Before dawn, Qin Yaoyao was already in the kitchen, pounding beef fat.
She had three jin of the finest beef kidney fat, which she had cleaned and drained the previous evening and frozen overnight; it was now a porcelain-white, rock-hard block. She used the back of her knife to smash it into smaller chunks before adding them to the iron wok, rendering them down over a low flame.
The fat gradually melted into the wok with a steady, rhythmic sizzling. Yaoyao watched the heat closely, a row of coarse clay bowls lined up beside her, each containing a different spice. Next to the Sichuan peppercorns, star anise, and cinnamon sticks was a small plate of finely ground chili powder—a deep, dark red hue. She had paid a porter to fetch it from chili farmers outside the city just two days ago; it had been sun-dried for three full days, resulting in a heat that was vibrant without being harsh.
When the fat turned a pale golden yellow, Yaoyao fished out the cracklings and turned the heat to medium. She tossed in the Sichuan peppercorns first. A loud psshhh erupted in the wok as the spice bloomed—numbing, sharp, and intense. Next came the dried chili segments, the bean paste, ginger, and garlic, one after another, as her iron spatula never stopped churning. The kitchen was soon filled with a spicy, pungent air, blended with the rich, mellow aroma of the beef tallow, wafting out through the half-open window cracks.
Qin Xiaoman, washing vegetables in the courtyard, let out three sneezes. “Sister! What are you brewing?”
“Base stock,” Yaoyao replied without looking back, dumping in the final handful of spices and pressing them down with her spoon. “New dish today.”
She had been pondering this for days. Bianjing had seen endless rain since the start of spring, and the damp chill was heavy. Passersby on the street would shrink their necks against the cold, and the customers who came to the shop were mostly pale-faced, with cold hands and feet. Spring rolls and fresh bamboo shoot soup were popular, but they didn’t provide enough warmth. The people of Bianjing loved this flavor profile—they craved the intense, spicy heat that made one sweat from head to toe.
However, commercial hot pots were expensive, consuming huge amounts of oil and ingredients, and ordinary diners couldn’t afford a meal like that. What she wanted to make was a medicinal spicy pot.
The beef tallow base warded off the cold, the spice blend dispelled the dampness, and she had simmered the broth with Codonopsis, Astragalus, and Angelica root for a full two hours. It was piquant but not drying, fiery yet filled with savory depth. It didn’t burn the stomach; instead, it left one feeling energized and invigorated.
Once the base was set, Yaoyao ladled it out to cool and started another large pot for the broth. As the bone marrow bubbled, the bitter fragrance of the medicinal herbs was overtaken by the rich meatiness, leaving only a faint, lingering sweetness.
Just past the chen hour (7:00 AM), Auntie Zhou arrived. She caught a whiff of the kitchen as she entered and arched an eyebrow. “Hot pot today?”
“Medicinal spicy pot,” Yaoyao said, handing her a prep list. “You handle the chopping. Parboil the tripe and goose intestines, then shock them in ice water—they need to be crisp. Slice the lamb rolls so thin they’re translucent against the light.”
Auntie Zhou didn’t say a word; she tied on her apron and picked up her knife.
Qin Xiaoman poked his head into the kitchen with his school bag on his back. “Sister, I’m off to the academy.”
“Mhm. Buy two blocks of tofu on your way back.”
“From which stall?”
“Grandma Zhang’s at the end of the alley. The soft tofu—don’t buy the firm kind.”
Xiaoman shouted an acknowledgment and ran off.
By the si hour (9:00 AM), the Four Seasons Eatery was open. The first pot of medicinal spicy hot pot was perched on the stove at the entrance, the red oil churning, steam billowing upward. The pot bubbled vigorously, the beef tallow glistening on the surface while peppercorns and chili segments bobbed rhythmically. The scent drifted down the alley, so aggressive and intoxicating that passersby slowed their pace, then stopped.
“What’s that smell?”
“The eatery in Qin Family Alley—they’ve got a new dish.”
Old Huang was the first to squeeze inside, slamming fifteen coins on the counter. “Give me one! Add tripe!”
Yaoyao worked the broth in the kitchen while Auntie Zhou served the tables; the front and back of the house worked in perfect harmony. When the tripe was swirled in the crimson broth for just a few seconds and lifted out, it was coated in a vibrant, spicy oil. It was crisp and tender, the heat spreading across the tongue followed by the mellow richness of the tallow and the subtle sweetness of the herbs, finally ending with the numbing tingle of peppercorns at the root of the tongue.
Old Huang was dripping with sweat, his chopsticks moving tirelessly. “Miss Qin, this hot pot is incredible!”
“I’ve been eating spicy hot pot for half my life, and this is the first time it hasn’t given me heartburn!” a boatman at the next table shouted, slapping the table. “Another serving of lamb!”
