Chapter Twenty-Two: Light Words Over Boiling Noodles

Yun Ming sat idly, playing chess in Feng Jinye’s room. Not long after, Dong Nuan returned.

Yun Ming was a little surprised to see her back so soon. “So easily dismissed?”

Dong Nuan bowed to Feng Jinye and reported, “I only asked a single question. Luo Yanqing said this concerns the Prince of War’s residence, and we must wait until the young lord recovers to discuss it in detail with him, the Prince, and the Princess.”

Yun Ming appeared earnest but casually placed a piece on the board. “That’s rather suspicious.”

Dong Nuan was puzzled, unsure whether Yun Ming referred to the chess game or to Luo Yanqing.

Abruptly, Yun Ming tossed aside all his black pieces. “May I go to Zhi Yu Pavilion? Playing chess with you is dull.”

Feng Jinye put down his white piece as well and asked, “Why do you want to visit Zhi Yu Pavilion?”

Yun Ming had been stewing all morning; whatever he said, Feng Jinye only responded perfunctorily. Yet at the mention of Zhi Yu Pavilion, Feng Jinye finally said a few more words. Yun Ming grinned sheepishly. “Qianyu’s birthday is today. I wish to offer my congratulations.”

Feng Jinye was briefly taken aback, glancing at Yun Ming, wondering how he knew Weishao Qianyu’s birthday. He then said, “Is it appropriate for you, an outsider, to visit the women’s quarters of the Prince’s residence?”

Feng Jinye hoped Yun Ming would invite him along, but Yun Ming nodded, “You’re right... In that case, I won’t go! Dong Nuan, please convey my birthday wishes to Qianyu!”

Dong Nuan could see Yun Ming was deliberately mentioning her mistress’s birthday to Feng Jinye, yet offering him no easy way to visit Zhi Yu Pavilion himself.

Fanning the flames, Dong Nuan replied, “Forgive me, my lord, but since yesterday, the Princess has forbidden anyone from mentioning matters concerning the Prince or his affairs. She doesn’t even want to hear of Tingfeng Pavilion or the Prince of War’s residence. I dare not bring up your name, for you and the Prince are in league!”

Yun Ming, caught in the crossfire, quickly protested, “I am not in league with him!”

Dong Nuan teased, “If you could go back twenty-five years, be born anew, and not grow up with the Prince, perhaps there’d be a chance!”

Utterly resigned, Yun Ming sighed, “Fine, then wish Qianyu a happy birthday for me a few more times—just don’t say it’s from me!”

He shook his head as he finished, as though lamenting his poor choice in friends.

Dong Nuan nodded, then glanced at the Prince with a look of “fend for yourself.”

Qingxia escorted Luo Yanqing out of the residence, then returned to Zhi Yu Pavilion to report to Weishao Qianyu.

Weishao Qianyu suddenly realized that Luo Yanqing’s true reason for coming was hidden in that final remark.

Had she underestimated Luo Yanqing? Or was Luo Yanqing acting under someone’s orders?

She recalled Luo Yanqing’s contradictory behavior at the palace banquet and grew suspicious. Even today, Luo Yanqing had seemed a fool at Zhi Yu Pavilion, yet regained her wits the moment she reached Tingfeng Pavilion.

If she was pretending, why not keep up the act at Tingfeng Pavilion?

Could it be the Empress Dowager who sent Luo Yanqing? Perhaps even the broken betrothal and the engagement on the day of the palace banquet were at her instigation?

Suddenly, Weishao Qianyu remembered the rumor from New Year’s Day. “Qingxia, go find Dong Nuan. Has Dongyue Pavilion uncovered anything about the Princess of War’s rumor?”

“Miss, Dong Nuan has likely returned to Dongyue Pavilion by now.” Qingxia recalled Dong Nuan mentioning she’d return there after dealing with Luo Yanqing.

“Very well, we’ll wait for her return.” Weishao Qianyu nodded, thinking Dong Nuan had surely gone back to Dongyue Pavilion to investigate the rumor.

Today was Weishao Qianyu’s birthday, and Qingxia had made her longevity noodles. “Miss, I’ve made longevity noodles for you. Please eat first.”

Looking at the familiar noodles, Weishao Qianyu suddenly felt anxious. She hadn’t tasted her father’s birthday noodles in two years—nor would she ever again.

She had little appetite. Rising, she said, “Qingxia, let’s go to the kitchen. Teach me how to make these noodles.”

In years past, her father, Weishao Zhantian, always made her birthday noodles himself.

