HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C41

Chapter 41: Teaching Processing, A Stir Over a Meal

When it came to processing medicinal herbs, Jiang Baiye still had some experience. His family had run a traditional medicine shop deep within an alley, and his grandfather often sat there in consultation, diagnosing pulses.

Good wine fears no deep alley.[¹] From all corners of the country, people sought him out, traveling far to ask for treatment. Strange and difficult illnesses, those undetectable or unsolvable by modern medicine, would vanish after a few prescribed doses taken over time—his remedies never failed.

And in that medicine shop, there was also a place specifically for processing and preparing raw herbs.

For the more common methods, Jiang Baiye skipped much explanation—these masters likely had more experience than him. Instead, he introduced several methods unfamiliar to this era: stir-frying, blanching, roasting, and toasting.

Stir-frying was divided into dry stir-frying and stir-frying with auxiliary ingredients. Dry stir-frying had already been well understood since ancient times, requiring precise control of heat and timing by skilled hands.

Stir-frying with auxiliaries, however, had its own subtleties. The common ones included stir-frying with earth such as zaoxin soil (the packed clay from a stove’s hearth), or with talc powder, salt grains, and wheat bran.

There was also honey-processing, rice-water treatment, wrapping clean herbs in damp dough or cloth, burying them in hot ashes until the wrapping turned yellow-brown, then removing it—this was a dry-heat method where auxiliary liquids gradually seeped into the herb’s tissues, moistening and permeating them: the so-called “toasting method.”[²]

More unusual were methods Jiang Baiye had inherited from his family, or techniques later developed in modern times that were far more efficient and effective.

Ordinary herbs had their standard processing; rare and precious ones followed different flows. Among them were grading theories unheard of in this current medical framework.

The whole morning, Jiang Baiye talked until his throat was parched, barely stopping for water. The masters listened with rapt attention. Experience showed itself in how quickly they absorbed knowledge, drawing inferences, and often raising questions sharp enough to nearly leave Jiang Baiye tongue-tied.

Luckily, Jiang Baiye’s knowledge reserves were vast. The countless teachings his grandfather had drilled into him could be recalled at will, leaving those present with immense benefit.

Now, none of them held the slightest doubt about him. They no longer judged his youth shallow. Willingly, they signed contracts, then bent to practice the methods he had taught, striving to master them quickly and lead others.

Jiang Baiye called Ding Yue aside and advanced him three taels of silver. Ding Yue froze. “Workshop master, this is…”

“I know Shanyi Hall must have been pestering you. You came here because of that. When I said wages wouldn’t come until the ninth month, it was partly a test. You endured the hardest period without betraying our contract. This advance is only right, to help you through.”

Ding Yue’s heart jolted, warmth rushing to his chest and reddening his eyes.

If, before, he had only been cowed by Jiang Baiye’s threats, wavering inside as Steward Tian kept raising his offers—torn between fear and temptation—then this moment changed everything.

Now, with Jiang Baiye’s recognition, shame and gratitude mingled, and his persistence felt worthwhile. He was loyal from the bottom of his heart.

“Workshop master, rest assured! I may have had bad thoughts before, but from now on I will serve Jichun Apothecary to the death!” Ding Yue clutched the silver, tears close to falling, ready to swear an oath.

“I heard your son studies at Mingli Academy?” Jiang Baiye asked casually.

“Yes, tuition there is expensive, but the teachers are all qualified scholars, at least licensed juren, learned and outstanding. I must bring him to meet you someday!”

Jiang Baiye nodded, though he said nothing more. His throat burned, his body weary. If only he could nap in Lizhi’s arms—that would be heaven.

At that moment, Xuanzi, acting as the temporary gatekeeper, rushed in, his face still flushed. “Ye—Ye-ge—no, workshop master, someone’s asking for you outside.”

“Who?”

“She said you’ll know when you see her.”

One glance at him, Jiang Baiye already knew—it wasn’t Lizhi.

But he hadn’t expected—it was… Feng Lan’er.

The young, pretty girl carried an ornate food box, tiptoeing daintily as if her feet hurt, eyes red. Seeing him, she pouted, aggrieved. “Why did you take so long?”

“Does Miss Feng have business with me? You came such a long way.” Jiang Baiye glanced around. She had come alone?

Lan’er lowered her lashes. “Those dishes you had us bring back last time… I know my mother was too much. I’ve come to apologize for her. I even cooked a meal myself. Please take it—I don’t want to owe anyone.”

She quickly opened the box before he could refuse. Inside were three dishes and a soup, beautifully arranged, tempting to the eye.

