The next day, Lin Hong returned to the capital with Zhenzhen’s party. Zhao Ai also accompanied them, riding his horse close to Lin Hong and never leaving his side. Zhenzhen noticed Lin Hong had dark circles under his eyes and looked unwell, so she asked if he hadn’t rested well the previous night. Before Lin Hong could speak, Zhao Ai smiled and said: “I’ve never seen anyone as diligent and studious as Uncle. Last night he sat by the window reading by candlelight. I urged him several times to lie down and sleep, but he refused, so I had to sleep first. When I woke in the middle of the night, he was still reading. When I got up this morning, he had fallen asleep at his desk, but even then he slept restlessly—he’d wake at the slightest sound, still clutching that book… So this is how talented scholars achieve their learning through hard study. I can only admire from afar.”

Zhenzhen knew Lin Hong had sat up all night because he didn’t want to share lodging with Zhao Ai, but she couldn’t openly reveal the truth to embarrass Zhao Ai, so she could only glare at him fiercely in private. Zhao Ai pretended not to notice and smiled it off, while Lin Hong rode ahead of them, his face showing neither pleasure nor annoyance, saying nothing about the previous night’s events.

Upon returning to the palace, Zhao Ai first went to see his father, reporting to the Emperor about the disaster conditions and refugee situations he had witnessed along the way. Pingjiang Prefecture Magistrate Xu Jichuan’s self-impeachment memorial soon arrived in Lin’an. After reading it, the Emperor indeed didn’t punish him but, as Zhao Ai had predicted, publicly praised his timely decision to open the granary for refugee relief in court, giving him official commendation. He then dispatched Ji Jinglan to Shaoxing to dismiss the Shaoxing Prefecture Magistrate and related officials who had concealed disaster conditions and provided inadequate relief, appointing upright and honest officials to oversee relief efforts.

Xu Jichuan’s memorial didn’t mention Zhao Ai’s guidance, and Zhao Ai didn’t want the Emperor to know he had contacted court officials while outside the capital, so this suited his intentions perfectly. The Emperor was very displeased with Zhao Ai’s departure from the capital and had intended to punish him, but considering that he had observed disaster conditions throughout his journey and cared about the people, he couldn’t bear to be harsh, and the planned punishment was dropped.

The Emperor summoned Lin Hong, who requested punishment for his unauthorized departure from the capital. Though the Emperor was displeased, he still expressed his regard and expectations for Lin Hong, asking him to promise not to act so willfully again. Lin Hong agreed, kowtowed in gratitude for imperial grace, and requested the Emperor’s permission to present a “Shaoweiyan Banquet.”

The Shaoweiyan Banquet originated in the Tang Dynasty. When scholars’ status was promoted—such as passing examinations, receiving honors, or being transferred—colleagues and friends would hold grand celebratory banquets. Additionally, when ministers were first appointed to office, they would traditionally present food to the emperor. Both types of banquets were called “Shaoweiyan.” Now Lin Hong, following the tradition of newly appointed officials, requested to present food to His Majesty. The Emperor naturally agreed with pleasure, but instructed: “I alone cannot eat much—no need for extravagance, just prepare a few dishes… I’ve heard that people outside the palace have different tastes according to their status, roughly divided into official cuisine, literati cuisine, and commoner cuisine. Why don’t you make one or two dishes of each style for me to taste?”

Lin Hong immediately agreed and returned to prepare. Three days later, he entered the palace and, according to the Emperor’s arrangement, borrowed the imperial kitchen. Without assistance, he prepared three distinctly different styles of cuisine.

First presented were two official dishes: Wrapped Flower Yunmeng Meat and Water-Refined Calf.

The Wrapped Flower Yunmeng Meat consisted of circular slices of cold meat. The outer skin was reddish-brown, and the cross-section revealed white fat, pink lean meat, and crystalline skin lines spiraling within, intertwining with the fat like flowing clouds.