On the eve of her fifteenth birthday, at the palace banquet, Feng Jinye had requested an imperial marriage decree, and she and the Prince had become engaged.

On the third day of the new year, while cooking birthday noodles for her, Weishao Zhantian said with deep reluctance, “Once you marry into the Prince of War’s household, I’ll no longer be able to cook your birthday noodles.”

She knew her father was loath to part with her and worried she’d suffer in the Prince of War’s residence. She tried to reassure him, “Don’t worry, Father. In the future, I’ll have Feng Jinye cook noodles for me!”

But her father couldn’t let go. He muttered, “I just fear the Prince won’t always spoil you.”

She knew persuasion was useless, so she clung to his arm and acted spoiled. “You really needn’t worry. Worst comes to worst, I’ll cook for myself! Don’t you know your daughter by now? Even if there’s no one left to be good to me, I will always look after myself! And besides, I can always come home for my birthday each year!”

In Luan City, birthday noodles must be made by family for good fortune. She’d never imagined her playful words would come true—yet now, she seemed to have no home.

Weishao Qianyu followed Qingxia to the kitchen, where the ingredients were already prepared: two eggs, a head of lettuce, a pot of simmered black-bone chicken ginseng broth, shredded chicken, and noodles already rolled and cut.

She could tell at a glance Qingxia had simplified the process.

Qingxia demonstrated, explaining step by step: “Miss, when the oil is hot, first fry the eggs. Once done, remove them, add more oil, toss in a few cloves of garlic, then add the cooked chicken to stir-fry until fragrant. Set aside with the eggs for later.”

She deftly fried the eggs and sautéed the chicken, as water boiled on the other stove. “When the water boils, blanch the noodles briefly, then cook them in the chicken ginseng broth. Once done, put them in a bowl, add the chicken, eggs, lettuce, sprinkle with scallions and sesame oil, and finally ladle the hot broth over.”

Weishao Qianyu was amazed by the steps. “So complicated? Isn’t it like Laba porridge, where you just put everything in and boil it together?”

Qingxia thought to herself that only the Prince had ever eaten such Laba porridge—where the Princess dumped all the beans and rice in together.

She explained, “The General taught me this. He said if you cook the noodles directly in the broth, you wouldn’t like the soup muddied with starch, and would refuse both noodles and soup!”

Qingxia knew her mistress was picky, but with a father who doted on her so, what girl wouldn’t be? “If you only blanch the noodles, you’ll eat the noodles and leave the soup. Only this way will you finish both. The lettuce mustn’t be overcooked—you like it crisp. The chicken must be stir-fried, not boiled. And the eggs can’t be overdone.”

As she listened, tears streamed down Weishao Qianyu’s face. No wonder people say that the man who loves you most in the world is not your husband, but your father.

Composing herself, she recalled her promise to her father to love herself well. “What should I do first?”

“Shall we start with frying eggs?” Qingxia suggested gently, knowing her mistress would master whatever she set her mind to, as long as she avoided getting burned.

“All right,” Weishao Qianyu replied confidently.

Standing at the stove, spatula in hand, she faced her “adversary.” Qingxia coached her, “Wait until the pan’s hot before adding oil—hot pan, cold oil!”

Her hands shook as she poured the oil as directed, then nervously took a few steps back. “Qingxia, this is peanut oil. Its boiling point is over three hundred degrees Celsius. If any splashes, I could be disfigured! I’ve just recovered from poisoning—I’d rather not ruin my face!”

“Miss, why don’t you cook the noodles and let me handle the eggs and chicken?” Qingxia suggested tactfully.

“Then do the noodles count as my work or yours?” Weishao Qianyu asked, suddenly hesitant.

“They’re yours, of course!” Qingxia thought of how noble ladies usually only gave a few orders in the kitchen and called it their own handiwork. Her mistress was truly making an effort.

That made sense to Weishao Qianyu. “Very well, I’ll cook the noodles!”

Her first attempt, she didn’t know what utensil to use to fish out the noodles, fumbled for a long time, and overcooked them.

Second attempt, she dumped the noodles straight into boiling water without separating them, so they emerged in a lump, raw flour still clinging inside.

On her third try, she successfully fished out the noodles, but as she lifted the bowl, the heat was too much. With a loud crash, she dropped and shattered the bowl, noodles spilling everywhere.

Qingxia rushed to pull her away. “Miss, are you burned?”

“No, just a little hot—I’m scared!” she said, and at that moment, she turned and knocked over t