9 Journey Through the Middle Ages 009

Words alone are no proof. Although the count paid little mind to the small patch of land used for growing sugar beets, Louisa knew that to persuade him and gain more support, she needed something tangible—not because he thought she was deceiving him, but because there were too many rumors nowadays, some true and some false.

Louisa explained that sugar beets could be processed into sugar, but that was almost like saying sugar came flowing out of the Garden of Eden! Even if some were convinced by such claims, could any rational person truly believe it?

So to convince the count, Louisa resolved to actually produce sugar as soon as the blacksmith prepared the necessary tools.

She had nine iron pots of varying sizes, forged by the blacksmith, placed on a newly built stove with nine burners. This stove was tucked in a corner at the edge of the castle grounds, and for convenience, Louisa had a thatched shelter erected above to shield the setup.

Louisa herself had never boiled sugar before—she had only seen old-fashioned sugar-making videos—so for now, she could only talk; the actual work had to be done by others.

“The sugar beets need to be thoroughly washed to remove the dirt, then chopped finely before juice extraction... There’s a juicer in the castle; I saw it last time!” The castle’s juicer was used for pressing apples to make cider.

In fact, this machine was invented a century or two ago, and with its advent, the quality of cider improved dramatically. Grapes are soft and juicy, easy to press by foot as tradition dictated. But apples require more effort to juice!

The juicer was a simple screw press, composed of a drip tray, a frame, and a screw rod connected to a pressing plate and a handle. The frame’s base was cross-shaped to hold the drip tray, while the main structure was an upright inverted U-shape connected to the cross base. The screw rod rotated through the center of the U, with the pressing plate below and the handle above.

A sack was placed on the drip tray, layered alternately with apple pulp and sack, several layers deep. Turning the steering-wheel-like handle caused the screw rod to drive the pressing plate downward, squeezing juice from the pulp and sack.

The juice dripped to the tray’s edge, flowing through a guiding notch into a container placed underneath.

As for how to prepare the apple pulp, a stone mill was used. Although one could grind sugar beets this way, Louisa had only seen how the stone mill crushed apples into pulp. It looked rather unsanitary.

The mill was about the size of a small room’s floor, where apples were placed. When apples clumped together, impeding further crushing, someone had to step in and kick them apart.

For large-scale sugar production, such sights might be hidden away, but since this was a personal experiment, cleanliness was prioritized—Louisa insisted on clean sacks for pressing. In contrast, cider production at the time paid little attention to such details, relying on the simple logic that fermentation would cleanse impurities.

This was based on folk wisdom, which science later explained as yeast outcompeting ordinary bacteria during fermentation, consuming all nutrients and suppressing other microbes.

The chopped sugar beets were layered through the sacks, and as the handle turned, the screw rod pressed downward against the plate. Beet juice soon began to seep out... once enough juice was collected, it was simply filtered, with kitchen servants assisting.

Some attended the stove fire, others stirred and transferred the beet juice. The largest pot received the fresh juice first, which was then transferred to smaller pots as it thickened—nine pots in total, each serving a purpose.

Actually, different stages of boiling required different heat levels. Louisa didn’t know the specifics; she only guessed the heat should decrease gradually, so she left it to the servants’ discretion. After all, once large-scale production began, experience would accumulate.

Such production know-how often mattered more than any “secret recipe.” Many “specialty products” seemed simple in theory, but modern people immersed in information often failed when they tried to make them. Why? Because countless subtle details, built on experience, were unknown.

For sugar-making, controlling the heat during boiling was most crucial. It was said that among ancient sugar workers, the fire-tender earned the highest wages, since their work determined not only the sugar’s quality but also the yield—even raw materials rich in sugar would produce poor results without a skilled fire-tender.

During the boiling, Louisa reminded the servant tending the first two pots, who stirred and skimmed foam from the beet juice: “We can add lime now.”

Lime was added as a clarifier—it neutralized free acids in the juice, helping impurities decompose and settle, so the sugar could crystallize instead of remaining like maltose syrup.

