HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C72

Chapter 72: The Taming of a Gourmand, and the Midnight Flower-Thief

Physician Pang sharply drew back his head, his very heart quivering, for the waves of pungent spice drifting forth near choked him outright; his face was flushed to the utmost, and he nearly sent himself to the grave with one breath.

At that moment, within the chamber, the two men were still in lively discourse. He Lin, reckless as ever, though coughing violently after each phrase, could not check his curiosity. “And this—what is this? Is it palatable?”

“This is cardamom, wild peppers, bay-leaf, fennel, tsaoko, amomum, cinnamon…”

To forestall the man’s endless questions, Jiang Baiye rattled them all off in one breath. “Several of these condiments are not to be found in the markets at all. Indeed, not one soul in all Great Ning has ever tasted them. I had your household fetch them from my own stores—spices I gathered one by one from the mountains.”

“Truly? Is it good to eat? Might I not taste a sip?” He Lin, beset by that rich and fragrant savour, found it nigh irresistible.

Physician Pang, who had been all but driven away by the sharp fumes, halted upon that single phrase: ‘Not one soul in Great Ning has ever tasted this.’

“Not one soul?” He gave a disdainful snort. Nonsense! What delicacy had he not yet tried? He had once served in the imperial kitchens—how could such a rough fellow have something beyond his experience? The boy was but beguiling this simpleton from the He family, who lapped up his words like a fool, swallowing so hard that the sound could be heard.

Still, loath to be discovered lurking, Pang meant to withdraw.

But then Baiye said carelessly, “It is not fit for you. This broth is but a base for scalding meats. The flavour is too strong—you would not withstand it.”

“Let me taste but one sip! Only one! If it proves ill, I shall drink no more!” He Lin, in all his brawny boldness, fairly whined like a spoiled child.

Baiye shuddered at the thought, longing to boot him out of doors, yet forced to keep him for his ruse. Seeing that Pang had crept back, he sighed in secret relief—lest the overwhelming spice truly drive the old fellow off.

Soon He Lin seized upon the crucial word. “Scalding meats? You mean the trays of raw vegetables and flesh you bade our cooks prepare? How is it eaten?”

Outside the door, Pang himself leaned closer. He too was curious what this “scalding” might mean. Once he knew, he could depart, for he cared naught for their tricks. Could such a coarse merchant truly cook?

In truth, Pang had already spent the day ferreting out all he could of Jiang Baiye and Lu Lizhi. Learning their details, he had ceased to mind them. Yet today they had wasted the entire day upon this beef-tallow hotpot, sending the other servants to the well to wash mountains of vegetables. Otherwise he would never have come so near.

He little knew it was Baiye’s snare all along.

“You will know when you eat,” Baiye said, evasive.

Pang gnashed his teeth, yet his heart itched as though a cat had clawed it.

“You must have folk in your household who cannot bear spice. When this pot is finished, I shall make another—mushroom broth, or a rich tomato base. In future one might also fashion chicken with pig’s stomach, sour greens, spicy broth, clear broth, even sweet and sour—”

“Slurp—say no more! My very mouth waters!”

“Stand away from the pot!” Baiye restrained the urge to kick him out.

“What are tomatoes? And what is chicken with pig’s stomach? Sour greens—what is that?”

He Lin became a veritable hundred-thousand whys, yet Baiye would not answer. Indeed, these tomatoes he had only just discovered that day, in the market where the He household oft purchased their produce. A strange fruit brought from foreign lands, named ‘barbarian plums,’ small and misshapen, lacking the round plumpness of later times, only faintly blushed with pink. Yet the fragrance was strong, and the flavour far surpassed the hothouse fruit of modern days.

The He kitchen, vast and well-provisioned, boasted many pots. Baiye set another small cauldron upon the fire, frying the tomatoes into sauce, adding rich bone broth and scallion, tossing in slices of tomato till it seemed most proper indeed.

In his former life, he had seldom cooked—save for what his mother had forced upon him. Only in this life had he mastered it and grown to love the craft. When he found his dishes brought joy and comfort to those he cherished, the happiness was doubled and redoubled, stretching into eternity.

Even one as wild and rough as he could, in such moments, fall utterly still.

To Pang’s eyes, the youth seemed almost to shine. His manner of chopping and stirring, of wielding ladle and poker—he truly looked the part of a master of cookery.

Any true lover of food, though they cannot cook, has the palate and the lore of a connoisseur—a gourmand. Pang himself was such a one. Now, faced with dish upon dish, manner upon manner that he had never seen, how could he not be consumed with curiosity? Yet at last he thought, Surely when all is done, the Hes will summon me, and so contented himself, ambling back with ease.

Baiye, meanwhile, had gained precisely what he sought.

When the spicy broth was well-simmered, he added a measure of sweet rice-wine, with salt enough, stirred it through, and lifted it from the fire to cool.

“In this chill, by tomorrow it shall freeze firm. Then we may slice it. Half we shall eat, half we shall keep. At home, you may from time to time make a small pot. Add what you will.”

“Why not eat now? Why wait till tomorrow?” He Lin, having waited all the afternoon and evening, was sorely disappointed.

“Too heavy at night. Tomorrow noon shall be better. For now, something light.” Baiye spoke gravely, though in truth he meant to fashion a sweet rice-wine soup for Lizhi’s delicate stomach.

