“Jiu Ge’er, you’re finally back! Look what I got!”
Yan Shu climbed onto the round stool like a child presenting a treasure, then lifted the lid of the clay pot with a flourish.
A wave of rich, meaty aroma burst forth, filling the entire room.
Inside the pot, the broth was thick yet clear, with perfectly arranged noodles curled into rings, resting in the deep red soup.
Even Xie Qi, caught off guard by the sudden fragrance, paused in surprise.
“Smells amazing… where did this come from?”
Having been on the road for so long, Xie Qi and Yan Shu, who didn’t even know how to start a fire, had spent most of their journey living off dry flatbreads and roasted millet.
It had been days since they’d had a proper hot meal.
“I bought it from the lady next door, Cabin Yì-Lù-6,” Yan Shu replied proudly.
He had already set out bowls and chopsticks, carefully ladling out two servings of the stewed noodles.
Thoughtfully, he picked out all the meat pieces from the sauce and gave them to Xie Qi before hopping off the stool and tugging his sleeve.
“Jiu Ge’er, come eat!”
Xie Qi wasn’t particularly hungry.
This trip, he and Yan Shu had been sent out to search for ancient books at his father’s request.
His family—descendants of the once-glorious Chen Prefecture Xie Clan of the Jin Dynasty—was a branch of an old aristocratic lineage, once counted among the “Five Surnames and Seven Clans.”
Although the power of the Wang and Xie families had long faded, his family still pursued scholarly careers, though none had achieved real success.
The emperor’s recent expansion of the Imperial Academy, establishing Biyong Academy, was an effort to curb the resurgence of aristocrats by favoring talented commoners.
His father, being of scholar-aristocrat descent, had always been viewed with suspicion at court.
Despite his remarkable literary talent, he had spent his entire career struggling—after decades of effort, he remained just a low-ranking Copyeditor in the Secretariat.
Last month, his father had returned home from court with a troubled expression.
The emperor had ordered officials to search for the lost text of Jíjiùzhāng, an ancient Han Dynasty instructional text believed to be long lost.
Rumors suggested that a merchant had acquired several bamboo slips containing fragments of the text in Dunhuang, but had disappeared after arriving in Jinling.
When the emperor demanded it, no matter how absurd the task, officials had to comply.
Thus, teams of officials were dispatched—some traveled to Dunhuang, digging along the Shule River, hoping to uncover more Han-era manuscripts.
Others searched Jinling, investigating the merchant’s whereabouts.
Though only sixteen, Xie Qi had already been betrothed.
His wedding was approaching, and half of the six traditional wedding rites had already been completed.
Still, his father sent him on this mission—
“Jiu Ge’er, go to Jinling first to search for the bamboo slips. If you find nothing, it doesn’t matter—just continue on to Chenzhou to finalize your engagement.”
Xie Qi had been engaged since childhood to his maternal cousin, his aunt’s eldest daughter.
But because their families lived far apart, and due to strict gender segregation, he had only seen her three or four times.
The last time had been three years ago, when his father took their family to Chenzhou to present the formal betrothal gifts.
All he remembered of his fiancée was a silent, indistinct figure standing behind a screen.
As expected, searching for the merchant in Jinling had been like looking for a needle in a haystack—a waste of time.
Still, Xie Qi had managed to acquire a few rare books and scrolls, not as valuable as Jíjiùzhāng, but enough for his father to use as a favor to the court.
After writing home to report his findings, he had set out for Chenzhou.
His family had already sent the bride-price and dowry trunks ahead, yet his aunt’s family had not responded.
The closer he got to Chenzhou, the more uneasy he felt—his right eyelid kept twitching, and his anxiety grew.
Having grown up in a scholarly family, Xie Qi believed in learning through travel.
He often accompanied his uncles on study journeys, so he was used to hardship and long journeys by boat and carriage.
In fact, this trip had been surprisingly smooth—
Normally, his travels were plagued by misfortune.
In the past, he had encountered bandits, thieves, capsized boats, overturned carriages—and yet, through all those troubles, he had never felt unsettled.
But now, for some reason, he had no appetite and a vague sense of foreboding.
Strange.
Was he about to run into bad luck again?
Yan Shu, already salivating, handed over a bowl and urged, “Jiu Ge’er, don’t overthink it. Eat while it’s hot.”
Xie Qi glanced at the bowl, then poked at the braised meat with his chopsticks, his expression turning slightly disdainful.
