HNYWEF -Chapter 193 Treating Himself

Zhenguan Year Five, Fifth Month, Twenty-Eighth Day.

Yizhou, Jinjiang City.

When Zhou Xiong stepped down from the carriage, the sun was at its fiercest.

Not the dry heat of Chang’an, either. This was damp, heavy heat — like being shoved into a steamer basket with a fire burning underneath and the lid clamped shut overhead. Even breathing felt difficult.

He stood by the roadside. Sweat had not even started dripping yet, but his clothes were already plastered to his body, sticky and uncomfortable beyond words.

He looked up at the sky.

The sky was white, not blue. The sun hid behind a thin layer of cloud, refusing to show itself, but the heat was no weaker for it.

He lowered his head and looked at his shadow.

Short. Shrunk beneath his feet so tightly he could barely step on it.

He was starting to regret this.

Coming to Yizhou at this time of year — had his brain been kicked by a donkey or slammed in a door?

It was the height of summer. A sane person would stay wherever it was coolest.

But not him.

He had insisted on heading into Sichuan and Chongqing instead.

Wouldn’t staying in Chang’an have been nice? Wouldn’t lying beneath the locust tree in the marquis estate courtyard have been nice?

Standing in the streets of Jinjiang City, sweat finally began rolling down from his forehead.

He cursed under his breath, so quietly the cicadas drowned it out.

There were not many people on the street. Everyone was hiding indoors.

The shops were open, but inside they were dark enough that it was hard to tell whether anyone was even there.

The cicadas screamed themselves hoarse, loud enough to fray a person’s nerves.

He walked forward a few steps and spotted a restaurant.

Large frontage. Two red lanterns hanging outside. The steps swept spotless.

A restaurant decorated like this surely would not be serving watery broth and bland vegetables.

Zhou Xiong pushed the door open and went inside.

The main hall was cooler than outside, though not by much.

Several tables of customers sat scattered around. Some ate while fanning themselves. Others had stripped bare to the waist, shirts hanging over the backs of their chairs.

Behind the counter stood the shopkeeper, head lowered as he worked an abacus. Hearing the door, he looked up, plastered on a smile, and jerked his chin toward a waiter.

The waiter hurried over with a grin.

“How many guests, sir?”

“One.”

The waiter led him to a seat by the window, wiped down the table, and poured him a bowl of tea.

Zhou Xiong sat down, picked up the menu, gave it a glance without really reading, and spoke.

“One plate of huai-leaf cold noodles, one serving of dried bamboo shoot old duck stew, and a few cooling side dishes.”

His voice was not loud, but the hall was quiet enough that everyone heard clearly.

The waiter froze for a moment.

He knew huai-leaf cold noodles — that was an imperial dish. Most common people had never even heard of it, much less eaten it.

As for dried bamboo shoot old duck stew?

He had never heard the name before, but the ingredients and cooking method were all right there in it.

They had dried bamboo shoots. They had old duck. Both were common in Yizhou.

But stew?

That was a labor-intensive dish.

The waiter did not dare ask more. He simply said, “Please wait a moment, sir,” and headed toward the kitchen.

After taking two steps, he stopped, glanced back at Zhou Xiong once, then lifted the curtain and disappeared inside.

Zhou Xiong paid it no mind.

He picked up the tea bowl and took a sip.

The tea was warm, neither hot nor cold. Good for quenching thirst.

Not long after, the curtain lifted again.

The waiter came back out, followed by the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper walked up to Zhou Xiong and stopped, giving him a careful once-over.

The man before him wore clean clothes and carried himself well, but his face was unfamiliar. He did not look like a regular customer.

The shopkeeper cupped his hands politely, smiling, though there was now an extra layer of caution beneath it.

“Sir, how did you know about our old duck stew?”

Zhou Xiong looked at him but did not answer.

He lifted the tea bowl again, took another sip, and set it down.

“Isn’t this a restaurant in Yizhou? You don’t have it? Then I’ll just find another place.”

The shopkeeper hurriedly waved his hands.

“You jest, sir. What kind of business pushes customers out the door?” He paused, lowering his voice slightly. “It’s just that this old duck stew takes considerable time and ingredients. We only make a few portions a day. And the two dishes you ordered…”

He glanced at Zhou Xiong but did not finish the sentence.

This man was clearly here for the first time, yet the moment he opened his mouth he ordered huai-leaf cold noodles together with old duck stew.

Either he was a seasoned gourmet, or someone had treated him to it before.

Whichever it was, he was not an ordinary diner.

Zhou Xiong looked at him, reached into his robes, and pulled out a string of copper coins, placing it on the table.

Not too much, not too little.

Exactly enough to pay for the meal, with a bit extra.

The shopkeeper looked at the coins, then at Zhou Xiong.

The money was fine. The man was fine.

He pushed the string of coins gently back toward him. The caution on his face deepened into genuine courtesy.

Turning around, he nodded to the waiter.

“Go to the kitchen. Tell the cook to bring out the one that’s been simmering for two hours!”

The waiter answered and ran off.

The shopkeeper smiled at Zhou Xiong again, cupped his hands, then returned to the counter.

The folding fan in his hand spun once between his fingers, though he never opened it.

Zhou Xiong sat there watching the man’s back.

The shopkeeper had not asked his name.

Had not asked where he came from.

Had not asked anything at all.

One glance at the coins and one sentence, and the matter was settled.

He had chosen the right restaurant.

Otherwise, today he would not even have had the chance to spend extravagantly.

Outside the window, the cicadas were still screaming.

But somehow, they did not sound nearly as irritating anymore.