Before nightfall, everyone in the Regent’s Mansion had eaten and drank their fill, each going about their own business. It was at this exact moment that Liang Shenyu paid a visit, perfectly missing mealtime.
Looking at Liang Shenyu sitting in Lanyue Hall, the room used for receiving guests, Rong Se recalled the two meals he had promised, leaving him feeling neither whether to laugh nor cry. “It hasn’t even been two hours, and the Marquis is already here looking for a free meal?”
Tied down by military affairs, Liang Shenyu was a bit displeased this time. He gave a slight nod and said, “A gentleman never breaks his word.”
Rong Se thought to himself, I’m no gentleman; I’m a chef. But since the words had come out of his own mouth, and remembering the leftover meat filling from making eggplant boxes earlier today, he stood up and said, “Someone, escort the Marquis to Jinshan Pavilion to wait.”
Returning to the kitchen, Rong Se skillfully kneaded the dough and mixed the filling, nimbly shaping several fancy dumplings before dropping them into separate pots in batches.
He remembered reading in the original novel that Liang Shenyu loved dumplings, and pandering to someone’s preferences is never wrong. After all, to a certain extent, his little life was still in Liang Shenyu’s hands.
Liang Shenyu did not have to wait long before Rong Se returned carrying a tray, placing three exquisite porcelain plates on the table one by one.
The first dish was boiled dumplings, with the two sides pinched together to look like plump gold ingots.
The second dish was steamed dumplings shaped like lucky bags, topped with a five-petaled flower over a rounded base.
The third dish was pan-fried dumplings. Similar in shape to the steamed dumplings, the petal forms differed, resembling plum blossoms instead.
“The boiled dumplings are ingot dumplings, the steamed dumplings are hibiscus flower dumplings, and the pan-fried dumplings are plum blossom dumplings.” Rong Se placed a small dish of prepared dipping sauce in front of him. “Eat.”
Liang Shenyu paused in silence before picking up his chopsticks, smiling as he said, “Who knew dumplings could be made into such fancy shapes? The Prince put a lot of thought into this.” Then, with a casual air, he asked, “What made you think of making dumplings?”
“I wanted to make them, so I did.” Rong Se gave an ambiguous reply, countering with, “Do you not like them?”
Liang Shenyu tasted a pan-fried dumpling. The bottom of the dumpling was fried to a golden, crispy perfection. Paired with the dipping sauce and the green pepper and meat filling, even the flavor was novel.
“I like them.” Liang Shenyu paused briefly before smiling, “The Prince’s culinary skills are not something ordinary people get to taste.”
He tasted them one by one: scallion and meat-filled boiled dumplings, and cucumber and egg-filled steamed dumplings. He ate slowly and deliberately, but not a single one was left behind.
Rong Se felt suspicious and uncertain, always feeling that Liang Shenyu’s expression was somewhat strange, yet seeing his refined and proper table manners, he couldn’t quite pinpoint what was wrong.
After the meal, Liang Shenyu politely took his leave, his deportment as usual, which finally allowed Rong Se to set his mind at ease.
Deep in the night, after finishing his military affairs, Liang Shenyu went to rest. Lying on this couch he had been away from for so long, he found it hard to fall asleep for a long time.
Ever since fourteen years ago, he rarely had a peaceful night’s sleep. Past events clung to him like lingering ghosts, offering no rest even in his dreams. Thus, he could only replay over and over again the time fourteen years ago when he was still the Third Young Master of the Liang family, galloping on horseback down the long streets, carefree and high-spirited.
The old Marquis had guarded the borderlands for years, fighting numerous battles against the Xiongnu with illustrious military achievements. The Liang family’s two eldest sons were also fierce and brave: the Heir, Liang Wenyu, wielded a spear with a technique so tyrannical that he became famous at a young age, while the Second Son, Liang Qingyu, excelled in military strategy and tactics, repeatedly winning through unexpected maneuvers, one like a pale wolf, the other like a cunning fox. Working together as brothers, they were invincible.
At that time, the Third Young Master of the Liang family was a youth with great ambitions, aspiring to march onto the battlefield just like his father and brothers. From a young age, he could hit a target from a hundred paces without missing a single arrow. Yet among the father and four sons, three went into the military. Compared to his two elder brothers, Liang Shenyu was clever and ingratiating, spending more time keeping his mother company.
His eldest brother often said, “Your brothers have fought all the battles that need to be fought. You just stay home and coax Mother well. If you see her crying, what should you do?”