Seeing the meat’s color and texture, Zhenzhen knew it was made from pork shoulder, secretly surprised that Lin Hong had chosen this meat he had always disdained. Following palace protocol, Lin Hong asked her to taste first. Zhenzhen took a slice and quickly guessed the preparation method: pork shoulder was deboned, marinated, then spread flat with skin and meat, rolled into a cylinder, wrapped in cloth, tied with rope, boiled in seasoned broth, cooled, unwrapped, and sliced.

Using richly flavored pork, it filled the mouth with fat fragrance and long-lasting flavor. The fat was delicate, the lean meat tender, and the skin slightly chewy, creating rich layers of texture—all very good, but with one obvious flaw: it was too salty. Not unbearably so, but after eating one slice, one would immediately want to drink something.

The Emperor’s reaction confirmed this. After swallowing a slice of Wrapped Flower Yunmeng Meat, he immediately raised his wine cup for a sip. However, he didn’t immediately point out this flaw but smiled and asked Lin Hong: “I’ve heard that court scholars don’t like pork. Why did Xuanyi Lang use it for official cuisine today?”

Lin Hong bowed and replied: “Scholars don’t like pork, but this dish is beloved by everyone from prime ministers to prefectural officials. During the Tang Dynasty, when Wei Juyuan was appointed as Left Vice President of the Imperial Secretariat, his Shaoweiyan Banquet for Emperor Zhongzong included this Wrapped Flower Yunmeng Meat. Later generations eat this as a good omen, so it’s common in official cuisine.”

The second dish was called “Water-Refined Calf,” but Zhenzhen tasted that the ingredient wasn’t young beef but extremely tender mutton cooked in rosewater until just done, then cut into small pieces and roasted until crispy, sprinkled with salt and saffron powder. Crispy outside and tender inside, the rose and saffron created an enchanting exotic fragrance—delicious indeed. However, there was still too much salt.

The Emperor also praised it after tasting, commending the spice fragrance and the meat’s dual texture, but questioned Lin Hong: “You say this meat is called Water-Refined Calf, but why use mutton?”

Lin Hong replied: “This dish traditionally uses young beef in official circles, but I didn’t want to use young beef, so I substituted mutton.”

The Emperor immediately understood and sighed: “Cattle are farm animals, used by both palace residents and common people for ox carts. Therefore, the court has never encouraged eating beef, and the palace doesn’t slaughter cattle except for sacrifices. I never expected local officials to be so unscrupulous—not only eating beef but killing young calves… Sigh, they’ve probably long forgotten the principle of ‘don’t break what’s just growing.'”

The Emperor put down his silver chopsticks, looking displeased. Zhenzhen immediately had the Water-Refined Calf removed and signaled Lin Hong to serve new dishes.

Lin Hong then presented two literati dishes.

One was “Chrysanthemum Shoot Pancake”—fresh chrysanthemum shoots blanched and coated in batter made from licorice water and Chinese yam powder, then deep-fried. After tasting, the Emperor praised its elegant ingredients and flavor, saying: “Refreshingly elegant with the style of Chu gardens.”

The other was extremely fine green noodles served in a crystal dish, lovely and emerald fresh. Lin Hong asked the Emperor to add the accompanying vinegar and sauce. The Emperor seasoned and ate them as instructed, then his eyes lit up as he said to Zhenzhen: “These noodles seem to contain vegetable juice, but the fresh fragrance is unique, different from common vegetables. How are they made?”

This was also Zhenzhen’s first time tasting them, and she was stunned, blushing as she said: “The vegetable used… this servant couldn’t identify it either…”

“It’s locust leaves,” Lin Hong explained gently for her, his eyes holding hidden laughter. “Select the finest locust leaves, briefly soak them in boiling water, then grind finely and strain out the clear juice, mix with flour to make noodles, called ‘Locust Leaf Noodles.’ Du Fu also made this food and wrote a poem about it, saying: ‘Ten thousand li of dew-cold halls, opening ice in clear jade pots. When the emperor seeks coolness at night, this taste is also timely needed.’ Tonight still carries summer heat—His Majesty using this to cool off perfectly matches the scene.”

