[Title]: "History of the Jar: The Mortal Jar and the Wrath of God" (Also known as: "Did You Know? Liyue Harbor Was Built on Pickling Jars")
[Author]: Lovia
[Main Text]:
[Chapter One: Vicissitudes of Time]
In a distant era when Liyue Harbor was merely a tiny fishing village, the ancestors lived by the sea, eking out a living from the waves.
The great ocean was a generous granary, but also a fickle "God." It bestowed the benefits of fish and salt, yet frequently unleashed catastrophic disasters.
According to ancient records, these "catastrophic disasters" were actually caused by a being known to later generations as the "Sea God," who would occasionally stir up waves of destruction, dragging the fishing village into the abyss.
In those times, turbid and briny seawater would roar as it poured into the village, swallowing low-lying cottages and crushing hard-earned belongings into splintered wood and silt.
It was no mere storm; it was divine punishment, another encroachment upon this land by the Sea God.
With every receding tide, only a mess of wreckage and sighs remained.
At that time, there was an extraordinary man in the village whom the neighbors all called "Old Pickler."
Old Pickler was over fifty years old with a slightly hunched back. He was not skilled at casting nets to fish, nor was he adept at farming in the fields; he possessed only a unique ancestral skill for pickling vegetables that was unsurpassed far and wide.
The thousands of heavy clay jars in his courtyard were his entire world. Through Old Pickler's hands, even the most ordinary vegetables could be turned into something miraculous—mellow-flavored pickles that could be preserved for years without spoiling.
Those pickles, fresh yet salty with a sweet aftertaste, were an essential staple for fishermen heading out to sea.
Old Pickler was broad-minded and never viewed this unique skill as private property; he often personally taught other villagers the secrets of selecting ingredients, drying, seasoning, and sealing the jars.
Gradually, those dark brown clay jars began to pile up under the eaves and in the courtyards of every household... Then one day, at the end of summer and beginning of autumn, the weather suddenly changed.
At the end of the horizon, mountains of ink-black clouds piled up, pressing down with the force of a collapsing city. Before the wind arrived, the sound was heard—a low moan like the breathing of a giant beast. The old fishermen's faces turned ashen, for they all knew this calamity was unavoidable.
Wave after wave grew higher, crashing thunderously against the fragile coastal rocks and embankments. Briny seawater mixed with broken wood and debris had already flooded into the village cottages, reaching knee-height.
"It's not a wave... It's Him! He's come again!!"
Cries of anguish, the howling of the gale, and the sound of collapsing houses merged into one. Despair, like the cold tide of this moment, soaked through the cottages and drowned everyone's hearts.
People cried out as they fled to higher ground, watching as the village was about to be swallowed. At the critical moment, Old Pickler looked at his mountain of pickling jars, and a light suddenly burst from his eyes.
He lunged toward the highest point, letting the gale tear at his graying hair and beard, and used all the strength in his life to raise his arms and shout: "Folks! Quick! Bring out all the jars, fill them with sand, and pile them up! The higher the better!"
The despairing villagers were momentarily stunned.
Using these fragile pickling jars to fight against a colossal wave? To fight a God? How absurd! Was it not like throwing eggs against a stone?
But when the first wave imbued with the power of a God struck the shore, tearing away houses like shredded paper, the people had no other choice.
The instinct for survival drove the people into action. Men went into battle bare-chested, while women, children, and the elderly helped as well. Basket after basket of sand was quickly filled into empty jars, sealed with oilpaper cloth, and tied tightly. The clay jars containing pickles were carried over and used directly.
Thousands upon thousands of heavy clay jars were quickly passed and stacked by the people's hands. With their heavy bodies and unique curved structures, they were cleverly interlocked. Along the waterline, they miraculously built a "Jar Dike" that looked remarkably solid!
The crowd had barely finished stacking the "Jar Dike" when the God's tide arrived.
But when they struck those ramparts built of pickling jars, a miracle happened!
The curved structure of the jars actually dispersed the impact force layer by layer. They only settled slightly during the impact, leaning closer to one another. The gaps between the jars acted like countless small whirlpools, disrupting and shedding the God's power, allowing the impact of the violent waves to flow away and dissipate.
The night passed, and the tide receded.
The Sea God failed to level this fishing village.
A dead silence hung between heaven and earth, with only the sea breeze bringing the briny scent of ruin.
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