This period of learning that she had expected to be quite arduous became, because of Lin Hong’s presence, surprisingly peaceful and serene for Zhenzhen. Being with him, even simple food and drink could taste sweet. Even without being together day and night, hearing his qin music drifting from the mountain in the morning and glimpsing the bean-sized lamp in his room in the evening filled her heart with warm joy.

She liked to quietly observe him. His writing and painting were beautiful, his incense burning and tea preparation were beautiful, his calm and composed flower arranging with slightly pursed lips was beautiful, and even when he did nothing but stand under the eaves listening to rain with hands clasped behind his back, that quietly standing posture was beautiful. Thanks to him, even the continuous spring rain now seemed lovely.

Sometimes when he sensed her gaze and turned to look at her, she would instantly blush, lowering her head, yet basking in his gaze felt like a bud gradually blooming in her heart.

Besides studying culinary arts, she worked very hard at reading books, earnestly memorizing poetry and literature, remembering every allusion in the books—not to show off later, but hoping to draw closer to Lin Hong in spirit, to better understand his words and actions, and the deeper meaning of the dishes he prepared.

Under Lin Hong’s guidance, she became familiar with preparing various seasonal vegetarian dishes. However, after the pork incident, aside from fish and shrimp, she wouldn’t proactively ask Lin Hong how to cook other meats, afraid that one moment of carelessness might again displease this lover of vegetarian food.

Once she carefully prepared several dishes for Xin Sanniang, all learned from Lin Hong, and asked Sanniang how they were. After tasting them, Xin Sanniang praised them, then looking around to make sure no one was listening, whispered to Zhenzhen: “If I were to mention a shortcoming…” Zhenzhen understood immediately, and they said in unison: “Too vegetarian.”

The two looked at each other and laughed.

Xin Sanniang continued: “My son just brought me several pounds of fat chicken and lamb today. Thinking the Young Master wouldn’t want them, I put them in my small kitchen. Why don’t you come tonight, and we’ll cook them for ourselves.”

Zhenzhen agreed. That evening, seeing Lin Hong had already retired to his room, she quietly went to Xin Sanniang’s kitchen. Finding other cooking methods would take too long, they decided to skewer and roast the chicken, lamb, and the remaining small mushrooms, chives, and bamboo shoots from the kitchen.

Xin Sanniang adjusted the stove fire and set up an iron grill above it, helping Zhenzhen skewer the ingredients. Seeing she had already worked hard all day and looked quite tired, Zhenzhen asked her to rest first and promised to call her over once the food was grilled.

Xin Sanniang agreed and temporarily returned to her room to rest. Zhenzhen brushed a layer of oil on the ingredients and placed them on the iron grill. The chicken skin and lamb quickly began sizzling with heat, dripping oil into the fire. Flames and smoke rose accordingly, meat aroma and smoke intertwined, gradually filling the air.

Seeing the smoke getting thicker, Zhenzhen opened doors and windows to ventilate, frequently turning the skewers and brushing them with sauce and salt. This rough grilling technique was a skill she’d known since childhood—not taught by her mother or senior sisters, but learned while playing and fooling around with classmates like Yang Shenglin.

Oil continued dripping, flames accompanied by “pop-pop” sounds repeatedly leaped between the iron grill and ingredients, sending thicker meat aroma and smoke to the space above, escaping through doors and windows.

Footsteps sounded from the wooden corridor. Looking out the window, Zhenzhen discovered Lin Hong walking toward the kitchen. Startled, she immediately gathered all the grilled and ungrilled skewers into an iron pot on the stove, covered it tightly with the lid, quickly removed and hid the iron grill behind the door, and added much charcoal to the furnace to suppress the flames. Hearing Lin Hong’s footsteps drawing closer, in her haste unable to find a furnace cover, she frantically placed the iron pot on the furnace, then hurriedly tidied her clothing. Standing before the stove, she presented a calm smile to Lin Hong as he entered the kitchen.

Lin Hong looked around and asked Zhenzhen: “What are you doing? Why is the room full of smoke?”

Zhenzhen had already decided not to tell him the truth—even her mother and senior sisters found grilled food crude, let alone Lin Hong. So she tried to make her smile look flawless and answered composedly: “I’m helping Sanniang wash pots. There was oil and water in the pot, and I accidentally spilled some on the fire, so there’s some smoke.”

Lin Hong glanced at the iron pot on the furnace and asked casually: “Finished washing?”

“Almost. I heated some water—once it’s hot, I’ll scrub the pot again, then it’ll be done.”

Lin Hong asked no more questions but didn’t leave either. He calmly sat on a stool by the table, apparently having come specifically to investigate after smelling the smoke, still holding a scroll in his hand.

“What book is Teacher reading?” Seeing he wasn’t leaving, Zhenzhen could only seek another topic.

