On the third morning, an enticing fragrance wafted out from Du Heng’s workshop area. This aroma was completely different from the usual firewood smell in ordinary household cooking smoke; it was a layered, complex scent… savory notes wrapped in a faint smokiness, the rich fat carrying a trace of numbing spice, and, most wonderful of all, a subtle sweetness, like an invisible little hand quietly gripping the noses of the entire Dujiawa. Even a passing little dog could not help circling at the courtyard gate, barking “woof, woof” and refusing to leave.
In the clay jar on the stove, the cured meat was slowly bubbling away. This wild boar meat was something he had traded for a basket of fully ripened wild berries from a hunter outside the village a few days earlier. He had carefully stripped the meat off the bones, cut it into long strips 2 fingers wide, and marinated it for a full 3 days with coarse salt, ground Sichuan pepper, and sun-dried cassia bark, turning it twice a day so the seasonings could fully penetrate the meat. After that, he had hung the meat from the rafters above the stove, letting the lingering smoke from the firewood smoke and roast it day and night. Over these past few days, the meat had slowly changed from bright red to deep brown, its surface gleaming with an alluring amber sheen, fat dripping down along the meat strips into an earthen plate set by the stove chamber, pooling into a shallow layer from which the fragrance streamed out in an endless flow.
“We don’t have nitrates now to prevent spoilage, so we can only rely on high-salt dehydration and continuous drying to extend the shelf life.” Du Heng gently stirred the meat in the clay jar with a wooden spoon and muttered under his breath, “But in terms of flavor, this Great Tang cured meat of ours is in no way inferior to that of later generations!”
In the pickling-vegetables vat next to it, the mustard greens he had soaked a few days ago had already taken on a faint yellow hue, and when he lifted the lid, a refreshing sour fragrance rushed out, making one want to taste a bite; the clay jar for making soy sauce was sealed tightly, the beans inside slowly fermenting, and only after 3 months could he lift the lid to see whether this “Great Tang’s first bottle of Gezhi soy sauce” would succeed; on the drying rack in the courtyard, strings of sausages hung down like red jade, swaying gently in the wind, beads of fat sliding down along the casings, sparkling in the sunlight and looking especially tempting.
What drew the eye most was the newly forged iron wok by the stove. Du Heng had saved up 10 copper coins over these few days and had specially commissioned the village blacksmith to custom-make it. The bottom of the wok was made slightly thicker so it held heat more steadily and was less likely to burn food while stir-frying; the sides had a slight curve, making it particularly easy to toss food so it would not spill; even the rim was flared outward a bit to prevent soup and sauces from overflowing, making it a “divine utensil” tailor-made for stir-frying.
“Since I haven’t yet found a way to press vegetable oil, I have to make do with lard for now; once I get flaxseed in the future, I can press flaxseed oil.” Du Heng scraped a layer of solidified lard from the smoked meat and put it into the iron wok. As the rising heat from the firewood slowly melted the lard, tiny bubbles of oil appeared in the wok, giving off a gentle sizzling sound, and white cooking smoke rose in thin streams, carrying the distinctive aroma of pork fat.
The greens were shepherd’s purse he had picked fresh from the eastern zone plantation at daybreak that very morning. Dewdrops still clung to the tender leaves, making them look incredibly fresh. He washed the shepherd’s purse carefully and drained off the excess water, then waited until the oil temperature in the iron wok rose to about 70% of full heat… something he judged from experience: when the surface of the oil turned calm and began to emit a faint bluish smoke, that was the perfect moment to add the vegetables. With a flick of his hand, he dumped the shepherd’s purse sharply into the wok…
“Sizzle!”
With a crisp crackling sound, white cooking smoke instantly billowed up, and the shepherd’s purse quickly wilted in the hot oil, yet its color became even more vibrant, as if enchanted, its emerald green dazzling to the eye. Du Heng quickly sprinkled in a bit of salt, then drizzled a little “simple soy sauce” he had improvised from fermented black beans, salt, and water, and the wooden spatula in his hand moved in rapid strokes as he stir-fried. After barely more than a dozen turns, he scooped the vegetables into the earthen plate at his side.
A plate of bright green, glossy stir-fried shepherd’s purse was thus completed. This was the first dish in the history of Great Tang that could truly be called a “stir-fry”… high heat, hot oil, and quick tossing that locked in the moisture and freshness of the vegetables, a world apart from the old ways of either boiling them in water or eating them raw.
The fragrance flowed out over Du Heng’s courtyard wall like a rising tide, drifting across the entire Dujiawa so that everyone could smell it.
“What is this smell? It’s so fragrant and fresh that it’s making my stomach growl!” Auntie Li from the west end of the village was just about to light her fire to cook, but when she caught the scent, she even forgot to put the firewood into the stove chamber and followed the fragrance straight toward Du Heng’s house.
“Could it be that Little Heng is making offerings to the gods? Otherwise, how could it smell so good that a person can’t even move their feet?” Uncle Wang from next door, hoe over his shoulder and about to head to the fields, happened to pass by Du Heng’s gate; his steps stopped of their own accord as he sniffed hard, curiosity filling his eyes.
