I am a Primitive Man
Chapter 802 – The Lollipop Craze in the Tribe
Sweet? Delicious?
Even though no one knew what exactly this “sugar block” the Divine Child mentioned was, everyone immediately caught the key words. Hearing “sweet and delicious,” their eyes lit up at once.
The Divine Child’s mouth was famously picky in the tribe. If even he said something was sweet and tasty, then this so-called sugar block couldn’t possibly be bad.
Spurred on by Han Cheng’s words, the foodies around him got to work with lightning speed. In no time at all, the whole basin of fruit was chopped into tiny pieces.
Some were still gripping knives, drooling as they asked if it was enough. If not, there was another basin of peeled fruit waiting, and they could dice those too.
Sure enough, when it came to good food, gluttons could unleash endless energy.
Han Cheng hurriedly waved his hand, telling them it was plenty. He let them keep working on the fruit for canning while he and another person carried a vast basin of chopped fruit over to the stone mill.
After fetching clean water, jars, and ladles, he carefully scrubbed the mill inside and out. Then he grasped the wooden handle and began to grind in circles.
At his side, Bai Xue—her belly round with pregnancy—used a wooden ladle to scoop chopped fruit into the mill. The two worked in perfect sync.
Han Cheng no longer let her do any heavy labor, but something like scooping fruit pulp was still within her ability.
As the stone mill turned, the fruit was easily crushed. Juice and pulp oozed out around the edges, trickling down into the clay jars set below.
The essence of fruit lies not in the flesh but in the juice.
If he wanted to make fruit candy, he had to start with the juice.
There was no juicer in the tribe, so Han Cheng thought of the stone mill. If it could grind soaked beans into soymilk, it could certainly handle fruit.
Like soymilk, though, the liquid needed filtering. Fortunately, with his tofu-making experience, that wasn’t difficult for Han Cheng.
Soon, the whole basin of chopped fruit was milled—a jar and a half of juice collected on the ground.
Han Cheng fetched the fine hemp-cloth straining bag used for tofu, cleaned it well, and hung it from a crossbar. Beneath it, he set a clean basin, poured the juice in, and pulled the crossed sticks at the top back and forth.
Thin streams of juice trickled out from the lowest point of the bag, while the leftover pulp remained inside.
To make the juice sweeter, he had two options: add sugar (impossible here) or boil away the water to concentrate it.
That was easy—pour the juice into a clay pot and simmer it down, much like boiling salt.
With the hand drill whirring, flames soon leapt up.
The pot of juice boiled, steam gushed upward, and as the water evaporated, the liquid thickened and gave off a rich, sweet aroma.
It was the second day of the tribe’s three-day holiday, and people were at leisure. Seeing the Divine Child tinkering, many gathered to watch.
Even those preparing fruit for canning couldn’t resist abandoning their work to come over, drawn by the smell.
Breathing in the thick, sweet fragrance and watching the bubbling, sticky juice, people couldn’t help licking their lips.
“Remove half the firewood, lower the heat!” Han Cheng ordered, stirring vigorously with a long-handled spoon.
He had never made fruit candy before, but as a child, he had boiled sugar syrup from white sugar. From that, he remembered the key: low heat and constant stirring, or it would scorch, turning bitter.
Following his instructions, the fire was damped down. The liquid grew thicker and sweeter, looking just like sugar syrup from his childhood.
Han Cheng ladled the golden syrup into clean clay bowls. Threads of glossy sweetness stretched from spoon to bowl, dazzling under the sun.
Everyone fell silent, staring at the tempting syrup, throats gulping unconsciously.
Fruit here wasn’t very sugary—the climate wasn’t right—so a huge basin of fruit yielded only two and a half small bowls of syrup.
When it cooled, it set into semi-transparent blocks that looked quite good.
Han Cheng pried one out with a copper knife, broke off a piece, and popped it into his mouth.
The taste was sweet, with the distinct flavor of the red fruit. Not as sweet as honey, but richer than canned fruit. Not bad at all.
As he chewed with satisfaction, everyone else stared at his mouth, swallowing hard—even the old shaman.
Awkward. Bearded men drooling at his lips wasn’t exactly flattering.
He broke off pieces for the shaman and Eldest Senior Brother. Both were stunned by the taste, eyes lighting up or narrowing in bliss.
Clearly, these few bowls weren’t going to last.
So Han Cheng smashed all the candy into small pieces, poured them into a clay basin, and began distributing.
“Open up—ahhh~” he said to a little girl with pigtails, holding her mouth open like a baby bird. He popped a candy into her mouth, and her whole body lit up.
“Sweet!” she chirped, crunching happily.
Soon, all the children lined up, mouths wide, twittering like nestlings.
By the time each child got a piece, half the candy was gone. But seeing their joy, everyone felt delighted, happier than if they’d eaten it themselves.
Han Cheng cleverly rationed the rest so every single person got to taste.
It reminded him of a childhood classmate who had proudly promised everyone ten candies—only to pull out a bag of granulated sugar and hand out ten grains apiece. The memory made Han Cheng grin as he repeated the trick here.
Even though most adults only got a crumb, everyone praised the new invention.
“Sweet! Delicious!”
“Then let’s make more!” Han Cheng declared grandly.
Fruit was plentiful in the Green Sparrow Tribe, thanks to deliberate planting. Even surplus went to vinegar, wine, and preserves. So using some for candy was no problem.
Thus, the holiday ended early as people eagerly picked fruit, chopped, milled, and boiled, filling the air with sweet fragrance.
Soon, Han Cheng had another idea: molds. Hei Wa fired clay plates with little hollows and glaze. Pouring syrup into these made neat little candies that could be stored in bamboo tubes.
Then came the breakthrough—sticks. Han Cheng stuck short bamboo twigs into the syrup before it set, creating the first lollipops.
The tribe went wild. Adults loved them as much as children—because a single candy could last all day if you licked it slowly.
Bearded warriors strutted around with lollipops dangling from their mouths, pulling them out occasionally to admire, then carefully popping them back in.
Hei Wa, inspired, began crafting molds of butterflies and even the tribe’s totem bird.
The butterfly candies were beloved. The Green Sparrow bird candies? Worshipped. No one dared eat them—except the ruthless Han Cheng, who bit off the bird’s head with a crunch, terrifying the shaman.
In the end, Han Cheng forbade making more totem-shaped candies, for the tribe’s sanity.
With candy now brightening everyday life, the tribe turned back to work after harvest—road-building, fodder-storing, tool-making.
Han Cheng stayed in the village, unwilling to leave his heavily pregnant wife, and enjoyed quiet days catching grasshoppers with her and their child.
But the autumn heatwave struck, stifling appetites. People pushed food away listlessly, the old shaman barely touching his porridge.
Even Han Cheng couldn’t eat.
That’s when it struck him.
“How could I forget about this!” he exclaimed, slapping his forehead and leaping up in excitement…