The Emperor laughed: “The previous official dishes were all meat, rich in flavor but somewhat greasy. But this mountain forest taste immediately refreshes the spirit and leaves fragrance in the teeth.” After thinking, he added: “Moreover, these two literati dishes are properly seasoned for saltiness and blandness. The earlier official dishes were too salty—was it from over-marinating?”

Lin Hong calmly replied: “Mountain hermits have no desires or demands, so their tastes are naturally light. High officials and nobles often love rich, heavy flavors, so heavy oil and salt are not surprising.”

The Emperor nodded, drank a cup of wine, and ordered Lin Hong to serve commoner cuisine.

Lin Hong had prepared only one commoner dish. It was now brought to Jiaming Hall by palace servants. The eunuchs opened the food box, removed the dish, and presented it to Lin Hong, who personally carried it to Zhenzhen.

The previous official dishes used gold vessels, literati dishes used silver vessels, but this one used a coarse ceramic plate containing a pile of yellowish-white paste-like substance with rice and bean residue, mixed with some grain husks.

It looked like chaff and bran. Zhenzhen was very puzzled as she tasted a small amount, then became even more surprised, opening her eyes wide to look at Lin Hong. Lin Hong calmly nodded slightly, indicating she could present it to His Majesty.

Seeing this, Zhenzhen knew he must have deep meaning and could only present this commoner dish to His Majesty.

His Majesty was also startled seeing the dish’s appearance, but thinking that Lin Hong advocated natural flavors, though this dish looked like chaff and bran, it might have exquisite seasoning or contain the taste of immortal brew. So he cheerfully took a large spoonful and put it in his mouth.

The smile he had prepared for Lin Hong instantly vanished. After a moment of stunned silence, he hastily spat out the food from his mouth.

It looked like chaff and bran, and tasted like chaff and bran, with no salty flavor but a faint sour smell.

After spitting it out, the Emperor took the face cloth Zhenzhen hurriedly handed him to wipe his mouth, then threw it heavily on the ground, slammed the table, and scolded: “What is the meaning of this?”

Lin Hong wasn’t alarmed. He left his seat, faced the Emperor, and bowed: “What Your Majesty tasted through these dishes today represents the differences between official cuisine, literati cuisine, and commoner cuisine: heavy salt, light salt, and no salt. Wine and meat behind vermillion gates must seek rich flavors; literati, being detached, can be self-sufficient; but commoners in poverty—what sweetness or bitterness can they discuss!”

The Emperor fell silent, then slowly asked Lin Hong: “So you’re using food to remonstrate, directly pointing to the salt voucher system’s evils?”

Lin Hong kowtowed and said: “Our dynasty implemented the salt voucher system, ordering prefectures and counties to establish offices for controlled sales, originally to suppress salt merchants’ excessive profits, stabilize salt prices, and benefit the people. How could we know that some prefectural Salt Commission officials would exploit this for profit, oppressing salt producers, extorting salt merchants, and even forcing people to buy inferior salt under the name of ‘household salt.’ These evils are especially severe in Fujian Circuit, where salt producers often go bankrupt, and though people pay high prices, they can’t obtain salt promptly, inevitably causing popular resentment to boil over. This matter concerns people’s livelihood—if ignored, once accumulated grievances explode, it won’t be fortunate for the state.”

Lin Hong then recounted everything he had seen and heard regarding salt voucher evils. The Emperor pondered, then after a moment gave a long sigh: “I’ve heard of these matters before, but the salt voucher system has been used by our dynasty for many years through several emperors. To abolish it cannot be accomplished overnight.”

Lin Hong said: “If a person develops an abscess, would they refuse treatment just because they fear pain, letting it develop unchecked? If not promptly opened for drainage and purification, it will damage sinews and rot bones, festering beyond healing.”

This day’s discussion of salt vouchers ended with the Emperor’s silence, but he didn’t ignore Lin Hong’s remonstrance. Soon after, he discussed this matter with ministers and resolutely abolished the salt voucher system in Fujian Circuit, dispatched officials to strictly investigate Salt Commission officials in all circuits, eliminate related corruption, and announced that the court would decide whether to maintain or abolish the salt voucher system based on local conditions.