In the early morning at the Dali Temple, the wind carried a biting chill of the lingering spring, and the wind chimes at the eaves clattered incessantly. In the study, sitting behind a long rosewood desk, Bai Qi wore a dark blue casual gown, holding a cinnabar brush as he pored over a stack of case files. The documents piled half a foot high on his desk, and the tea in his white porcelain cup had long since gone cold.
Xiao Jingxing strode through the door, tossed his folding fan onto the desk, and slumped into a round chair. “Let’s go. To the Zui Xiang Lou (Drunken Fragrance Pavilion).” He smoothed his sleeves. “Manager Xu just poached a head chef from Jinling who makes Huaiyang cuisine to die for. They say his clear-broth lion’s head meatballs are enough to make you lose your tongue.”
Bai Qi didn’t even lift his head, his brush moving rhythmically across the paper. “No.” His voice was cold and flat.
Predictable. Xiao Jingxing, refusing to give up, leaned over to thumb through the files on Bai Qi’s desk. “With your digestive system, if you keep surviving on the bland, stale porridge from the Dali Temple kitchen, you’ll turn into a monk sooner or later. The chefs at Zui Xiang Lou are at least better than what you’re currently suffering through.”
Before he could finish, Chang An lifted the door curtain and entered. In his hand, he carried a four-tiered bamboo food box. The bamboo strips were woven tightly and finely, and the clasps were inlaid with brass plaques. It didn’t look luxurious, but it carried an air of refreshing, meticulous care.
Xiao Jingxing’s gaze froze. He recognized the item; he had seen it in the corner of Bai Qi’s study yesterday. He had assumed it was for sensitive official documents, but now it appeared to be for meals?
“My Lord, the breakfast from Four Seasons Eatery has arrived,” Chang An said, setting the box steadily on the corner of the desk.
Bai Qi paused, set his brush in the inkstone washer, and closed the folder with a natural, fluid motion. Xiao Jingxing’s eyes darted around, and he subtly leaned back into his chair, watching Chang An open the tiers one by one.
The base was lined with snow-white oil paper. The first tier held a dish of thinly sliced lotus root in ginger juice. The second contained a bowl of chicken broth wontons, the translucent skin revealing the pale pink meat filling inside. The third held a bowl of steamed egg custard with tiny bits of dried shrimp, still steaming hot.
At the very bottom, as usual, sat a neatly folded strip of paper.
Bai Qi washed his hands, and the first thing he did was pick up that slip of paper. Xiao Jingxing, sitting directly across, watched intently. He couldn’t read the handwriting, but he noticed Bai Qi tuck the note into a red-wood treasure box on the side after reading it. Inside that box, several other similar slips of paper were already stacked.
Bai Qi picked up the bowl of wontons, scooped a spoonful of clear broth, and tasted it. Xiao Jingxing held his breath.
The two had been friends since childhood; he knew all too well how difficult Bai Qi’s stomach was to please. Warm tonics prescribed by the head of the Imperial Academy or medicinal meals painstakingly prepared by imperial chefs were lucky to get three bites from him before he lost interest. Which famous restaurant in Bianjing hadn’t been criticized by Bai Qi?
Yet, after Bai Qi swallowed the broth, the brow that had been perpetually furrowed for years slowly smoothed out. It was a rare look of comfort on Bai Qi’s face.
Fifteen minutes later, Xiao Jingxing sat bolt upright. On the desk, the wonton bowl was empty, only one piece of lotus root remained, and the egg custard had been finished completely.
“Four Seasons Eatery?” Xiao Jingxing tapped his fan against the table. “Which new high-end restaurant in Bianjing is this?”
Bai Qi wiped his mouth with a napkin, his tone indifferent. “Taiping Ward, Qin Family Alley.”
“What’s the background?”
“Just an eatery.”
The answer was deliberately evasive. Xiao Jingxing turned to look at Chang An, who stood to the side, looking visibly conflicted under the intense gaze of the Prince’s heir. Bai Qi raised his fresh cup of tea without stopping him.
Chang An then whispered, “Four Seasons Eatery has been open for just over ten days. The owner is a young girl, surnamed Qin. The shop is small, only holding a few tables. The menu changes daily based on what’s in season.”
