In the following days, Lin Hong and Zhenzhen repeatedly tried stir-frying, carefully recording their experiences with cookware and revising the improvement sketches for the iron pot again and again. They changed the pot to a round-bottomed dish shape with an open mouth and smooth, curved interior for easy scooping during stir-frying. They made the pot body thinner to reduce weight, facilitating heat transfer and handling. When they felt the design was generally suitable, they sought blacksmiths to forge new woks according to their drawings.
After obtaining the wok prototype, the two frequently experimented with stir-frying new dishes, both meat and vegetarian. Lin Hong’s kitchen therefore carried more cooking aromas than before. Zhenzhen felt quite apologetic seeing this, but Lin Hong didn’t mind at all. Each day after stir-frying, he carefully cleaned the kitchen together with Zhenzhen. The two spent more time together than before, Lin Hong appeared more gentle, and even had the mood for occasional conversation and laughter.
One day A’Che went down the mountain to fish and caught several bass, bringing them back to Wen Qiao Inn for Lin Hong and Zhenzhen to slice into sashimi. Each taking one fish, after removing the internal organs and scales, Lin Hong first took up the knife to slice sashimi while Zhenzhen observed from the side.
Lin Hong lightly pressed the fish with his left hand, pushing it gently rightward at even speed, while his right hand held the knife. With the knife rising and falling, he struck continuous, rhythmic sounds on the cutting board, and thin fish slices appeared under the blade like snowflakes and wave foam flying toward the right side.
Zhenzhen admired this and tried to imitate with effort, but discovered that after the knife fell, fish slices often stuck to the blade, not immediately flying down like Lin Hong’s. When Zhenzhen raised this question, Lin Hong instructed: “Rub a little fish brain or fat from the fish belly on the blade—the sliced fish won’t stick to the knife and won’t have any off-flavors.”
Zhenzhen followed his words, and indeed under the knife’s singing, fish sashimi strips flew gracefully without sticking to the blade. Zhenzhen smiled and thanked Lin Hong, then asked if all fish could be sliced this way. Lin Hong said: “Almost all fish with meat suitable for sashimi can be prepared this way, except for one type—pufferfish.”
Zhenzhen nodded: “Pufferfish are poisonous. My mother never used pufferfish as ingredients, and she quite disliked this type of fish—she wouldn’t even let the senior sisters mention them.”
“Probably because your mother has a kind and benevolent heart, so she dislikes toxic ingredients,” Lin Hong said. “Pufferfish toxins concentrate in the internal organs, skin, and blood, and blood easily dissolves in fat, so one cannot use fish brain and fat to oil the knife when slicing sashimi. But if you only take fresh fish meat and wash away the blood, eating it won’t harm the body.”
“I know—even Dongpo Jushi loved eating pufferfish, showing that with careful preparation, toxins won’t prevent people from enjoying this delicacy,” Zhenzhen smiled.
Lin Hong was slightly curious: “How do you know Dongpo Jushi loved eating pufferfish?”
“I’ve memorized his poems,” Zhenzhen casually recited one: “Two or three peach blossoms beyond the bamboo, spring river water warm, ducks know first. Artemisia covers the ground, reed buds are short—just when pufferfish are about to swim upstream.”
Lin Hong smiled: “This poem is well-written. What are your thoughts?”
“My thoughts are that many poems we memorized as children when teachers required it, without understanding the deeper meaning. One must experience some things and learn much before understanding what the poet truly wanted to express,” Zhenzhen answered. “For example, this ‘Viewing Huichong’s Evening Scene on the Spring River’—the title mentions spring river scenery, and my teacher back then told me this poem described spring scenes, which I believed. But now after learning culinary arts and knowing about the various dishes Dongpo Jushi ate and made, I finally understand that what he really wanted to say was: bamboo shoots, fat ducks, artemisia, reed shoots, and pufferfish—here I come!”
Lin Hong frowned upon hearing this: “How can you speculate about Dongpo Jushi’s poetic meaning this way?”
Zhenzhen was startled, carefully observing his expression and timidly asking: “Does Teacher think I spoke disrespectfully?”
“What I mean is,” Lin Hong said expressionlessly and deliberately, “was Dongpo Jushi someone who would only notice these few ingredients? There are peaches too… Looking at the peach blossoms then, he was probably also thinking that in a few more days, he could eat fresh peaches.”
Zhenzhen couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Lin Hong immediately smiled as well, and the two simply put down their knives, sat facing each other, and discussed other poems by Dongpo Jushi about food, chatting with continuous laughter.
A’Che and Xin Sanniang outside the kitchen heard their laughter and exchanged glances, both quite surprised.
A’Che whispered to Xin Sanniang: “Has Sanniang noticed that the Young Master laughs much more than before?”