Since He Lin had played unwitting accomplice, he might spare him a little.

He Lin crouched in a corner, miserable. He had yearned for this hotpot the whole day! Yet he guessed Baiye had his designs, and submitted. Soon enough, another new dish drew his attention, and he again became a torrent of questions.

At last, Baiye drove him bodily out.

“Eh? Lizhi? What brings you here?” He Lin’s voice rang with delight.

Baiye at once set down his ladle, flung wide the door, drew the newcomer in, and shut it firmly. “Pay him no mind. He is insufferable.”

Lizhi: “…”

He Lin: “…”

“Why are your hands so cold?” Baiye rubbed them, drawing him near the hearth. “Come, warm yourself.”

Lizhi had heard that he had spent the afternoon with He Lin. Though he had meant to study, somehow his eyes could not rest upon the page, and he had come seeking him—only to find him casting He Lin out without mercy. His heart swelled with satisfaction.

Baiye crooked a finger at him.

“What is it?”

Soft kisses fell like raindrops upon his lips.

In the glow of the fire, Lizhi’s pale eyes gleamed like glass. Baiye pressed his nape, ready to deepen the kiss—

“What are you two stealing there?!” He Lin burst in, indignant. “Carry on like this, and I shall be truly wroth!”

The two, in high spirits, let him be, even graciously sharing the first bowl of sweet rice-wine soup with egg, giving him the largest yolk, with extra longan besides.

“This is better,” He Lin said, appeased.

In truth, Baiye had made a whole cauldron, having seized the He kitchen so that none of the household had supped. He could not have them starve, so he prepared enough for all. Soon the maids bore it away to each chamber, and praises came swiftly.

“The Second Madam begs the recipe. She says the soup is most nourishing and gentle on the stomach. Might Young Master Jiang teach it?”

Now that Baiye had risen to wealth, all in the He household addressed him with deference.

Since it was but a casual dish, he gladly agreed. Soon, maids of other ladies and young mistresses came for second helpings, even the old Madam’s nurse hearing word.

Yet those who tarried found the great pot scraped clean!

Meant for health, it was devoured for greed—this night, many went to bed overfull.

Even Pang was given a bowl, and he marvelled, “Not bad, not bad at all!”

If even a sweet soup were so wondrous, then this “hotpot” might not disappoint either.

“When then, shall we have it?” he asked, feigning indifference.

The servants who had not seen the making of it were bewildered. “A pot aflame—can it be eaten?”

Pang: “…”

Seeing his silence, the servants panicked. “This small one shall fetch it at once!”

“What—? By no means bring me a pot on fire!”

But though they knew not, others surely did. Someone would flatter him soon enough. And so Pang settled himself to wait.

He waited, and waited. Till deep in the night—yet none came. The whole He household lay silent in slumber.

Meanwhile, Baiye, roused by a single beckoning, could no longer endure a lonely night. As the saying goes, the first time one is guest, one is circumspect; but by the second night, the mask falls. He slipped in through the window, hugging his pillow like a thief.

Lizhi started in alarm.

“Hush, it is I,” Baiye whispered, clutching him. “I will sleep with my wife.”

Lizhi forbade it sternly. In another’s house, he could not be at ease. Were it not for the Hes’ entreaties, he would have lodged at an inn instead.

But this man still meant to make mischief!

“Good Lizhi, dear wife—would you let me freeze alone?”

Lizhi stretched his long leg to bar him, eyes resolute in the dark, commanding him to return.

“Very well,” Baiye sighed, feigning defeat. He turned as if to go, but in a flash, swept Lizhi up with his quilt entire. “If you will not have me in your chamber, then come to mine!”

“Little beauty, tonight you are mine, like it or no!” He carried him off with the force of a brigand.

Lizhi, shamed and flustered, could not help the faint upward curve of his lips, only prayed he would move swiftly, lest they be caught.

Yet not far away, Eldest Young Master He, who had at last found respite, recalled the urgent matter he had twice failed to speak. Striding swiftly, his gaze caught a fleeting shadow.

“A flower-thief?” His whole body tensed. Was someone just now stealing away with a youth?

Judging the direction, he hurried to Lu Lizhi’s chamber, knocking solemnly. “Young Master Lu? Are you well within?”

Hearing no reply, he feared the worst, and hastened to Baiye’s door. “Jiang Baiye! Are you there?”

Within, Baiye had just flung Lizhi upon the bed and stolen a kiss.

Lizhi’s very hair bristled with terror. Though they were a rightful pair, it felt like being caught in illicit tryst.

Baiye, by contrast, only deepened the kiss. “Pay him no heed. What matter is more worthy of your notice than I?”

Lizhi shot him a glare, but breathless, managed to answer through the press of lips, “I… am here. What is it?”

He Jun exhaled in relief, yet fretted still. “What ails you? Your voice is strange.”

“I… was woken… by your knocking. How could my voice not… be strange?”

That sounded true enough. But—

“Why then does Young Master Lu not answer? I glimpsed a furtive figure ere now. Should you not see if he is safe?”

At this, Lizhi’s heart pounded near to breaking. Bound fast as a silkworm in its cocoon, he could not escape the embrace; flushed as jade, breath coming ever swifter beneath Baiye’s unrelenting caresses—so loud he feared the man outside must hear…