Since this was her first time boiling sugar, Louisa didn’t know the correct amount. Lime was best added sparingly—too little meant the sugar wouldn’t be perfectly pure, but too much would harm quality even after clarification.

The exact quantity could be refined through future trials.

“Sugar? How utterly ridiculous! Where did Louisa hear such nonsense? Some alchemist’s trick? Those fellows can’t be trusted!” The countess, upon learning Louisa’s plan to grow sugar beets and make sugar, found it laughable deep down.

Yet she held her tongue, secretly hoping Louisa would embarrass herself even more. She waited until Louisa was about to demonstrate sugar-making before the count, then sneered from the sidelines, ready to claim “I told you so” if it failed.

“Does this child think that because sugar beets are sweet, sugar can be extracted from them?” The countess smiled with the anticipation of a spectacle. “If that were true, sugar wouldn’t be such an expensive spice imported only from the East… Wouldn’t the great merchants of Rolanxi want to produce sugar themselves and reap the profits?”

“That’s a fortune—money that keeps flowing into their pockets.”

The count shared similar doubts—he suspected Louisa might have been deceived—but unlike the countess, he didn’t hope for her failure. He thought that if Louisa learned not to trust blindly through this setback, that would be worthwhile. So he did not oppose her and even made time to witness the first sugar-making.

As the final product neared, Louisa ignored the countess’s taunts, focusing instead on the boiling pots. The beet juice gradually darkened from pale greenish-white to a brown syrup, already exuding the distinct sweet fragrance of sugar.

The countess’s expression wavered upon catching the sweet aroma… Could sugar beets really produce sugar? No, impossible! Such a vital commercial secret could not be so easily revealed! Those cities known for commerce had guarded such knowledge for centuries!

This was the foundation for a thriving metropolis!

Yet reality paid no heed to the countess’s wishes. By the end, the syrup was thick and viscous. Louisa had someone drop a bit of syrup into cold water, where it instantly formed a “sugar lump”—a sign the syrup was ready. Experts didn’t need this test, but for a first attempt, the clumsy method was chosen.

“Setting sugar” meant pouring the syrup onto a wooden table framed on all sides, spreading it thinly, and continuously stirring with a spatula—a crucial step called “granulation.” This ensured the sugar crystallized into granules; otherwise, it would harden into blocks.

After about fifteen minutes of stirring, the sugar was rubbed with wooden scrapers. Successfully crystallized sugar broke into granules; failed sugar formed lumps. If necessary, continued rubbing could rescue lumps; if not, they would be sold as block sugar.

The first batch of sugar was placed on a silver tray and presented to the count.

Louisa also showed the count a jar of sugar already kept in the castle. “Look, this is the highest quality sugar purchased from merchants.”

In color, they were quite similar—both yellowish. Louisa did not know that cane sugar at the time rarely came as white sugar, likely due to undeveloped bleaching techniques; this was the whitest sugar available at market.

At this time, the land of Huaxia was probably still under the Yuan dynasty. Even if ancient times had advanced bleaching methods, they might not have been invented or widespread yet.

Of course, truly “white sugar” in the literal sense was impossible—ancient texts describing sugar as “pure white” or “snowy white” were exaggerations. Without centrifugation to separate molasses, sugar could not be that white.

Molasses, a byproduct of sugar-making, was poor people’s sugar in the 19th century, eaten with bread to provide energy for labor. Louisa had seen documentaries showing its black, viscous syrupy form, which required centrifuges to separate from sugar.

On the bright side, this meant Louisa’s sugar, though slightly darker than the finest commercial sugar, was competitive. With more experience, matching or surpassing that quality would not be difficult.

The count looked at the freshly made sugar, still warm, with disbelief. The rich sweetness was unlike any sugar he had tasted before—different from the pure modern sugar, this traditional product contained all manner of components, even “impurities,” and was perishable.

Over time, its flavor would degrade, and mold could develop.

Unsure if it was his imagination, he dipped his finger into the sugar Louisa held and tasted again. After a long moment, he solemnly surveyed the room and said, “I hope this sugar remains a secret, safely kept among you all.”