Back in the kitchen, most of the hired hands had already eaten their fill and drifted back to their posts, the clamor gradually settling down. It was only then that Lin Wu realized Lin Jing hadn’t shown his face at all. She exchanged a few words with Li Sanniang and a couple of the assistant cooks, ladled out a bowl of warm water, and headed toward the wagon parked at the rear.
She climbed into the wagon bed, where Lin Jing was still leaning quietly against the bundle of their belongings.
“Why didn’t you come out to eat? Aren’t you hungry?” Lin Wu asked softly, taking out his little wooden bowl, pouring in the warm water, then carefully adding a pinch of salt and some crushed dried mint leaves.
Lin Jing didn’t answer right away. Instead, with practiced ease, he picked up a small towel stitched from fine cloth, dampened it with the warm water, and carefully wiped his face and hands. He took the wooden bowl, walked to the edge of the wagon shaft, rinsed his mouth, and only then came back, murmuring, “Not hungry.”
He paused, then dropped his voice even lower: “There are folks following our caravan who aren’t part of our crew. I was afraid that if I stepped away, someone might make off with our things.” They were poor—every needle and thread counted.
Lin Wu couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head as she ruffled his hair. “It’s broad daylight now, and the caravan has all those guards watching. No one dares try anything. Come on, let’s go eat breakfast—I saved you a soft steamed bun and hot wontons.”
She took Lin Jing’s hand and led him back to the kitchen, where she handed him a warm vegetarian bun and boiled him a small bowl of wontons.
Lin Jing sat on a low stool, cradling his little wooden bowl, sipping the broth in small mouthfuls. The warm soup settled in his stomach and spread a gentle heat through his whole body. The wonton wrappers were thin and the filling tender, and the bun was soft and faintly sweet. He ate with slow, careful relish.
He gazed at this unfamiliar yet lively scene around him—the clink of pots and bowls, the crackle of firewood, the chatter and laughter of the guards and hired hands. For a moment, he felt he wasn’t a child fleeing in haste, but a young lad from an ordinary family out on a pleasant trip.
Life in the caravan moved at a brisk pace. After breakfast, everyone swiftly cleared away the dishes, and the camp was tidied up in short order. The convoy set off once more, winding its way along the official road.
The kitchen crew had already steamed several large baskets of flatbread to serve as provisions for the journey. When they stopped for a midday rest, they could heat up the bread and eat it with the pickled vegetables prepared in advance—a quick supplementary meal to tide them over.
Travel during the day was exhausting, and without a little something in between, it was hard to hold out until the evening meal, which wouldn’t come until nearly dusk.
The wagon swayed gently along the road, and Li Sanniang used the lull to discuss the evening meal with Lin Wu. They had to prepare enough food to feed nearly a hundred people within a limited time, so every move had to be efficient.
“For dinner, I’m thinking lamb noodles,” Li Sanniang said, clearly confident. “The braised lamb was already simmered to perfection yesterday—all we need is to reheat it, and the flavor will be even richer. Then we’ll pull fresh noodles and drop them in the pot. Hot broth, hot noodles—quick and easy.”
“Sanniang, you’ve planned it well,” Lin Wu agreed. “Your cooking is matchless—yesterday, just catching a whiff of that meat aroma was enough to make my stomach growl.”
That remark hit the right note with Li Sanniang, and a hint of pride crept onto her face. “That’s my specialty, all right. And credit goes to our boss for being generous—willing to use such fine lamb. That’s what lets us cook with free hands.”
“Indeed, we get to enjoy the spoils too,” Lin Wu echoed softly. “To be honest, it’s been quite a while since I’ve smelled meat that rich and hearty.”
They were still not too far from the capital, and thanks to the several previous emperors' attention to the official roads, the way was fairly smooth. Neat rows of roadside trees flanked the path, and now and again one came across a pavilion for rest or a well, with the occasional eatery or two thrown in.
These small establishments, however, had limited capacity to feed travelers, and their fare was nothing out of the ordinary. A large caravan like Jincheng Travel mainly relied on its own cook and provisions.
Around noon, the caravan halted by a grove of pines to rest. Not far off stood a public well.
The kitchen crew sprang into action at once, reheating the flatbreads that had been steamed that morning and hastily cooking up a large pot of minced meat sauce. This sauce was made by taking the vegetarian filling deliberately prepared in extra quantity that morning and stir-frying it with finely chopped salted pork bits, giving it a savory, fragrant flavor that went perfectly stuffed inside the hot flatbreads—quick, easy, and filling.