Xin Sanniang remained silent for a long time, then sighed: “I didn’t much like Zhenzhen before, but keeping her here seems not bad—at least she can help the Young Master connect with earthly life.”
That night Lin Hong practiced calligraphy in his study while Zhenzhen accompanied him, burning incense and grinding ink. Unlike during the day, she appeared worried and distracted, quite melancholy.
Lin Hong noticed, set down his brush, and said gently to Zhenzhen: “You’ve worked hard all day—go back to your room and rest early. I’ve already had A’Che tell the fishing families down the mountain that if they catch pufferfish, they should send them to my garden, and I’ll teach you to remove the poison and cook them.”
Zhenzhen forced a smile and said softly: “Thank you, Teacher… It’s just that I probably won’t be able to wait for that day.”
Lin Hong was surprised and asked why she said this. Zhenzhen said: “Tomorrow, I should leave Wen Qiao Inn and return to Pujiang.”
Zhao Huaiyu’s original letter to Lin Hong only mentioned that Zhenzhen had nowhere to stay due to family misfortune and hoped to lodge at Wen Qiao Inn to study culinary arts. It didn’t mention the details of Shizhen Lou’s troubles or when Zhenzhen would leave. And Zhenzhen, blaming herself deeply for her family’s disasters, didn’t have the courage to tell Lin Hong the details, so only now did Lin Hong learn she was leaving.
Zhenzhen apologized to Lin Hong and finally revealed the complete story of why she came to study culinary arts, explaining that the Royal Kitchen selection was imminent and she had to return to Pujiang. Seeing Lin Hong appear quite serious, gazing silently, she forced a smile toward him: “I’m truly grateful for Teacher’s instruction and care during this time… Today is my seventeenth birthday. Thank you for teaching me to slice sashimi and making me very happy… All the kindness and goodwill Teacher has given me, I remember in my heart, and I hope someday I can repay you abundantly.”
After hearing this, Lin Hong showed no joy or anger, only saying: “Follow me.” Then he walked toward the kitchen.
Zhenzhen followed Lin Hong to his kitchen. Lin Hong took some dried small taro from a jar and brought them to the earthen stove, lighting straw and burying the small taro in ash to roast.
“I didn’t know today was your birthday, otherwise I would have prepared better ingredients. Now I only have these small taro for a late-night snack,” Lin Hong said. “These taro have been dried, and when roasted they taste very much like chestnuts, so I call them ‘earth chestnuts.’ One year in early spring, Huaiyu came to visit me. Coming and going in haste, I had nothing prepared, so we sat around the stove tasting these earth chestnuts and talked all night.”
Zhenzhen nodded: “I’ve seen Sanniang drying these taro, but didn’t know why at the time. Thank you for letting me taste them today.”
Zhenzhen then sat shoulder to shoulder with Lin Hong beside the earthen stove, chatting while tending the fire and roasting taro.
Mentioning her studies, Lin Hong asked Zhenzhen: “Since your family runs a restaurant, why didn’t you start learning culinary arts from childhood?”
Zhenzhen sighed: “My father died early. Mother lived alone with me. When I was four, Mother adopted Sister Feng Xian and met Uncle Pu, and life became more lively. Mother was very beautiful, and many people proposed marriage to her during those years, but she refused them all. Later there was an official’s son who wanted to take my mother as a concubine. When she firmly refused, that man had people storm into our home while Uncle Pu was away buying ingredients, and they beat Mother severely. Sister Feng Xian tried to stop them and was also beaten badly. I was seven then and had been sent to school by Mother, so I escaped the disaster. Mother and Sister Feng Xian both fell ill and were bedridden. When I came home and saw they were too weak to cook, I prepared to cook for them myself.”
Lin Hong listened patiently, at this point anticipating what happened next: “You had never cooked before, right? So you made a mistake.”
“Yes,” Zhenzhen said sadly. “I tried to imitate Mother’s cooking based on shallow impressions, putting a wooden steamer in the bronze tripod, pouring rice in, then placing it on the stove and lighting the fire… I stayed by the side and unknowingly fell asleep. Later, the wooden steamer caught fire… Do you know why?”
Lin Hong understood completely: “You forgot to add water to the steamer and bronze tripod.”
“Not forgot—I simply didn’t know I needed to add water. I usually just played and rarely entered the kitchen.” Zhenzhen smiled bitterly, covering her face. After a moment of silence, she continued: “When I woke up, the kitchen was filled with thick smoke. Besides the steamer, other things by the stove had also caught fire, then the nearby tables and chairs… I was trapped in the fire, crying in terror, but when I opened my mouth, smoke rushed into my throat, causing violent coughing… Just when I was about to faint, Mother rushed in. She was such a frail person, originally beaten so badly she could hardly turn over, but somehow found the strength to move like flying, scooping basin after basin of water from the water jar and throwing it at the burning flames… Finally when the water ran out, she took off her clothes and beat the flames with all her might, finally extinguishing the fire blocking me and carrying me out.”
