Chapter 36: Wild Chestnut Chicken Soup (2/2)

Shen Miao felt a warm softness in her heart, 

“Thank you for your kind words, Brother Jiu.”

They bowed to each other in farewell, but as Xie Qi stood up, he suddenly looked at her again.

Shen Miao, unsure of his meaning, thought he had something more to say. 

But then, with a hint of hesitation in his clear eyes, he reached out and gently brushed the fallen petals from her shoulder.

As the petals fell, he said, 

“Lady Shen, farewell.”

Shen Miao was momentarily stunned, then quickly replied, 

“Farewell.”

Afterwards, she watched as Xie Qi and his companions walked away, their figures gradually disappearing at the end of the road, almost out of sight. 

Shen Miao gently touched her chest, which had inexplicably grown warm.

She didn’t have time to ponder the sudden flutter in her heart when the academy bell rang again.

With the melodious sound of the bell, a crowd began to pour out of the grand gates. 

Her attention was immediately drawn to them. 

She picked up Xiang from the large basket and hoisted her onto her shoulders, 

“Xiang, let’s see if Ji has come out yet?”

Xiang, still half-asleep, had been in the midst of a dream where she was majestically gathering Thunder, the puppy, and the three chicks for a meeting, only to be abruptly awakened. 

She sleepily clung to her sister’s head and strained her eyes. 

After a while, she spotted Ji, being jostled like a small boat in the crowded stream of people.

She immediately started waving vigorously, trying to make herself a noticeable sign.

“Brother! Brother! We’re over here!”

Hearing the call, Shen Ji turned in the crowd and saw his sister perched on his sister’s shoulder, her face still bearing the imprint of sleep, marked by the neat lines of the wicker basket.

His heart instantly settled, and he quickly ran towards them.

Meanwhile, Xie Qi, who had walked away, was surrounded by his companions. 

Meng San, with a mischievous grin, sling an arm around his shoulder and pressed, 

“Something’s off, really off, Brother Jiu. How are you so close with that bread selling lady? What’s the story? Spill it!”

Another nodded emphatically, 

“Xie Jiu, Xie Jiu, Miss Feng Qiniang, the daughter of Professor Feng at the academy, is highly accomplished, and her poetry circulates widely in the inner chambers.” 

“She waits for you outside the academy every day, asking you to review her new poems, but you never say much to her, always claiming you’re already engaged. So why are you so different with this bread-selling lady?” 

“Exactly… Bozhi makes a good point. Wait! Wait! I see that the bread-selling lady is clearly wearing a married woman’s hairstyle, but she’s out alone with a child trying to make a living. Could she be a widow?” 

“Well, well, Xie Jiu! Could it be that you have a thing for widows? So… so you like widows too!” 

Meng San stroked his chin as he reasoned, then exclaimed in shock.

Shang An, who hadn’t joined in teasing Xie Qi, was unscrewing the cap of his leather water bottle to take a drink, but this statement made him spit out his tea in a fit of laughter, coughing and bending over.

“What do you mean ‘too’? It sounds like you’re talking about yourself, not me,” 

Xie Qi remained composed, taking a ‘Purple Robe and Golden Belt’ flatbread from the basket and stuffing it into the annoying chatterbox’s mouth, 

“Xiang isn’t Lady Shen’s child; she’s her sister… never mind, why am I telling you this? Just eat the bread, and you’ll understand why I’m close to her.”

Caught off guard, Meng San was left with a mouthful of bread, unable to swallow or spit it out, mumbling incoherently and unable to continue his teasing. 

Everyone burst into laughter at his predicament.

“Hmm? It really is quite delicious; the craftsmanship is indeed good,” 

Meng San finally managed to chew and swallow, then looked at Xie Qi in surprise, 

“Did you really become friends with her just because her bread is good?”

“What do you mean ‘just’? That’s not the right way to put it,” 

Xie Qi frowned disapprovingly, 

“In this world, all people are equal. Why should we look down on someone because of their status? I believe that the noble should not be arrogant, and the humble should not be servile.”

“So-called nobility and baseness are merely differences in the wealth accumulated by one’s ancestors; what does it have to do with the individual?”

“Whether it’s a scholar or a bread-selling lady, farmers, artisans, and merchants these are just different professions. Can’t a peddler or a water carrier have ambitions and talents?”

“You all admire Miss Feng Qiniang’s poetry, but I find it melodramatic and whiny, full of unnecessary complaints from the inner chambers.” 

“Miss Feng was born into a noble family, loved by her parents, and without worries about food and clothing, so she can speak of sorrow without knowing true hardship.” 