At only seven years old, Liang Shenyu would say in a baby voice, “I’ll tell Mother that Third Brother is here with her! Third Brother will stay with Mother and wait for Big Brother and Second Brother to come back!”
“Hey! Right!” Liang Wenyu would laugh, patting his head and stuffing a bag of shortbread he had fished out from the Second Brother’s pocket into his hand, saying, “Good little brother, this is your reward.”
Behind the distant tree shade, the Second Brother walked over carrying a plate of purple grapes chilled in the well water, waving at him. “Who robs their younger brother’s things to give to the youngest? Third Brother, don’t pay attention to Big Brother, come here.”
In the lush midsummer, the grape juice was sweet, sour, and icy cold. The eldest and second brothers, dressed in martial robes, chased and frolicked in the courtyard until their old man let out a booming shout from outside: “You three little rascals, dinner is ready! If you don’t come right now, not a single dumpling wrapped by Madam will be left!”
The eldest brother immediately let go of the second brother, who was pinned to the ground and unable to move, leaped over, scooped him up, and dashed away, laughing, “Who arrives last has to spar with the old man! Third Brother, let’s go!”
Thinking and thinking, Liang Shenyu finally drifted off into a hazy sleep.
In his dream, it was the twelfth lunar month at Guzhuling. Guzhuling stretched from Qiangzhou all the way to Yizhou; that was the site of the Northern Jin army’s disastrous defeat. Out of the two hundred and fifty thousand Northern Jin soldiers, only fifty thousand remained. Aside from those who died in battle in Qiangzhou, beneath the snow of Guzhuling, the corpses of nearly seventy thousand soldiers were buried.
He staggered and crawled with difficulty through the knee-deep snow. Hot blood spilled onto the snow, quickly freezing into crimson ice crystals. Icy snow poured into his boots, but Liang Shenyu felt none of it. Struggling through the blizzard, he searched for corpses one by one, his hands red and swollen from the cold, frequently stumbling over bodies buried in the snow.
The biting cold wind mixed with the stench of blood and the aura of death chilled him to the bone. Liang Shenyu had never seen so many corpses, nor had he ever seen a blizzard as fierce as the one in Mobei, which felt as though it wanted to bury him together with his father and brothers in that winter.
Until someone shouted loudly, “Third Young Master! We’ve found the Old Marquis!”
He scrambled and hurried from the snow, finding them in a mountain col.
The setting sun’s afterglow was not as bright and brilliant as blood. Beneath the pale mountains was a blood-stained earth. From afar, he gazed at his eldest brother, whose limbs had been severed and hung from a tree, and his second brother, whose hands, feet, and neck were nailed to the cliff face with long spikes. Their father’s corpse stood right in front of them, his long spear propped firmly into the ground, standing steadily. The white tassel on his helmet fluttered in the wind, his back still as majestic as ever, yet his body was pierced full of arrows. The snow beneath his feet had been melted by blood and refrozen into red ice.
Frost and snow covered their cold, stiff corpses, making even their facial features blurred.
Liang Shenyu stood timidly in place. He knew this was a dream, and he knew what kind of scene he would see if he walked any further. Day after day, he was trapped in this single day, able only to stand numbly where he was.
Yet the faces of his father and brothers grew increasingly clear in the wind and snow, devoid of a shred of vitality.
A fierce wind suddenly rose, and Liang Shenyu woke up with a start. The room was dim; the window had been blown open by the gale. Rain lashed against the window lattice, and the howling wind mixed with rain poured in from the window, a puddle of water already pooling on the floor.
Liang Shenyu got up. Just the act of closing the window left him soaked all over with rain. Clearly, it was the scorching heat of midsummer, yet his entire body was freezing cold as he stood there for a long while.
After who knows how long, the door was suddenly pushed open. An elderly woman walked in carrying a food box, sighing, “The Marquis is awake? Come and eat some dumplings.”
“Aunt Qing,” Liang Shenyu softly called out.
This was his biological mother’s dowry maid, named Hua Qing, who had served by his side in previous years. Seeing that she was getting older, Liang Shenyu had sent her back to Jinjing to spend her retirement.
“This old slave’s wrapping is probably not as pleasing to the Marquis’s palate as Madam’s, but please make do and eat a little.” Hua Qing arranged the bowls and chopsticks.
Liang Shenyu fell silent for a moment before saying, “Mother learned how to wrap dumplings from Aunt Qing. The taste is exactly the same.”
Hua Qing smiled. “Madam was clever and bright; whatever she tried, she learned it at a single glance.”
The two of them once again fell into a mutual silence.