The snowstorm grew fiercer.
The first group of figures carrying stone baskets had already vanished into the shadows of Old Bear Ridge, like a column of ant soldiers marching toward hell.
The bluish smoke curling from the chimney of the Shen Family’s wooden cabin gently spiraled, silently demarcating the warm nest from the frozen abyss above the frozen ground.
At the first light of dawn, the thick felt curtain at the Shen Family’s entrance was sent flying by Zhang Xun’s abrupt entry.
“Shen Girl! The goods you requested have arrived.”
Ten bags of rice and flour were stacked like snowy pagodas against the wall, five jars of lard gleamed with a yellowish sheen, and atop the salt jar lay several strings of bright red chili peppers. Most striking was the half-rack of pork ribs tied with straw rope—its bare, frost-coated flesh and blood slammed onto the stove, the frozen oily scent exploding amidst the steam.
Zhang Xun craned his neck, his sharp eyes scanning the northern side. The curtain of Shen Taotao’s small room hung low, faintly revealing Xie Yunjing’s wolf-fur coat draped over the edge of the kang bed. The western room, however, stood wide open: Shen Fu, wrapped in a tattered coat, curled on the kang, while Shen Dashan and his brother snored thunderously, half a worn straw mat crushed beneath them.
Shen Taotao and He Shi emerged from another room.
What’s going on? Did the prince sleep alone?
Zhang Xun’s eyes flashed with anxious frustration, his voice trembling as he wailed, “Heavens! Your shoulder injury hasn’t healed… and they let you sleep alone in a room with no one to attend to you.” Yet his hands deftly shoved two plump pheasants into He Shi’s arms, winking meaningfully. “Trouble you to stew these, auntie, to nourish our master.”
He Shi had never seen such things—the ice-encrusted pheasants with their stiffly outstretched legs, their vibrant red combs dusted with frost. But she couldn’t refuse an official’s order. Trembling, she accepted the birds and hurried into the kitchen. “Eldest, get up and light the fire.”
Shen Dashan sprang up in one swift motion, draping his tattered padded coat over his shoulders as he crouched by the hearth.
Dry branches crackled and popped in the firebox. A half-spoonful of solidified lard slid into the iron wok, sizzling as white steam billowed upward.
Fragrant.
A soul-stirring, meaty aroma!
Golden oil beads rolled with fine bubbles in the wok, the intense scent of scorched oil rushing straight to the crown of one’s head.
He Shi seized a cleaver, chopping the pheasants with rhythmic thuds.
Pinkish-white chicken pieces, still coated in ice chips, tumbled into the hot oil.
“CRACKLE!!!”
The boiling oil roared, the explosive fragrance of fried oil blending with the unique freshness of chicken, instantly filling the entire kitchen. Golden chicken chunks tumbled and danced in the wok. Shen Dashan, crouching by the hearth, blew hard into the fire, sending sparks flying—unnoticed, they singed black holes into his coat sleeves.
“Swish.” Potatoes followed, sizzling in the wok until fragrant. After adding seasonings, the golden-brown chicken pieces took on a soy-stained hue.
He Shi scooped a ladle of icy water and splashed it into the wok. “WHOOSH!” White steam billowed like clouds exploding in the pot.
Shen Dashan hurriedly added several handfuls of fierce flames, and soon the boiling rich broth bubbled and gurgled.
Shen Taotao deftly broke apart the frozen cabbage stalks. Emerald-green cabbage chunks submerged in the broth, instantly soaking up the oil and turning translucent.
He Shi kneaded the dough, the snow-white lump spinning swiftly in her palms.
As the meat broth at the wok’s edge bubbled and pushed against the lid, the dough was slapped onto the cutting board, stretched into palm-sized thick cakes, and slapped firmly against the steam-shrouded sides of the wok.
“Sizzle! Sizzle!” The white edges of the cakes instantly crisped into golden lace, meat juices seeping along the wok’s rim into the cakes’ charred bottoms, the domineering aroma of oil and wheat flooding the air!
Zhang Xun watched, smacking his lips: the Shen Family’s wok was practically a celestial furnace for refining meat.
Xie Yunjing stood by the doorway, his straight shoulders tense with the aloofness of high status, yet his Adam’s apple betrayed an uncontrollable twitch as the oily fragrance permeated the air.
The wok lid was lifted.
In the golden broth floated tender, fragrant chicken, while the browned cakes, swollen and soft, had soaked up the rich soup.
He Shi tremblingly ladled out two bowls, scooping all the chicken legs into a coarse ceramic bowl where they gleamed with oil like a small golden mountain. She picked out the softest-centered pieces of flatbread and separately brought them over to Xie Yunjing and Zhang Xun.
“Let’s eat together,” Xie Yunjing suddenly spoke, then settled on the long bench, tapping his knuckles on the smooth solid wood table. “Everyone sit.”
Yet no one dared move.
Shen Xiaochuan froze with half a piece of flatbread in his hand, while Shen Ersao took a step back.
Shen Fu and Shen Dashan looked toward Shen Taotao.
Shen Taotao pulled He Shi over and pressed her onto the bench: “Mother cooked the meal, so naturally she takes the seat of honor.”
Zhang Xun also laughed heartily and urged everyone to sit, so the Shen Family members squeezed in around the table.
The clatter of bowls and chopsticks started timidly, until Shen Xiaochuan bit into a chicken neck with cartilage, the crisp crunching sound breaking the stifling silence at the table.
Shen Dashan noisily chewed a chicken head, hot oil dripping down his chin.
He Shi secretly slipped chicken drumsticks under the rice in Shen Taotao and Shen Ersao’s bowls, then nearly knocked over the salt jar in her panic, afraid Xie Yunjing would notice their humble circumstances.
Xie Yunjing pretended not to see, eating with refined elegance.
The Shen family’s chopsticks gradually grew bolder, and the chicken quickly disappeared from the coarse ceramic bowls.
Shen Taotao watched Xie Yunjing’s chopsticks with growing impatience – he was excessively delicate, taking three attempts to pick up a single leaf of vegetable.
Seeing the chicken in the bowl nearly gone, she finally made her move, slapping her chopsticks down on the last chicken wing mid-joint.
“Quit dawdling, at this rate even the bone fragments will be gone.” The glossy chicken wing mid-joint held firmly between her chopsticks landed steadily in Xie Yunjing’s half-full coarse ceramic bowl, grease smearing on his chopsticks.
Zhang Xun, his mouth still full of flatbread, slapped his thigh upon seeing this: “That’s our female lead for…” Before he could finish, a chopstick snapped down on his head.
“Even meat can’t shut your mouth.” Shen Taotao’s chopsticks flew across, casually tossing a chicken carcass piece into his bowl too.
Zhang Xun grinned widely with delight, completely unaware of the look in Xie Yunjing’s eyes that suggested he wanted to boil him alive in the pot.
What gives you the right to have my Taotao serve you food?