As she bustled about, Lin Wu recalled what Manager Zhang had said earlier: the honored guest of their employer had a delicate stomach and needed something easy to digest. She also remembered that their master disliked greasy food, and the flatbreads stuffed with the meat-laced sauce might not suit his palate.
After consulting with Li Sanniang, she started a small separate pot, simmering a sweet soup made from taro root, Chinese yam, and dried jujubes. The heat was well managed—the taro and yam cooked until soft and tender, and the broth came out clear and sweet without being cloying.
"This cook certainly has a thoughtful touch," remarked Qin Xiaoshan from inside the carriage, as he looked at the sweet soup the steward set before him.
In the white porcelain bowl, the soup glowed with a warm sugar hue. Taro chunks and yam slices rested at the bottom, punctuated by a few bits of chopped red dates—there was a rustic charm to the whole presentation.
What was more, taro and yam were both mild in nature, sweet and moistening, ideal for nurturing the stomach. The dried jujubes added warmth, replenished qi, generated fluids, and lent a natural sweetness to balance the flavor. For him, it could hardly have been more suitable.
He scooped up a spoonful and brought it to his lips. The soup was still faintly hot, pleasantly sweet but not cloying, smooth and easy on the throat.
"It also helps cut through the richness of the flatbread," put in Fang Qian, who had just finished a flatbread stuffed with the meat sauce. He had found the salty savor a bit heavy and his mouth a little dry, so a bowl of the sweet soup was just the thing to wash away the grease.
"Speaking of the soup," Fang Qian set down his spoon, "I think Guanting would enjoy this. I wonder if he can get used to the food in Lingzhou now that he's just arrived there with his uncle."
"Guanting—is he the eldest grandson of Brother Zhongming?" asked Qin Xiaoshan. Since he had been out of touch with the Military Commander for years, and the Shen family was based far away in Huzhou, he knew little of the younger generation's circumstances.
"Exactly right," Fang Qian nodded. "Though Guanting is just a little past twenty, he conducts himself with composure and shrewdness far beyond his years. He has a striking bearing and an air of distinction that sets him apart. Not just in Huzhou—even in the capital, those scions of prominent families with their celebrated reputations, set them next to him, and they'd likely pale in comparison."
Shen Guanting had always been the "model child" spoken of by the elders of the Fang family, and the shadow that loomed over the younger generation of Fang descendants. As a relative by marriage, Fang Qian counted himself an elder to Shen Guanting as well, and whenever he brought up the young man to others, there was always a note of proud fondness in his words.
At that, Qin Xiaoshan fell thoughtful. For Shen Zhongming to personally bring his most outstanding grandson to Lingzhou—the implications ran deep.
"To be able to lay eyes on such a talented young man, this trip of mine is already worth it," he said, scooping up another spoonful of the sweet soup, his tone as casual as if making small talk. "But Brother Zhongming left the capital over a decade ago. Since he's come all the way to Lingzhou, why not simply return to the capital for a visit? Several old friends and comrades have been thinking of him."
Fang Qian merely smiled faintly at this. "Uncle Shen said that the capital is a lively place these days—too many prying eyes and too many rules. Better to enjoy the peace and freedom of a place like Lingzhou. You, being long in Wucang County, must understand that better than anyone."
Qin Xiaoshan nodded with a smile. "That does sound like something Brother Zhongming would do. We old soldiers from the ranks are blunt by nature and rough around the edges in manners, so it's entirely possible we might accidentally offend some important person."
"Exactly. Sometimes I even think to myself, why not just buy a property in Huzhou and become Uncle Shen's neighbor? The mountains in Huzhou are gentle, the waters soft, life moves at a leisurely pace, and even the local cuisine suits my palate. My mouth, it seems, was simply born to belong to the Jiangnan region," he said jokingly.
Then, without missing a beat, he steered the conversation back. "Guanting grew up in Huzhou, so his tastes lean toward the light and subtle. The salty, rich, and hearty flavors of Lingzhou are simply a world apart. These past days must have been quite a trial for him."
Manager Zhang, who was standing nearby, smiled and offered reassurance. "You worry too much, Master. Young Master Guanting has an easygoing disposition, handles people and matters with great tact, and doesn't seem at all particular about food."
Fang Qian glanced at him and shook his head with a chuckle. "Hearing you talk like that, it makes it sound like I'm the fussy one."
He knew this younger man all too well. On the surface, Guanting presented a perfectly proper and agreeable image, but in truth, he was exacting and fastidious. The only difference was that the young man's fastidiousness never showed itself openly—he was simply a master at putting on a good show.