Hard to believe such a pampered girl made this herself. Jiang Baiye declined politely. “If Miss Feng truly feels sorry, ask your mother to apologize to those aunties.”

Lan’er bit her lip. “We already did.” After her uncle forced them to, she and her mother had gone to apologize. For a girl so coddled, it was unthinkable.

But she was clever—unlike her mother, who flailed with tears and theatrics, she was meek and obedient. Her uncle relented, unwilling to scold her further.

“It’s already late. I saw no smoke from your stove. If you can’t eat it all, at least share with your masters. Wasting it would be wrong.” She held the heavy box high, her slim wrist trembling, eyes redder still—whether from grievance or pain.

Jiang Baiye had always been tolerant of the weak, with a gentleman’s instinctive courtesy to women. In this era, propriety between sexes was strict. Though he no longer cared about her family’s past offense, he said gently, “Miss Feng, please return. We have food. Those dishes weren’t mine alone. They were shared by all. You need not repay.”

With that, he turned away. Spotting Xuanzi nearby, he smiled faintly. “Escort Miss Feng home.”

Xuanzi shivered. Nothing escaped Ye-ge’s eyes.

Still, he eagerly stepped forward. Lan’er lifted her chin. “No need. I can walk myself.”

Yet in her sleeve, her hand clenched. It didn’t matter. She would succeed eventually. Hadn’t he just spoken to her, no longer cold?

Sniffling, she tottered along, too proud to admit her pain. Xuanzi scratched his head in anxiety. “Don’t worry, Ye-ge is easygoing. He’s forgiven you—you needn’t blame yourself.”

Blame myself? Feng Lan’er had never known the meaning. She only resented that he hadn’t fallen for her tears. Few men could resist.

As expected, when two tears spilled from her lashes, Xuanzi panicked completely. Whatever she asked, he answered, letting slip more than he should.

Meanwhile, down a nearby path, a white-robed figure approached. Hesitant at first, Lu Lizhi froze when he saw Xuanzi fussing over Lan’er, her ornate food box swinging. His grip on his own vegetable basket tightened.

What did it hold? Rich, fragrant dishes, surely. Compared to his plain fare, his seemed paltry indeed.

Turning abruptly, he went home and ate alone—enough for two. His stomach bulged, his face paled, and every bite tasted of wax.

Back at the workshop, Jiang Baiye ate plain steamed buns and water with the masters, then continued solving their questions. Simple in theory, the processes proved tricky in practice. New problems arose constantly.

Thus five or six days slipped by. Every dawn he left early, every dusk he returned. Each night, he poured thought into cooking elaborate dinners for Lu Lizhi.

If only Lizhi’s appetite weren’t so small, Jiang Baiye would have recreated every delicacy of the modern world for him.

Yet no matter what he made, Lizhi’s reaction stayed flat.

Even when Jiang Baiye grinned and found excuses to stay for dinner, Lizhi ate quietly, eyes distant.

Worse, the dishes Jiang Baiye served him—he began discarding them, right before his eyes.

Sometimes he refused the whole meal.

“What do you mean by that?” Jiang Baiye slammed his chopsticks down, too loud.

At last, Lu Lizhi reacted. He went to his desk, took up the brush, and wrote once more the words he had once crumpled:

—Do not disturb me again.

As Jiang Baiye stepped closer to read, Lu Lizhi faltered. The words were too harsh. He added a line:

—The county exam is near. I must study.

But Jiang Baiye’s gaze stayed fixed on the first line. With Lu Lizhi’s ability, he had restrained himself as much as possible, always placing study first. Yet even the short time they spent over dinner—was that too much disturbance?

“I heard from Uncle Luo you went to the county and prefecture to buy books. Did you run into trouble? Why didn’t you ask me? Didn’t I say—whenever you go, I’ll take you. My horse cart is faster than others’ donkey carts. Isn’t wasting a whole day on the road wasting time?”

Lu Lizhi gripped the brush so hard it nearly snapped.

“Lu Lizhi, what’s wrong with you?”

Author’s Note:
[¹] Good wine fears no deep alley (酒香不怕巷子深): A Chinese proverb meaning true quality will attract people even if it’s hidden or remote. Here it refers to Jiang Baiye’s grandfather’s skill drawing patients from afar.

[²] Processing methods (such as stir-frying with auxiliaries, honey-processing, or toasting in ashes) are part of paozhi (炮制), traditional Chinese techniques for altering herbs’ properties, potency, or toxicity before use.