“Go in and take a look! The white smoke rising from his stove doesn’t look like ordinary cooking smoke; maybe it has immortal qi in it!” A few half-grown children clustered around Du Heng’s courtyard gate, chattering as they spoke, and now and then they rose on tiptoe to peek inside.
In no time at all, 7 or 8 people had gathered at Du Heng’s gate, all craning their necks to peer into the courtyard; even the village chief, who was past 60, came hobbling over with his cane, fanning himself with his sleeve as he walked, his nostrils flaring nonstop, his face full of intoxicated enjoyment.
Seeing this, Du Heng laughed and carried out several small bowls from the house, each filled with freshly stewed cured meat with beans, then brought out a plate of stir-fried shepherd’s purse and said to the people at the gate, “Don’t just stand outside, everyone; come in and try these new dishes I made!”
The village chief was the first to walk in. He picked up a pair of chopsticks, took a bite of the stir-fried shepherd’s purse, chewed it, then his eyes suddenly flew wide open as he said in delight, “Th-this shepherd’s purse isn’t bitter at all? It even has a sweet fragrance, and it’s at least 10 times fresher than when it’s boiled in water! Xiao Heng, what method did you use?”
“It’s actually nothing special, just good control of the heat so the moisture in the vegetables stays locked inside, plus a bit of salt to bring out the flavor and lard to enhance the aroma.” Du Heng gave a simple explanation, deliberately mentioning only the word “heat control” and attributing everything else to “family secret techniques”… he knew very well that it was not yet time to reveal modern culinary principles, and if he spoke the truth too early, it might draw unnecessary covetous eyes and cause trouble instead.
The cured meat astonished everyone even more. The villagers usually either boiled meat in plain water or roasted it dry for storage; they had never tasted anything like this, with its salty fragrance laced with smokiness, rich yet not greasy and melting in the mouth. After eating a piece of cured meat, Uncle Wang nodded again and again. “Xiao Heng, your skills are amazing! Just on the strength of this cured meat and stir-fry, if you went to Chang’an to open a restaurant, you would definitely become famous!”
The village chief slapped his thigh in praise. “Exactly, exactly! The Hu merchants in the West Market love novel foods the most; this pot of cured meat you’ve made might be worth 10 fine horses!”
Listening to everyone’s praise, Du Heng’s heart stirred quietly… this was precisely the effect he wanted. Word of mouth was the best advertisement; he had to first let the villagers recognize his skill, then slowly spread his reputation to Chang’an, taking it one step at a time, steady and sure.
In the afternoon, Du Heng sliced the remaining cured meat into thin pieces, steamed the sausages and cut them into small segments, wrapped everything in cleaned lotus leaves, with each lotus-leaf packet divided into several evenly sized portions, then slung a bamboo basket onto his back and headed straight for Chang’an’s West Market.
There were 30 li from Dujiawa to Chang’an’s West Market, and Du Heng walked at an unhurried pace. Along the way, he carefully observed the road conditions, passing merchants and travelers, as well as the prices at roadside stalls and the situation at the checkpoints, silently committing all this information to memory: there were tax collectors at the West Market gate, but if a small vendor’s daily income was under 100 wen, they were exempt from tax; Hu merchants mostly preferred spicy, strong-flavored foods; although Han people tended to favor cleaner, milder flavors, they were also very interested in anything fresh and novel… All this information would be useful for doing business in the future.
When he reached the gate of the West Market, the sight before him made Du Heng’s eyes light up. Hu merchants led camels and unloaded goods by the roadside, Han men carried shoulder poles hawking their wares, millet, silk, spices, glass…goods from many lands converged here, and cries of hawking and bargaining rose and fell like a lively symphony, full of vitality and energy.
Du Heng found a corner with heavy foot traffic, neatly laid out his lotus-leaf packets, and set up a wooden signboard he had prepared in advance, on which he had written with a charcoal stick: “Du Clan cured meat, tasting 3 wen, buy one get one free.”
At first, no one paid any attention to this youth in a coarse linen shirt. The passersby all hurried along; who would believe that an inconspicuous commoner boy could make anything truly delicious? Du Heng was in no hurry; he simply sat to the side and waited for someone to be drawn over by the aroma.
Before long, a Persian merchant with a high nose bridge and deep-set eyes was attracted by the drifting fragrance. He wore curled whiskers and a splendid long robe, and as he approached Du Heng’s stall, he took a deep sniff, his eyes suddenly lighting up. He pulled out 3 wen from his money pouch and said in halting Chinese, “I…I want to taste!”
Du Heng picked up a small piece of cured meat and handed it to the Persian merchant. The Hu merchant bit down in one mouthful, his pupils contracting at once, and he rattled off a string of Persian before finally raising his thumb in excitement and loudly saying in Chinese, “Good! Good! Even more fragrant than Dashi’s smoked mutton! It has smoke, it has salt, and it even has a sweet aftertaste! It is too delicious!”
