However, Henry Thompson insisted on sharing the profits with William Foster Sr. and the others, because selling bean sprouts was originally meant to improve life in the village, and it was also his way of repaying the favor for those two bags of flour. Besides, for him, the income from selling bean sprouts was nothing; now that he had capital, as long as he wanted, he could come up with even more ways to make money. But William Foster Sr. and the others felt that this was taking advantage of Henry Thompson. In the end, after much persuasion from Henry Thompson, William Foster Sr. and the others finally agreed to accept half of the profits.

At that moment, Henry Thompson personally poured out the copper coins from the bag and divided them into five shares for William Foster Sr. and the others to take home. Each family received more than two strings of coins, which sent the entire threshing ground into a frenzy. The old people grinned so wide their toothless mouths couldn't close, the children sang and danced, and the women clutched their copper coins excitedly, unwilling to let go. In all their lives, this was the first time they had so much money, and this was just half a month's share. If they kept this up until the end of the year, every family would become wealthy.

Seeing everyone so happy, Henry Thompson announced once again that tomorrow was the Beginning of Winter, so he planned to have someone buy a pig for everyone to enjoy a pork feast, and also to distribute some pork as a reward for everyone. This announcement ignited even more enthusiasm—Tang Dynasty folk were open and lively, and many people had already started singing and dancing around the bonfire.

Looking at the smiling faces around the fire, Henry Thompson also showed a relaxed expression. As the saying goes, "You toss me a peach, I return you a jade," the tenant farmers of the Li family village had brought him two bags of flour when he needed help most, so he would repay them with a prosperous life. For these tenant farmers, having enough to eat and drink was already a golden age, and they would enter this era of prosperity years ahead of other people in the Tang Dynasty.

Yet, even as he felt at ease, a trace of worry suddenly flashed in Henry Thompson's eyes. Sometimes, when things go too smoothly, it may not be a good thing. Perhaps beneath this beautiful prospect, there lurked dangers unknown to all.

Chapter 8: The Pork Feast

"Squeal~ squeal~" A fat, sturdy black pig was tied to a stone slab. Perhaps it had already sensed its fate, for it began to squeal desperately, complaining to the heavens about its unfairness. In its despair, it hoped that a great hero would appear, riding on colorful clouds to save it. But at this moment, no hero was in sight—only the butcher had already raised his knife to strike.

"Wait!" Just then, a righteous voice suddenly shouted. The butcher, who was about to bring down his knife, finally stopped. This gave the despairing black pig a sudden surge of hope for life. It stared wide-eyed at the young man who had interrupted the butcher. In its dark little eyes, this young man seemed to radiate pure white light, with colorful clouds at his feet—this was its great hero!

"Uncle Big Eyes, you guys are being too wasteful. Pig's blood can be eaten too. In a moment, let all the blood flow into this basin!" Henry Thompson said, pulling out a large basin from behind and placing it under the pig's neck. Just now, he had seen Charles Foster about to cut without a basin to catch the blood. Apparently, people in the Tang Dynasty weren't in the habit of eating blood tofu, so he stopped them.

Once the basin was in place, Henry Thompson signaled to Charles Foster to proceed. Killing a pig is a skilled job; you have to find the right spot to finish it in one stroke. Charles Foster's father-in-law's family were butchers, and he sometimes helped out, so he knew how to slaughter pigs. Otherwise, they'd have to hire a professional butcher. Although they didn't charge money, the butcher would take the offal as payment. Now that Charles Foster was doing it, they could keep everything.

"Squeal~~" At this moment, the black pig on the stone slab let out a heart-wrenching scream, making Henry Thompson instinctively cover his ears. He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but the pig's cry sounded especially mournful, even a bit resolute, which made Henry Thompson shake his head. It seemed the effects of time travel hadn't worn off yet, as he was still having such strange hallucinations.

With a swift motion, Charles Foster stabbed the main artery in the black pig's neck. As the knife was withdrawn, a stream of dark red blood spurted out, and the pig's shrill cries gradually weakened. Its struggles grew feeble, and finally, it left this world full of anger and unwillingness.

After the pig died, Charles Foster immediately made a small cut on its leg and poked it a few times with a long iron rod, then began to blow air into it, causing the whole pig to inflate. Next, they put it into a pot of boiling water to scald the hair, then used a special scraper to remove the bristles. Because the pig was puffed up, it was round and easy to scrape. For the hard-to-reach spots, they poured melted pine resin to stick and pull off the hair.

Pig slaughtering was considered a lowly trade, but whenever it happened, a large crowd would gather around. This was the butcher's time to shine—everyone was captivated by his every move. Charles Foster probably felt like a pop star at a concert; here, he was the center of attention.