A line soon formed at the alley entrance. The aroma was so dominant it overwhelmed the smell of every other meal on the street. Even the proprietress of the grocery store across the way ran over holding her own bowl, sniffing at the doorway for a long while before finally pulling out money for a vegetable-only pot.
Yaoyao was rushed off her feet, but her rhythm never faltered. There were plenty of spicy eateries in Bianjing, but she guaranteed that hers was the only one that nourished the body rather than harming it.
Business didn’t slow until the shen hour (3:00 PM – 5:00 PM). Yaoyao rubbed her wrists and began preparing the evening meal for Bai Qi. She didn’t send him the standard spicy version; she had prepared a special base, reducing the beef tallow by thirty percent and keeping the spice level to a bare minimum, using only a few peppercorns for flavor. She added Atractylodes and Poria in the broth to strengthen the spleen and stomach. The ingredients were also carefully selected: soft tofu, yam slices, mushrooms, and paper-thin lamb—all warming and non-irritating.
She packed the food box and tucked in a note: “Mildly spicy; give it a try. If you feel any discomfort, I will remove the spice next time.” After a moment’s hesitation, she added a tiny line: “The beef tallow and herbs are truly effective at dispelling the cold.”
When Chang An came to collect the box, he glanced at the large, bubbling pot at the door, his throat bobbing.
“Big Brother Chang, there’s still some in the pot; I saved a bowl for you,” Yaoyao said, wiping her hands and signaling Auntie Zhou.
Auntie Zhou brought out a bowl, swimming in red oil and topped with a layer of tripe and goose intestines. Chang An didn’t stand on ceremony; he took it, stood in the corridor, and polished it off in three large gulps. He hissed at the spice, then mumbled, “Delicious.”
He took the food box, jumped onto his horse, and left.
At the end of the you hour (7:00 PM), in the back courtyard of the Dali Temple, Bai Qi looked up from his dossiers as Chang An set down the food box and lifted the lid. Steam billowed out, carrying an unusual, piquant fragrance. Bai Qi took a look; a thin sheen of oil floated on the red broth.
He picked up the note. The words “mildly spicy” were written earnestly, and the tiny line of script beneath it looked as though it had been added only after much hesitation. He didn’t say a word, just picked up his chopsticks.
The first bite was soft tofu. The broth clung to its surface, melting in his mouth, a subtle heat blossoming on his tongue. It wasn’t harsh or drying; it was a warm, soothing heat that traveled down his throat and settled into his stomach. Bai Qi’s chopsticks paused for a fleeting moment. His stomach, which was plagued by chronic, twisting pain, did not reject it. Instead, a wave of warmth surged through, feeling incredibly comforting.
He continued to eat—the mushrooms, the thin-sliced lamb—every element’s spice level perfectly judged. Chang An stood by the door, watching his master eat the entire box, even drinking half the broth.
It had been three years. Bai Qi had been at the Dali Temple for three years, and everyone knew his stomach couldn’t hold anything. Now, that stomach was being filled, spoonful by spoonful, by a young girl.
Bai Qi set down his chopsticks and refolded the note, tucking it under his paperweight.
“My Lord,” Chang An stepped forward, lowering his voice. “The Chen shop brought in another batch of goods tonight. This time they used the waterways, unloading directly into their back courtyard from the canal pier. The volume is double what it was two days ago.”
Bai Qi picked up his teacup to rinse his mouth, his gaze fixed on the canal shipping dossiers spread across the desk. “And the people?”
“We are watching, without alerting them. There has been movement at the Lin estate today as well; Minister Lin’s steward went to the East City bank this afternoon.”
Bai Qi sneered. “Let them bring it in. The more goods they bring in, the larger the hole in their ledgers. When those books are finally cracked open, not a single one of them will escape.”
Chang An hesitated. “What about the Qin eatery? The Chen gang has been circling the alley for the past two days; I’m afraid…”
“Keep a close watch,” Bai Qi said, closing the food box, his voice flat. “Let her tend to her business in peace. If anything happens, I will bear the consequences.”
Chang An nodded and backed away.
The candlelight flickered on the windowsill. Bai Qi reopened his dossier, his vermilion brush descending to draw a red line beside the name “Lin Chongyuan.” Beside him, a corner of the note from the food box peeked out from under the paperweight.
The back courtyard of the Dali Temple fell silent.
In Qin Family Alley in the South City, the lights had long since been extinguished, but in the back courtyard of the Chen Family Restaurant, it was ablaze with light. Cart after cart covered in oilcloth was pushed through the side gate, their wheels carving deep ruts into the bluestone.
In the shadows at the alley’s mouth, a pair of eyes silently tallied the count.