have time to think too much, he knew that he had a great responsibility. He walked to the stone mill, poured the prepared soybeans into the grinding eye, and then firmly grasped the wooden handle and began his tofu grinding ritual. As the wooden handle turns in circles, the soybeans slowly turn into delicate soybean milk in the stone grinding, flowing out, exuding an enticing fragrance.
The villagers gathered around the stone mill, watching Huiming's figure look particularly resolute in the morning light. They began to sing the old tofu grinding ballad, and the sound was melodious and powerful, as if it could dispel all misfortune and gloom. Singing echoed through the valley, bringing a touch of warmth to this cold winter day.
That's when a miracle happened. As the song rises, the air around the stone mill seems to begin to vibrate, and an indescribable force gushes out from the depths of the stone mill, making the soy milk become more mellow and sweeter as if it has been enchanted. The villagers felt a sense of harmony and happiness like never before, believing that it was their ancestors and gods who were protecting them.
When the last drop of soy milk is grinded out, the whole village is immersed in an indescribable joy. Hui Ming stopped what he was doing, he knew that today's tofu would be the most delicious in the village's history. And all because of their adherence to tradition and devotion to the gods. Zhao Dafu's threat seems to have been dispelled by this belief, and the peace and tranquility of the village have been preserved.
As the last bucket of soy milk was carefully scooped out, the whole village boiled. Men, women, and children flocked to the courtyard of Huiming's house, and everyone's faces were filled with joyful smiles. The children watched curiously at the fragrant soybean milk, while the elders talked with emotion.
Huiming poured the soy milk into a large pot and began to boil the soy milk. As the flames jumped, the soy milk gradually heated up, and the foam gently burst into a pleasant sound. The villagers helped prepare tools, some picked up tofu molds, others prepared clean cloths. Everything is in order, and everyone is doing their part for the upcoming tofu feast.
Soon, freshly baked tofu is placed on a long table, and the white and tender tofu shines seductively in the sun. Villagers sit around and pick up pieces of steaming tofu with chopsticks, dip them in garlic and soy sauce, and savor the traditional taste. Laughter and chatter came one after another, warming the whole winter afternoon.
Zhao Dafu was also in the crowd, and his face no longer had the previous arrogance and greed, but was replaced by surprise and admiration. He tried a piece of tofu, and he couldn't help but be amazed by the delicate taste and rich bean aroma. He finally understood why the people here cherished the stone mill and their traditional culture so much.
As the sun sets, the village celebrates with a grand celebration. Firelight, singing and dancing, and laughter form a warm picture. Huiming stood in the crowd, his heart full of pride and gratitude. He knows that it is the solidarity and commitment to tradition that has allowed the village to preserve its most precious thing – not just a stone mill, but a heritage and culture.