“Eek! Who’s there—”
“Oh, it’s you?”
Xie Yuechan, who had nearly swung her spatula at the intruder’s head in a fright, pulled her hand back just in time. Her voice was laced with confusion. “It’s so late. What brings my husband to the small kitchen at this hour?”
In this era, shouldn’t people be fast asleep by now? Her soft, casual use of the word Husband suddenly reminded Gu Jing’an of the reality of their marriage, a fact he still found jarringly unfamiliar.
“And what about you?” he countered. You’re here too, aren’t you?
“Ah… ha ha… me?” Xie Yuechan blinked guiltily, her eyes darting away. “I got hungry. I’m making a midnight snack.”
“I see.”
Xie Yuechan didn’t know how to respond to that, and Gu Jing’an didn’t offer another word. However, he showed no intention of leaving. He remained standing by the door, as motionless and imposing as a guardian deity.
“What are you making this time?”
“This is called fried chicken.”
The room was thick with the savory, fatty aroma of deep-frying. Though Gu Jing’an had no idea what “fried chicken” was, the scent triggered a frantic watering of his mouth, making his stomach growl even louder. He was intensely curious about the taste. If it smelled this good, surely it couldn’t be worse than the “Double-Skin Milk” from this afternoon?
Xie Yuechan finished the cooking, but seeing that Gu Jing’an was still blocking her path at the doorway, she felt a wave of surprise. He stood there, draped in the silvery moonlight, looking as cool and aloof as an immortal. Surely… he couldn’t actually be craving her fried chicken?
She decided to test the waters. “I’ve made a bit too much for just one person. Husband… would you care to help me finish it?”
She expected him to be offended by the suggestion that he was a glutton and leave in a huff.
“Fine.”
For a moment, Xie Yuechan thought she had misheard. Along with his quiet “fine,” there seemed to be the faint sound of someone swallowing hard.
In a strange turn of events, Gu Jing’an ended up leading her back to his study. When Xie Yuechan had first married, he had intended to warn her never to set foot in this room without his express permission. What was happening today?
Gu Jing’an felt a bit dazed. He must be hallucinating from hunger; watching Xie Yuechan “dismember” the golden chicken with a knife, he actually found her movements… charming? Today’s Xie Yuechan was truly nothing like the woman from his memories. Had last night’s events traumatized her so deeply that her entire personality had shifted?
Xie Yuechan, oblivious to his thoughts, struggled to pry off a whole drumstick. Even though the crispy skin looked harmlessly cool, the interior was a trap of scalding heat for anyone too impatient to wait. Despite using a knife as a lever, she accidentally singed her fingers.
“Ow—”
Hearing her cry of pain, Gu Jing’an snapped back to his senses. He couldn’t justify sitting there waiting for a free meal while a lady did the heavy lifting; his upbringing wouldn’t allow it, even if the lady was Xie Yuechan.
“Let me,” he said.
He took the knife and the chicken from her. His movements were clumsy as he tried to carve the drumstick she had just struggled with. The tendons near the bone were stubborn, and he ended up hacking off a massive piece of breast meat along with the leg.
Oh, a “pistol leg,” Xie Yuechan noted inwardly with a smile.
“Here,” he muttered.
He wasn’t sure how to hand it to her, so after frowning at it for a moment, he simply placed it on a plate and pushed it toward her.
“Thank you, Husband.”
Xie Yuechan beamed at him. Her smile was far more generous and open than the shy, forced poses she used to strike. It was so bright it momentarily dazzled him. He looked away, flustered, but his composure broke again the next second when he saw how she planned to eat it.
He had carved a wing for himself and was about to pick it up with his chopsticks when he saw Xie Yuechan simply grab the drumstick with her bare hands and take a giant bite.
“What happened to your manners?” he blurted out, his tone turning instinctively parental.
“What on earth is that posture?”
Xie Yuechan caught sight of the chopsticks in his hand and returned his look of disapproval with one of her own. “When eating fried chicken, tearing it apart with your hands is the only way to truly enjoy it. Using chopsticks ruins the whole experience.”
“…”
Gu Jing’an decided right then that it was impossible for him to ever grab food directly with his bare hands.
Finding themselves at an impasse, they reached a silent, mutual agreement to stop pestering one another. For a moment, at least, there was peace.
With his first bite, Gu Jing’an felt as though a brilliant firework had exploded in his ears—crisp and deafening. The skin was incredibly brittle, its uneven surface rippling like raised fish scales. Inside, the meat was tender and bursting with juice, the searing heat flooding his mouth. It seemed the outer crust had acted as a seal, locking all the moisture within.
Two distinct textures remained sharply defined, yet they harmonized perfectly as he chewed. Any crispier and it would have been hard; any softer and it would have been soggy.
He had no way of knowing that Xie Yuechan’s dredging technique and frying times were the result of countless trials in her former life, finally achieving a perfect recreation of a world-famous spicy chicken wing. He was currently standing on the shoulders of modern giants, getting a taste of the future.
“And what is this?” He watched as Xie Yuechan dipped her drumstick into a small white porcelain dish.
“Plum sauce.”
Xie Yuechan was eating with gusto, her answers becoming increasingly brief. There wasn’t much to say; the recipe was simple. She had crushed three pickled plums and mixed them with two spoonfuls of plum preserves, two of sugar, and one of white vinegar. Fried chicken could become greasy after a few bites, but the tart, refreshing plum sauce provided the perfect counterpoint.
“Oh.”
Gu Jing’an was eager to try it. After finishing the wing, he carved off a slice of chicken breast and dabbed it into the sauce. The flavor of salted green plums dissolved on his tongue—sweet, tart, and a tiny bit spicy. For someone like him who rarely touched heavy, fried foods, it completely washed away the lingering richness of the chicken wing.
“The chefs at the Marquis of Heyang’s manor are quite talented,” he remarked.
How else could Xie Yuechan have developed such a sophisticated palate? He found himself wishing the Gu family cooks could go there for some training. Perhaps then he wouldn’t have been caught praising the Imperial Academy’s cafeteria, only to be mocked by that fellow Kui Yu.
Fried chicken really called for a cola. Since there was none to be had, Xie Yuechan had mixed some lychee syrup with crushed ice. She took a long, deep draught, sighing in satisfaction.
“By the way, tomorrow is the day of the Three-Day Return,” he noted.
Xie Yuechan blinked, looking slightly puzzled under his steady gaze.
“I have prepared the return gifts,” he continued. “Would you like to look over the manifest?”
“Ah, no need.” She had no interest in trying to decipher the complex, winding lists of ancient formal gifts. “The Gu family is always beyond reproach in matters of etiquette. I’ll leave the arrangements to you, Husband.”
The woman before him was all smiles and radiant energy. There wasn’t a trace of the absurd, desperate behavior he remembered. Gu Jing’an felt more confused than ever. If this was the real her, what had the last few months been about? It hadn’t been a one-off incident; three months of relentless harassment had left a deep, indelible impression on him.
“No need to tidy up. I’ll have Linglong clear the table tomorrow,” he said as he saw her reach for the bowls.
“Alright.”
Xie Yuechan left without a fuss, disappearing behind the screen to return to the bedchamber.
The summer night brought little relief from the daytime heat. The lingering, stifling air made it impossible for Gu Jing’an, cramped on his small daybed, to find sleep. Perhaps it was the combination of fried food and ice-cold drinks, but he felt a heavy tightness in his chest—a classic case of indigestion.
He spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, only drifting off into a fitful sleep as the sky began to pale.