“Actually, that’s not wrong; it’s a great fortune. But what of it? In my eyes, Lady Shen, though she may not know poetry, is more straightforward and endearing.”

Shang An and Meng San were lost in thought.

Xie Qi looked up; the setting sun was half-hidden, its last rays struggling to pierce through the clouds. 

He slowed his pace and stood still, watching for a while.

His companions, however, began to tease Meng San about which widow he liked and talked about other things, not noticing him. 

They walked ahead, laughing and chatting, their voices echoing.

Only Xie Qi gazed at the setting sun, his eyes slowly filling with a soft warmth.

“I believe that one day, I will be able to live a good life with my own hands.”

Xie Qi had never really thought about why he was always willing to be close to Lady Shen, but today, after his classmates’ questioning, he suddenly realized.

The reason became clear-in ancient times, there was Bo Ya, who played the qin, and Zi Qi, who was skilled in listening. 

One was a musician, the other a woodcutter. 

Despite their vastly different social statuses, they connected through the music of the Qin, their spirits in harmony, thus creating a timeless tale of profound friendship.

Wasn’t he the same?

To divide people into hierarchies and treat them differently-perhaps that was inherently wrong.

He felt as though all the chaos in his mind had been cleansed away, and his steps lightened. 

He soon caught up with his classmates, who were relentlessly teasing Meng San about the widow he fancied, though they couldn’t get him to reveal who she was.

In the distance, under the afterglow of the sunset, a sea of children poured out after their exams. 

Nearby, a cool breeze brushed against his sleeves, carrying with it the joyful laughter of the young men.

That evening, Shen Miao used the excuse of celebration to close the door with Ji Ge and Xiang Jie, and they heartily devoured a pot of wild chestnut chicken soup. 

Ji Ge, feeling a bit embarrassed, whispered, 

“I don’t even know if I’ll pass yet…”

Wouldn’t celebrating right after the exam be a bit too presumptuous?

Shen Miao tied up her sleeves and entered the kitchen, turning back with a smile, 

“I don’t care about all that. You’ve been studying hard for over a month. Whether you pass or not, we should celebrate your efforts.”

She then went into the kitchen to check on the soup, not noticing Ji Ge’s blushing face and sparkling eyes, as if the stars of the night had fallen into them.

Xiang Jie tilted her head, circling her brother twice, giggling, 

“Brother, why is your face so red? Are you secretly happy because Sister praised you? Then why don’t you laugh out loud!”

“I’m not!” Shen Ji retorted in embarrassment, pulling at his sister’s cheeks.

“Ouch! Stupid brother!”

Outside, the siblings started their usual playful scuffle, which Shen Miao ignored, knowing they always kept it within bounds.

She grabbed a clean cloth to handle the heat, lifted the lid, and a wave of steam enveloped her face. 

The soup, simmering gently all day, bubbled slightly, the broth now a bright, rich yellow, with golden chicken fat floating on the surface. 

The peeled chestnuts had softened to the point of crumbling at the touch of chopsticks.

The chicken at home wasn’t plump enough, and Xiang Jie wouldn’t allow it to be killed. 

Of course, Shen Miao didn’t intend to either, planning to keep it for eggs and breeding. 

So, the chicken was bought from a vendor at the market the previous day, a genuine Zhengyang Sanhuang chicken, small but firm. 

To save a coin on butchering fees, Shen Miao had bravely taken the chicken home, slitting its throat, plucking its feathers, and gutting it herself.

The house was also preparing to lay tiles, with newly fired tiles piled everywhere, leaving no room to step. 

She had to boil water, bring out the chopping board and knife, and squat in the alley to kill the chicken, just as Gu Tusu returned from delivering wine and saw it all.

With a swift knife, she slit the chicken’s throat, but it struggled fiercely, splattering blood. 

Shen Miao caught the blood, plucked the feathers in hot water, and with a single stroke, opened the chest, calmly removing the innards. 

She even washed the intestines, unbothered by the stench, seeing them as potential delicacies: she could stir-fry them with ginger, creating a spicy, sour, crispy, and tender dish that would be delicious.

The ginger sauce of the Song Dynasty tasted like pickled peppers, very flavorful.

Thinking about it made her a bit hungry. 

Shen Miao, unbothered by the mess, even swallowed her saliva.

After washing, she also removed the kidneys. 

When she looked up, hands covered in chicken blood, she saw Gu Tusu staring at her dumbfounded, then silently slipping into the house across the street.

She shrugged and continued chopping the chicken, cleaning up in less than a quarter of an hour.