As he spoke, he pulled out a handful of copper coins from his money pouch, intending to buy all of Du Heng’s lotus-leaf packets in one go. Du Heng was both surprised and delighted, quickly counted them, accepted only 20 copper coins, and returned the rest to the merchant with a smile. “Today is my first day at the West Market; I only wanted to see whether people would like my cured meat, so I don’t dare sell so much at once. I will come again tomorrow, and you can buy more then; it won’t be too late.”
Seeing that he truly refused to take more, the Persian merchant had to give up, but he still reminded him over and over, “You must come tomorrow! I will buy more, and I will bring my friends!”
Word spread as if on wings and quickly circulated among the small vendors of the West Market. In less than half a shichen, all of the lotus-leaf packets Du Heng had brought were sold out. Quite a crowd gathered around: some asked whether he would come again tomorrow, some wanted to place orders in advance, restaurant buyers came over to ask if he could supply them long term, street vendors wanted to resell his cured meat, and even several Hu merchants squeezed in, asking whether he could teach them his method for making cured meat.
Smiling, Du Heng answered them one by one, and to those who wanted to make him their master he only said, “This is a family secret recipe, and it really is inconvenient to pass it on. But I will make cured meat every day; if you like it, you’ll be able to buy it at the West Market every day from now on.”
After selling all the cured meat, Du Heng, money pouch heavy in his hand, went straight to an ironware shop in the West Market. “Boss, I want an excellent iron wok and another 10 jin of pork back fat!”
At first, the ironware-shop owner saw his shabby clothes and wanted to brush him off with a few perfunctory words, but when Du Heng pulled out copper coins, counted them with practiced ease, his eyes steady and his speech clear and orderly, the owner no longer dared look down on him and hurried to receive him warmly. “Little langjun, you’re buying such a fine iron wok and so much pork back fat… are you perhaps opening a food business?”
“That’s right.” Du Heng nodded with a smile. “But for now I’m only experimenting at my home stove; once my name is established, I plan to open a ‘Xiaoyao Tower’, specializing in these novel foods.”
Leaving the ironware shop, Du Heng went on to buy coarse salt, Sichuan pepper, cassia bark, fermented black beans, and several new clay jars, and he especially bought a small pouch of flaxseed… although he still had no way to press oil from it yet, if he toasted the flaxseed, ground it into powder, and added it to the cured meat, it would give the flavor more layers and also extend its shelf life.
By the time he returned to Dujiawa, dusk had already fallen. Without even stopping to eat, Du Heng first cut the pork back fat into small pieces, rendered it in the iron wok into clear lard, portioned it into several clean small clay jars, and sealed them for storage; then he slowly toasted the flaxseed in the wok until fragrant, ground it into a fine powder with stones, added it to a new batch of marinating cured meat, and mixed it thoroughly. Only after finishing all this did he pick up the remaining cured meat with beans from the morning and wolf it down.
Late at night, with everything quiet, Du Heng sat in the courtyard and, by the bright moonlight, carefully began recording on a piece of birch bark:
Experiment ID: FOOD-001, item: stir-fried shepherd’s purse, ingredients: fresh shepherd’s purse, lard, coarse salt, simple soy sauce made from fermented black beans; result: the dish had a bright, vivid color, a crisp and tender texture, and an intense, outstanding aroma. Villager feedback: “We have never eaten greens this delicious,” with an extremely high level of approval. Direction for improvement: currently the vegetables are stir-fried in lard, which makes them rather heavy and meaty in taste; later he needs to find a way to press vegetable oil and use flaxseed oil instead of lard, in order to broaden the customer base so that even those who do not eat meat can enjoy it.
Experiment ID: FOOD-002, item: smoked cured meat / sausages, ingredients: wild boar meat, coarse salt, Sichuan pepper, cassia bark, flaxseed powder; result: the cured meat and sausages had rich, layered flavors, a salty fragrance with smokiness, and a rich yet not greasy mouthfeel, and testing suggested a shelf life of more than 30 days. West Market Hu merchants and Han people both liked them and were willing to buy at high prices. Direction for improvement: he needed to establish a standardized production recipe to ensure that every batch of cured meat had consistent flavor and to build the “Xiaoyao cured meat” brand. In the future, he could also try adding different spices to develop multiple flavors to satisfy different groups of customers. Market feedback: consumer acceptance in the West Market was high, with both Hu and Han fond of the product and great market potential. Next-step plan: develop vegetarian stir-fry dishes, portable sauce packets, and easy-to-carry meal boxes to enrich the product range and expand the sales scope.
After writing all this, Du Heng raised his head to gaze at the bright moon in the sky, and a clear path of development had already formed in his heart. “Cuisine is the key to opening up the Chang’an market. Once the common folk have tasted it and acknowledged my skill, they will trust me as a person, and only then will they be willing to accept the gewu art I promote. It seems that for the gewu art to take root, I have to borrow the smoke and fire of everyday life.”
The embers in the stove chamber had not yet fully cooled, and the air was still filled with the lingering aroma of cured meat and fresh greens that refused to dissipate. Du Heng knew that this faint wisp of cooking smoke would one day grow into a prairie fire, spreading across all of Chang’an and even all of Great Tang.
And this 14-year-old boy was using an iron wok and a wooden spatula to quietly stir-fry the beginning of a new era amid this humble cooking smoke.