Lin Hong moved his gaze away from Zhenzhen’s face, not looking at her tear-filled eyes, and said to the fire: “You’re very fortunate to have such a good mother.”
Zhenzhen took the opportunity to quietly wipe away tears from the corners of her eyes and continued: “Mother saved my life. I was choked by smoke and my throat hurt for several days, but I had no other injuries. But she herself, besides the wounds from being beaten, had several more burns… From then on, she firmly refused to let me enter the kitchen, saying she didn’t want me to learn culinary arts—I should just study seriously, and she would earn money to support and protect me…”
Lin Hong sighed: “You should have told me earlier about your purpose for studying and your departure deadline. That way I would have taught you some rarer dishes. What you’ve learned so far is only mountain home cooking, which probably won’t easily catch the imperial court’s eye.”
“I’ve already learned so much,” Zhenzhen smiled. “Teacher’s dishes are all uniquely crafted, possessing all four beauties. Teacher also taught me to read poetry, burn incense, and arrange flowers. Following Teacher, I’ve come to know many more flowers, birds, fish, and insects. Most importantly, you’ve helped me understand many principles… These will certainly be helpful to me in the future.”
Lin Hong smiled at her but didn’t immediately respond. The two sat around the stove, and though silent, both felt peaceful in their hearts and didn’t find it awkward.
After a while, Lin Hong pulled a small taro from the ash pile, peeled it open to check, found the doneness suitable, continued peeling off the skin, then handed it to Zhenzhen. Zhenzhen took it and tasted—the small taro was indeed powdery and fragrant, very much like chestnuts.
She quickly finished this one, and Lin Hong took out two more in succession, still peeling them before giving them to Zhenzhen, not eating any himself, only smiling faintly when Zhenzhen thanked him.
After Zhenzhen finished the taro, she got up to wash her hands, then returned to sit beside Lin Hong and suddenly asked him: “Teacher, when is your birthday?”
Lin Hong was startled but finally answered: “August fifteenth.”
“It’s the Mid-Autumn Festival!” Zhenzhen smiled. “What a wonderful day. Every birthday falls during family reunion time.”
Lin Hong forced a smile: “Since I can remember, there’s never been a family reunion on my birthday. With fewer and fewer people, after age fifteen, I stopped celebrating birthdays.”
Zhenzhen was shocked and wanted to comfort Lin Hong but didn’t know where to begin.
Instead, Lin Hong smiled reassuringly at her and said warmly: “If you don’t enter the palace, or if you leave the palace after finding your mother, then come back to Wen Qiao Inn to see the scenery during Mid-Autumn… At that time the garden will be full of golden chrysanthemums. During the day when autumn winds blow, purple pears and red dates occasionally fall from branches onto the green moss—the colors are gorgeous and very beautiful. At night a bright moon reflects in the autumn water of the pond, silver ground without dust—another scene of pure beauty.”
Zhenzhen imagined the scenery then, also yearning for it, but considering her mother’s situation, she didn’t dare rashly agree. With a melancholy sigh, she lowered her head in bewilderment.
At this time the flames in the stove burned more fiercely, and thatched grass ash danced with the flames. Some drifted out of the stove, and one piece fell like a snowflake on Lin Hong’s eyebrow.
Zhenzhen brushed ash from herself, and turning, discovered that white speck on Lin Hong’s eyebrow. Instinctively she reached out to brush it away, and Lin Hong didn’t avoid her, letting her wipe with her hand.
The ash fell away. Zhenzhen looked at Lin Hong’s still-handsome features and smiled, feeling his face reflected in the firelight was indescribably beautiful. Then as if remembering something, she deliberately looked at the skin on Lin Hong’s neck and hands.
Seeing her looking him up and down, Lin Hong raised his eyebrows questioningly. Zhenzhen breathed a sigh of relief: “Good, Teacher didn’t get chills this time.”
As if to confirm, Zhenzhen extended one finger and very cautiously, gently poked Lin Hong’s hand.
This strange sensation made Lin Hong’s whole body shiver. He pressed his lips together, lowering his gaze to look at Zhenzhen. Zhenzhen looked up, her eyes clear as a child’s. In her bright pupils he saw himself.
Zhenzhen smiled: “This time there’s also no…”
Before she finished speaking, her raised hand had already been caught by Lin Hong. While Zhenzhen was still in a daze, the next surprise came rushing toward her—Lin Hong, gripping her hand, suddenly pulled. Zhenzhen’s body swayed accordingly and fell into his embrace.