“A girl?” Xiao Jingxing’s interest piqued. “How old?”
“Looks to be no more than thirteen or fourteen.”
“And the head chef?”
“Returning to the Young Master, she is the only one cooking in the shop.”
Xiao Jingxing looked back at Bai Qi. Bai Qi had already reopened his files, his icy, dismissive demeanor making it clear he didn’t want to talk about it further.
Xiao Jingxing smirked and stood up, adjusting his silk gown. “I’ll skip Zui Xiang Lou, then.” He smoothed the patterns on his sleeves. “I’m going to Taiping Ward.”
Bai Qi’s fingers paused on the files.
“Don’t be so possessive. You deal with your official cases, I’m just going to try something new.” Xiao Jingxing walked to the door and looked back with a grin. “Don’t worry, I won’t cause trouble for her.”
Bai Qi remained silent.
Chang An followed him out and whispered a warning, “If the Heir goes, please do not mention my Lord’s name. That Miss Qin still doesn’t know my Lord’s true identity.”
Xiao Jingxing paused. “She accepted this catering contract without even knowing who her customer is?”
Chang An nodded.
Xiao Jingxing laughed, flicking his fan with amusement as he left the Dali Temple.
Taiping Ward, Qin Family Alley.
Xiao Jingxing didn’t bring his entourage today, dressing in modest casual clothes with only a young attendant behind him. Twenty paces from the Four Seasons Eatery, a fragrance drifted on the wind. It wasn’t the heavy, greasy scent of a large restaurant; it carried the crisp, fresh aroma of spring, drawing him in.
When he reached the front, Xiao Jingxing stopped. The shop was indeed small, with only six square wooden tables, and it was packed. Two people were waiting outside—a peddler with a carrying pole and a woman with a child, all peering eagerly inside.
Xiao Jingxing looked toward the kitchen. The wooden panels were half-open. Behind the stove stood a young girl in rough cloth clothes, her hair held up by a simple wooden pin, a blue apron tied around her slender waist.
Xiao Jingxing’s gaze locked onto her immediately. She held the long handle of the iron wok in one hand, flames licking the bottom. With a flick of her wrist, the food inside jumped into the air and landed perfectly back in the pan. Her other hand pinched a bit of salt, sprinkling it evenly. She grabbed a white porcelain plate, slid the dish in, wiped the rim clean with a cloth, and set it at the serving window. The entire process was fluid, without a single wasted movement. Even amidst the smoke and heat of the marketplace, her expression remained as calm as still water, without a hint of impatience.
A boy, seemingly a shop assistant, burst out from the back, carrying the plates. “Celery and dried tofu for table three! Crucian carp and tofu soup for table four!”
Xiao Jingxing closed his fan and walked behind the peddler. “Pardon me, are there any tables available?”
The peddler glanced at him, seeing the refined air beneath the simple clothes, and replied politely, “Young Master, you have to wait. Miss Qin has a rule: first come, first served. No cutting in line.”
Xiao Jingxing raised an eyebrow. In Bianjing, when he dined at the Fan Tower, the manager would personally clear the best private room for him. Here, at a dilapidated shop in a back alley, he actually had to stand in line. He wasn’t annoyed; he found it amusing. He stood under the eaves, hands behind his back, looking at the wooden sign on the doorpost.
The calligraphy was elegant: “Today’s Menu: Stir-fried toon sprouts with eggs, stir-fried lotus stems, shepherd’s purse and tofu soup, sesame biscuits with flaky crust.” Below it was a line of tiny script: “Spring Equinox: The balance of yin and yang; day and night are equal. It is best to eat light, cleansing foods and avoid pungent or hot items.”
Xiao Jingxing’s eyes narrowed. This level of refinement and insight was not something a common marketplace girl should possess.
As he pondered, Qin夭夭 (Yaoyao) in the kitchen suddenly looked up, her gaze sweeping over the crowd outside. Her eyes passed over Xiao Jingxing without lingering for a second, and she turned back to her chopping. Xiao Jingxing touched the bridge of his nose. Though his clothes were simple, the mutton-fat jade pendant at his waist was clearly priceless to anyone with an eye for quality. This girl, he thought, didn’t even spare me a second glance.
