After the Dragon Boat Festival, the true scorching summer days arrived. The blazing sun hung high, the ground heated to a burning temperature with a layer of scalding dust rising from it. Dogs lay listlessly in holes they dug in the shadows of walls, and even the chickens became more docile, less inclined to jump over the fence to wreak havoc in the vegetable garden.
During such weather, everything else took a back seat. Shen Shaoguang stayed in the shop all day, surviving on cold drinks and fruits chilled with well water from the backyard. While breakfast and dinner were manageable, lunch was reduced to cat-like nibbles.
Whenever Yu San saw Shen Shaoguang eating lunch, she would frown. Shen Shaoguang would respond with an appeasing smile, forcing herself to eat a few more bites. She understood – for a cook, it was intolerable to see others barely touch the food they had worked so hard to prepare in the sweltering kitchen.
A Yuan and A Chang, however, maintained hearty appetites year-round and ate everything. Even in such heat, when hungry mid-morning or mid-afternoon, A Yuan could eat two meat-filled flatbreads or a basket of Yu Jian noodles. A Chang was the same – their snacking habits were perfectly synchronized.
Since arriving at Shen’s establishment, A Chang had gained weight though hadn’t grown taller; A Yuan, however, had made one final growth spurt in late adolescence, growing several inches in a year.
Shen Shaoguang calculated her height at about 165 centimeters, while A Yuan was more than half a chi taller, surely over 175 centimeters, with a broader waist too. Yu San’s prediction had come true – A Yuan indeed brought sorrow in the sixth, seventh, and eighth months.
Customers found this quite satisfactory, saying, “Looking at your staff, one can tell the food here is good – see how well-built they are.”
The not-so “well-built” Shen Shaoguang and Yu San quarreled like chickens, one wondering why the other didn’t gain weight despite eating plenty – bringing shame to a chef’s reputation; the other complaining that someone ate less than a cat while being both picky and greedy.
Shen Shaoguang felt half wronged – eating little was true, but being picky and greedy wasn’t. “Look, I survive daily on plain congee and small dishes.”
Shen’s establishment offered various congees for breakfast and dinner: plain rice congee, rice and mung bean congee, rice with lily bulb and lotus seed congee, lotus leaf congee, and vegetable with lean meat congee, rotating through different varieties.
Besides seasonal summer vegetables, the side dishes included Yu San’s aristocratic-style pickled vegetables – Chinese cabbage, radish, cucumber, and purple ginger, along with pan-fried wine-marinated fish paste, Chinese mahogany-spiced stir-fried cured meat, and salted eggs among other “preserved delicacies.”
Ignoring the “quantum Zeno effect,” Shen Shaoguang frequently checked on her curing ham, imagining the taste of Mr. Tang Lusun’s ham with shepherd’s purse over congee while poking it with bamboo skewers like Yu San did. However, she couldn’t tell much from the poking – clearly, the transformation from fresh meat to an alluring aged ham was a lengthy process that couldn’t be rushed.
Shen Shaoguang thought of Magistrate Lin, the “two-year ham.” Though only twenty-five or twenty-six and still fresh-faced by age and appearance, his innately unflappable nature had somehow shortened the aging process.
Thinking of his recent looks – eyes seemingly full of unspoken words, the curl at the corner of his eyes when he smiled, his lips after drinking soup, and his build – Shen Shaoguang felt flustered. “Stay steady, my principles and bottom line!”
Finally, tired of pickled vegetables, Shen Shaoguang turned her attention to other living creatures.
One morning, after the fish vendor delivered his goods, Shen Shaoguang asked with a smile, “Sir, could you bring some grasshoppers and cicadas? The cicadas should be newly emerged from the ground before they’ve shed their shells – the flying ones aren’t as tender and tasty.”
The fishmonger laughed, “Young Miss is from a wealthy city family, how did you think of eating such wild things? We only ate these to survive during famine years.”
“They’re delicious, sir. Just catch some for me,” Shen Shaoguang smiled.
Not only did commoners like Shen Shaoguang, who was a grass-roots person before transmigrating and a palace maid-turned-tavern owner after, eat such things – even true nobles of this dynasty did, like Emperor Xuanzong and the current emperor’s grandfather.
During the locust plague in the fourth year of Kaiyuan, Emperor Xuanzong ate locusts in anger, saying, “You eat my people’s grain as if eating my viscera,” and led officials and common people to win that battle against the locust plague.
Of course, that was long past the Kaiyuan era, and Xuanzong’s locust-eating had much political significance. The one who truly ate “insects” for pleasure was the current emperor’s grandfather.
According to old palace chefs, that emperor particularly loved dried cicada, whether roasted, steamed, or blanched, seasoned with vinegar, sauce, cilantro, and smartweed. He would eat them every summer. Many officials and nobles reportedly followed this trend, though the previous emperor and current emperor were indifferent to it.
Shen Shaoguang wasn’t sure if the officials and nobles still enjoyed this delicacy; perhaps she could ask Magistrate Lin later.
The fishmonger, primarily a farmer who had begun selling fish to Shen’s establishment last year and found his life easier since then, was willing to help the young miss with her craving, especially since she offered to pay.
The next day, he brought a jar of cicada nymphs (which Shen Shaoguang’s hometown called “zhilahou’er”) and about a dozen grass-strung grasshoppers, saying his young son had dug up the cicadas last night and they had caught the grasshoppers that morning.
Appreciating the children’s effort, Shen Shaoguang paid generously and said, “Thank your young masters for their help.” She also included some flower cakes as thanks.