Lin Hong said: “A collection of Du Fu’s poems… That line I mentioned before, ‘night rain cuts spring chives’—do you remember which of his poems it’s from?”

“I remember. ‘Night rain cuts spring chives, new cooking mixed with yellow millet,’ from Du Fu’s poem ‘Presented to Scholar Wei Ba.'” Zhenzhen answered, involuntarily thinking of the chives in the iron pot, silently praying the chive leaves wouldn’t quickly be scorched by the furnace fire.

“Can you recite the entire poem?” Lin Hong asked.

Zhenzhen was startled and blurted out: “It’s too long.”

Lin Hong gave her an encouraging smile: “Try it. If you can’t remember clearly, I’ll prompt you.”

Having no choice, Zhenzhen could only recite this 120-character poem line by line: “In life we rarely meet, moving like the stars Shen and Shang. Tonight, what night is this, sharing this lamplight. How long can youth last, our temples already gray. Visiting old friends, half are ghosts, startling cries warm the heart. How could I know that after twenty years, I’d ascend your noble hall again. When we parted you were unmarried, children suddenly grown in rows. Happily respecting father’s friend, asking where I come from. Questions and answers not yet finished, children arranging wine. Night rain cuts spring chives, new cooking mixed with yellow millet. The host says meetings are difficult, one toast worth ten cups. Ten cups still not drunk, moved by your enduring friendship…”

Finally finishing with the last line “Tomorrow separated by mountains, worldly affairs both vast and uncertain,” she breathed a sigh of relief, only to hear Lin Hong ask: “What is this poem about?”

The Teacher Lin before her seemed determined to play the old scholar all night. Zhenzhen held her forehead, feeling cold sweat about to pour down. Worried about the grilled skewers in the pot, wanting to quickly finish answering and send the teacher away, but haste makes waste—her thoughts confused, her spoken answer was fragmented: “Master Du reunited with his friend after long separation… lamenting how difficult it is to meet… very difficult… when they last met he wasn’t yet married, now meeting again, the children can all go grill meat…”

“Hmm?” Lin Hong showed slight puzzlement, his lips slightly raised.

“Ah, no no!” Zhenzhen quickly corrected, “The children can all pour wine for them.”

“Right,” Lin Hong smiled, casually reciting the relevant lines: “Questions and answers not yet finished, children arranging wine.”

Seeing Zhenzhen struggling with her answers, Lin Hong explained to her himself: “This poem was written in the spring of the second year of Qianyuan, when Du Fu encountered his reclusive friend Scholar Wei Ba while returning to Huazhou from Luoyang. During the An Lushan Rebellion, with turbulent times, Du Fu’s sudden meeting with his old friend gave him an even stronger sense of life being like a dream, as if from another world…”

Zhenzhen listened absentmindedly until Lin Hong mentioned Scholar Wei Ba entertaining Du Fu with fresh chives and yellow millet rice, then she perked up again, echoing the teacher’s sighs and emotions to cover the rustling sounds from the pot on the stove.

After Lin Hong finished speaking, Zhenzhen sincerely expressed her joy at gaining new knowledge, then gathered her words to prepare to see the guest off. Unexpectedly, Lin Hong spoke again: “Since you listened so attentively, why don’t you repeat it once to deepen your memory.”

Oil smoke was already escaping from the pot. Zhenzhen was on the verge of tears, while Lin Hong still waited leisurely for her repetition. Obviously in his eyes, she was undoubtedly a crystal glass person, transparent at a glance, unable to hide any thoughts. Since she wouldn’t tell the truth, he was determined to play this game with her.

Zhenzhen was struggling with whether to confess to her teacher when a moth suddenly rescued her.

The moth flew toward the candle flame on the table, colliding with Lin Hong’s hand holding the book mid-flight.

Lin Hong started up in alarm, frowning as he brushed at the hand the moth had touched, his expression showing disgust for the incident.

A flash of inspiration struck. Zhenzhen immediately picked up a cotton cloth for wiping tables and quickly walked toward Lin Hong, appearing very concerned: “Teacher, come, let me wipe your hand.”

Lin Hong stared pale-faced at her approaching cloth, retreating repeatedly, dropping the words “No need” before turning and fleeing the place.

Zhenzhen let out a long breath and immediately rushed to the stove to lift the pot lid. A burst of moist steam rose with an inexplicably enticing aroma, gradually dispersing before Zhenzhen’s eyes. The chicken skin and lamb fat in the pot had long since rendered out, overflowing in the iron pot, while the other vegetables, moistened by the fat, displayed a warm luster different from boiling or steaming.

Because the furnace fire had been covered with charcoal earlier, reducing the heat, not much of the vegetables in the pot were scorched. Zhenzhen tried picking up a small mushroom to taste. The oil-fried mushroom melted between her tongue and teeth, and Zhenzhen experienced a wonderfully smooth and tender texture different from any previous cooking method, infused with the marvelous taste of rendered fat.