After waiting for about the time it takes to brew a pot of tea, a table finally opened up. Qin Xiaoman cleared the remains with nimble movements, wiped the table until it gleamed, and shouted, “Next! Please come in!”
Xiao Jingxing sat down. Without looking at the menu, he ordered, “Toon sprout eggs, shepherd’s purse tofu soup, and two sesame biscuits.” He paused, tapping his fan on the table. “And add the signature dish you’re proudest of.”
Qin Xiaoman gave him a look, chirped an acknowledgment, and ran to the back to shout the order.
Before long, Yaoyao walked out carrying a red lacquer tray. The four dishes were set on the table. The toon sprout eggs were golden with emerald green highlights, the edges crispy, carrying the unique earthy fragrance of the toon. The tofu soup was rich and thick, the tofu sliced as thin and white as jade, crystal clear. The sesame biscuits were fresh out of the oven, the crusts layered and flaky, the sesame seeds glistening with oil.
The last dish was a small plate of pink-and-white sweets.
“This is an unlisted item for today: Peach Blossom Pastry,” Yaoyao said, her voice clear and cool, professional yet distant. “A limited offering for the Spring Equinox. I only made a few. Please enjoy.”
After setting the tray down, she turned and left without a word of flattery.
Xiao Jingxing picked up his bamboo chopsticks and took a bite of the Peach Blossom Pastry. After one bite, his chewing slowed. The crust was thin, melting upon contact with his tongue. The filling was a blend of yam puree and fresh peach blossom paste. It was sweet but not cloying, the floral fragrance lingering on his tongue.
He put down the pastry and tasted the toon sprout eggs; the eggs were滑嫩 (smooth and tender), and the astringency of the toon had been perfectly removed by the controlled heat, leaving only a lingering freshness. He sipped the tofu soup—refreshing and nourishing.
Xiao Jingxing stopped his chopsticks and looked toward the kitchen. He now understood why Bai Qi had polished off his bowls—this skill was not the “wild style” of someone scraping by in the marketplace. The knife work, the heat control, and the seasoning all spoke of strict training and methodology, more refined even than the imperial chefs in the palace. A thirteen-year-old girl, he wondered, where did she learn such depth?
Xiao Jingxing finished the meal completely. When it came time to pay, Qin Xiaoman named the price, and Xiao Jingxing was stunned for a moment. It’s too cheap. This quality, if served at the Fan Tower, would be snapped up even if the price were ten times higher. He pulled a five-tael silver ingot from his sleeve and placed it on the table.
Qin Xiaoman’s eyes widened, and she scrambled to find change, but Xiao Jingxing had already stood up.
“Keep it.” He lifted the door curtain with his fan and looked back at Yaoyao, who was wiping the stove. “Tell your owner: excellent craftsmanship. I shall return.”
As he stepped out of the alley, Xiao Jingxing’s smile faded. His attendant stepped forward and whispered, “Young Master, while you were dining, I noticed someone lurking at the mouth of the alley across the street, watching this place.”
“Who?”
“Dressed in commoner’s clothes, looks like a local hanger-on. But his hands were calloused and his gait unstable—likely a thug. I followed him for a bit; he went into the Chen Family Restaurant on the street corner.”
Xiao Jingxing rubbed the jade bones of his fan. The owner behind the Chen Family Restaurant was Zhao Mingcheng, the Vice Minister of the Ministry of Revenue. The Chen family had relied on this connection to run rampant in Taiping Ward for twenty years. Now that the Four Seasons Eatery had appeared and disrupted the Chen family’s business, given their vicious nature, would they just let it slide?
“Back to the Dali Temple,” Xiao Jingxing said, boarding his carriage.
“We aren’t going back to the manor, Young Master?” the attendant asked, surprised.
Xiao Jingxing leaned back against the cushions, closing his eyes, his expression cold and stern. “Go tell Bai Qi that his little cook is currently being eyed like meat on a chopping block. I want to see if our Dali Temple Minister will bother to manage the affairs of the marketplace.”