“Is this pork? Where did it come from? Pork has a rank odor—it’s a waste to ruin a bowl of noodles with it… You eat it. I’ll just have a flatbread.”
He put his chopsticks down.
Pork always had a strong, peculiar smell, which was why, much like the Tang Dynasty, Song Dynasty cuisine favored lamb over pork.
This was especially true among scholars.
The characters used to describe exquisite cuisine—”shàn, xiū, gēng, and zhuàn”—were all associated with lamb, never pork.
Even the Book of Rites stated:
“A gentleman does not eat pork fat from the sty.”
Thus, in the Song Dynasty, from high-ranking officials to commoners, pork was unpopular.
Some even considered it “food for servants.”
Yan Shu, however, came from a once-wealthy farming family.
Years ago, a locust plague had destroyed his home, leaving him orphaned and sold into the Xie family as a pageboy.
He couldn’t read, nor had he ever studied the Book of Rites.
But he had seen starvation firsthand—bodies lining the streets, people perishing from hunger.
To him, meat was meat.
He had never understood the so-called “virtue” of refusing pork just to act like a gentleman.
In the brief moment Xie Qi hesitated, Yan Shu had already wolfed down half his bowl, ignoring the heat.
At Xie Qi’s comment, he vigorously shook his head like a rattle-drum:
“Jiu Ge’er, just try it! I swear, even our best family chef isn’t this good! This lady’s cooking could easily land her a job at Fanlou!”
“Smell it—where’s the odor? The broth is rich, the flavors deep—there’s not a single flaw! I’ve never had such delicious noodles in my life—I could swallow my tongue!”
Watching Yan Shu practically bury his face in the bowl, Xie Qi couldn’t help but be affected.
The fragrant steam drifting past his nose was too tempting.
He finally picked up his chopsticks and spoon, taking a small sip of broth.
That overpowering pork smell… was completely absent.
Instead, the pure richness of the meat, the deep umami of mushrooms, and the velvety broth exploded on his tongue.
Before he even registered the taste, his hand had already moved on its own—picking up a piece of noodle, sending it into his mouth.
Yan Shu watched in astonishment as Xie Qi completely abandoned his usual dining etiquette—the kind where he insisted on bathing and burning incense before a meal.
Not long after, his entire bowl was empty.
Even the shredded radish, cucumber, and cabbage at the bottom were gone.
Yan Shu stared.
Who was it that had just snubbed the dish moments ago?
“These noodles…” Xie Qi, now sweating from the heat, sat back, savoring the lingering taste.
He dabbed his forehead with a silk handkerchief, then checked his lips, finally exhaling in satisfaction:
“This broth and sauce are the perfect match! One bowl down, and I feel completely refreshed—simply marvelous!”
Then, rubbing his stomach, he added, “It’s been so long since I’ve eaten something this good… yet I still feel like it wasn’t enough.”
Yan Shu grinned and brought out two mushroom-stuffed buns.
“Lady next door said Jiu Ge’er is still growing and should eat more! She made these buns too—both for you!”
Xie Qi only took one.
The Xie family was well-off, and he had eaten plenty of fine food in his life.
Now that the initial amazement had settled, he calmly smiled, reaching out to ruffle Yan Shu’s hair.
“You found this delicious meal—you should share it too.”
Yan Shu’s face lit up with joy.
“Many thanks, Jiu Ge’er!”
The two of them dug into the buns.
Xie Qi took a bite—the dough was light and fluffy, barely a thin layer, allowing him to reach the filling in one bite.
The savory mushroom and meat filling was incredibly flavorful, yet it also had a delightful crispness.
Whatever that lady had added to the filling, it was not just mushrooms and pork—it had an extra crunch that made the texture even more satisfying.
As the delicious flavors filled his mouth again, Xie Qi shook his head with a sigh.
“This sauce is truly well-made. What a pity we’re leaving at dawn—otherwise, we could ask her to prepare a few jars to take home.
Great-grandmother has weak teeth and can’t eat hard foods—she would love to pair this sauce with porridge.”
That was true.
Who knew when they’d get to eat something this delicious again?
Thinking of this, Yan Shu hesitated, suddenly reluctant to finish his bun.
Nibbling in small bites, he suddenly had an idea.
“Jiu Ge’er, that lady is also from Bianjing! Why don’t I ask where she lives when I return the clay pot? When we get back to Bianjing, we can find her and buy more!”