After sweeping away the blood, she went inside to check herself in the mirror and realized she had made a mess, with blood splatters on her face and clothes.

She sheepishly washed up, thinking this must look quite scary.

But what of it? 

Every chef has gone through this—it’s basic skills! 

Anyone who has spent decades in the kitchen slaughtering chickens, ducks, fish, cows, sheep, pigs, rabbits, frogs, oysters, geese…

Their hearts would have grown as cold as the knives in their hands.

The chicken was killed the previous night, and the soup was started early in the morning. 

Shen Miao, used to the early market, got up before dawn as usual. 

She first stir-fried the chicken with ginger to release the aroma, then added boiling water to simmer. 

The wild chestnuts were bought along with the chicken-they store well. 

These were last winter’s harvest, kept under straw in the snow, and now sold in spring.

Shen Miao bought them just in time. 

The farmer carrying the chestnuts into the city said he was selling his last batch today, and there wouldn’t be any more until next year.

The snow-stored chestnuts, partially dehydrated, seemed like hard little stones, but when met with soup, they would instantly revive, becoming even sweeter and softer than fresh ones. 

Such wild chestnuts were perfect for slow cooking, especially with chicken soup, a match made in heaven. 

When Shen Miao lifted the lid, the aroma filled the room.

The moment the smell hit, Xiang Jie, who had been chasing Ji Ge in the yard, and the puppy following her, both ran in almost simultaneously. 

Xiang Jie climbed onto the stove, tiptoeing to look into the pot.

The soup, simmered gently all day, was like amber-clear yet rich, with golden oil stars shimmering slightly white under the stove fire, glossy and tempting.

The chestnuts had sunk to the bottom, now split open, their golden flesh scooped out by her sister.

Xiang Jie stood by the stove, eagerly starting to drink the soup.

She blew on it repeatedly, impatient. 

Her sister ladled the soup into a large clay pot, and the remaining chicken bones, meat scraps, and broth were mixed with rice to make a lavish meal for the dog, Lei Ting, to be given later when warm.

When the soup was finally cool enough to drink, Xiang Jie drank until her body warmed up, feeling light-headed. 

The chicken, stewed to tenderness, was infused with the broth, and the chestnuts, golden and soft, almost melted in her mouth. 

She couldn’t stop drinking.

Shen Miao cleaned the pot, then stir-fried a plate of chicken innards and a plate of braised chicken blood tofu.

The three Shen siblings sat under the lamplight, drinking the sweet and fragrant chicken soup, accompanied by the sour and spicy stir-fried chicken innards and the smooth and tender chicken blood tofu, along with two bowls of mixed grain rice. 

They all ate until they had to rub their stomachs, then couldn’t help but smile at each other.

The puppy nestled at their feet, gnawing on a chicken bone, wagging its tail when it heard them laugh.

In the yard, the warm yellow candlelight flickered through the paper window, spilling onto the ground. 

The chicks had already huddled in their coop to sleep; at the gate, Lei Ting’s large head rested on its front paws, lying quietly as always on the ground. 

Its bowl of chicken soup mixed with rice was already empty, and the warm light from the door illuminated its slightly twitching, relaxed ears.

That night, the three Shen siblings and two dogs all dreamed of satisfied burps.

A few days later, the last tile was placed on the three new tiled rooms of the Shen house, and the last piece of rubble in the yard was tamped into the soil. 

The two small vegetable plots they had cultivated sprouted their first batch of wood ear mushrooms. 

The three Shen siblings finally each had their own rooms, and they excitedly spent a day moving out of the shop.

The shop was freshly plastered and fitted with new door panels, and the two windows that had been sealed for a long time were finally opened, covered with new green gauze.

The Shen family’s noodle shop, which had been burned to ruins, had finally taken on a new appearance.

One early morning, as the sky was just beginning to lighten, Aunt Li yawned as she removed the door panels of the Li family porcelain shop. 

She looked up and suddenly noticed that on the newly painted doorposts of the Shen family noodle shop, not far from her own, two peach wood boards painted with the images of the ghost-subduing gods “Shen Tu” and “Yu Lei” had been hung.

She rubbed her eyes and leaned out to look. 

The old red wooden plaque with black characters that had been removed from the Shen family noodle shop was now hanging above the door frame, glowing with a simple light in the cool dawn.

She leaned on the door frame, gazing at it, and a sense of bittersweet emotion welled up in her heart.

Three years had passed since the Shen family’s noodle shop had been ruined, the family scattered, and the shop burned to the ground. 

Now, it is finally about to reopen.