The fishmonger left beaming, and Shen Shaoguang began preparing these “insects.”
Rather than making dried cicadas like the emperor, Shen Shaoguang opted for deep-frying them whole, lacking the patience for the drying process.
Cleaning was the most crucial step, followed by brief marination in Sichuan pepper-salted water, then drying before frying.
Frying these wasn’t different from frying small meatballs – first slow-fry at low heat until nearly cooked through, remove, then raise the oil temperature and fry again for extra crispiness.
Sprinkle with pepper and cumin powder – they were good plain, with alcohol, or in flatbread.
However, neither Yu San nor even A Yuan and A Chang would eat these.
A Yuan had been somewhat tempted but retreated at the sight of their menacing appearance with waving limbs and seemingly living whiskers.
Though not eating them, A Yuan still praised her mistress: “Young Miss is so brave!”
Shen Shaoguang: “…”
Shen Shaoguang enjoyed her meal thoroughly – finally eating her fill for lunch.
Unexpectedly, an early customer witnessed this – a regular who had written the wall poem praising spring dishes: “White jade plate bears tender green silk, fragrant meat in the jade pot steams.”
This scholar had later written poems praising Shen’s pastries, Yu Jian noodles, and cold bean paste noodles, all on that wall, practically serving as Shen’s unofficial advertising creative director.
Being a scholar, he immediately referenced Cao Zhi’s “Ode to the Cicada”: “Surrendering its body to the cook, returning to ash in the flames.” This provided some historical context for Shen Shaoguang’s craving.
Given this, how could Shen Shaoguang not share some with him? Adding stir-fried cucumber and dressed pig’s ears among other dishes, plus a cup of fresh “green and” wine, the scholar ate and drank with great enthusiasm. When drunk, he drummed the table and sang, then, inspired by Cao Zhi’s cicada ode, composed an “Ode to Eating Cicadas and Locusts.”
Unlike the melancholic tone of the original cicada ode, this one celebrated peaceful prosperity, noting how these insects, once famine food, were now mere drinking snacks. Though writing about cicadas and locusts, the language was fresh and elegant, combining parallel and free prose, somewhat reminiscent of Six Dynasties prose.
Shen Shaoguang wanted to applaud – this style and theme made perfect advertising copy. If it had been full of melancholy like the Luoyang scholars saying “No one believes in nobility, who will understand my heart,” she would have just advised him to drink away his sorrows – it definitely wouldn’t have made it to the wall as it would be too socially discordant.
Shen Shaoguang scraped off the old poem, and the scholar, in his drunkenness, wrote the new ode on the wall in dynamic running script.
Shen Shaoguang only regretted that the ingredient supply couldn’t keep up – with such advertising, she could have earned several more Dou of profit.
Shen Shaoguang didn’t know her small tavern had lucky charm qualities. This ode was later seen by Minister Li, who mentioned it to the emperor in casual conversation, and the scholar was subsequently recruited into Minister Li’s household, eventually becoming an Imperial Academy scholar.
Though Imperial Academy scholars weren’t as prestigious then as in later dynasties, they were still close to the emperor. This scholar, who had failed the imperial examinations multiple times, entered officialdom because of a food-themed ode – the workings of fate were truly remarkable.
But that was a story for another time.
While Shen Shaoguang was busy with deep-fried cicada nymphs, Lin Yan was at the Ministry of Justice with Vice Minister Song.
“Due to Minister Fan’s illness, I’ve only now obtained the case files of Shen Qian that you asked me to find earlier,” Vice Minister Song smiled, pushing a scroll across the desk.
Lin Yan nodded, expressing sincere thanks.
Vice Minister Song smiled, “It’s just a copy, though – the original absolutely cannot leave the premises.”
“I understand, this is already exceptionally generous.”
Such sealed files of major cases were kept in special archives, originally requiring signatures from all Political Affairs Council ministers for access.
In practice, to avoid such complications, they allowed borrowers to sign, with review by the Vice Minister of Justice and approval by the Minister. Vice Minister Song had used some additional influence to have a copy made for Lin Yan.
“For An Ran to go to such lengths helping investigate old case files, this Shen family member making the request must be quite extraordinary. When he comes to the capital, An Ran must introduce us,” Vice Minister Song smiled.
Lin Yan smiled, “Certainly.”
When Lin Yan had initially asked Vice Minister Song for help, he had claimed it was for Shen Qian’s nephew wanting to know about past events – a fictional person. But now Lin Yan suddenly thought of another meaning…
Vice Minister Song had entered office around the same time as Lin Yan and knew of his efforts to help Minister Cui during his troubles. He had found Lin Yan trustworthy then and, having now reviewed Shen Qian’s old case felt sympathy for the minister’s situation. Knowing he had no close relatives remaining, he thought this Shen family member investigating the old case must be acting purely out of loyalty. “Birds of a feather flock together” – they were all people who valued loyalty over profit.
But such loyalty sometimes came at too high a price… “Minister Shen and his son died, his wife and daughter entered the palace – such noble ladies probably…”
At this point, Vice Minister Song suddenly stopped, remembering the rumors about Lin Yan’s fiancée, and awkwardly covered his pause by drinking tea.
Lin Yan also drank tea, his eyes warming. A Ji was living well, radiant as spring sunshine, but she deserved better. If someday Minister Shen’s case could be cleared…
Lin Yan set down his teacup, placing both hands on his knees. The longevity thread hidden in his sleeve brushed against his skin with a slight itch, and Lin Yan let it continue to itch.