Chapter 8: The Phoenix-Attracting Tree

The morning light was soft, and the air still carried the cool freshness of dew.

Jing Hongyi walked with a brand-new wooden lunchbox in hand, his steps noticeably lighter than usual.

The lunchbox wasn’t heavy, but the small weight in his hand gave him a sense of reassurance and warmth.

The taste of last night’s sweet and sour ribs still lingered on his tongue, and with it came a growing anticipation for today’s lunch.

He didn’t actually know what was inside the box—by the time he woke up, the meal had already been packed, leaving only a mouthwatering aroma hanging faintly in the air. He hadn’t had the heart to lift the lid and peek.

The school wasn’t far—just a walk through two alleys and a turn of the corner. It took barely a quarter of an hour.

From a distance, he could already see the tall, old Chinese parasol tree (wutong tree) standing at the school gate.

Its trunk was thick and strong, branches lush with leaves, spreading like a giant umbrella that sheltered this small space beneath it.

It was said that the old gentleman who planted the tree once remarked, “A worthy bird chooses a fine tree to nest in.” This wutong tree was the phoenix-attracting tree.

The students studied hard, each one hoping that one day they could be like the legendary roc, soaring high with the momentum of this tree, riding the wind nine thousand miles into the skies.

Jing Hongyi walked past the tree, heading straight for the small side door with practiced familiarity.

That side led to the work room where the elderly women in charge of boiling water and cleaning were usually busy.

Sure enough, a kindly looking woman in a rough cotton apron was tending to the stove. The firelight flickered from within the hearth, casting a warm glow on her face.

Beside her, a large pot was steaming vigorously. Half of it was being used to heat the teachers’ breakfast.

“Granny Zhang,” Jing Hongyi called out, lifting the wooden lunchbox in his hand. “Please help me heat my lunch at noon.”

Granny Zhang turned around, her face wearing its usual friendly smile. She reached out and took the box with practiced ease, weighing it in her hands.
“Sure thing, just like always—come get it when it’s ready.”

She placed the box on a special shelf by the stove, reserved just for student lunches.

Jing Hongyi thanked her, fetched a cup of hot water, and turned to head into the school building.

Soon, the bright, rhythmic sounds of students reciting their lessons echoed through the hall. The day’s studies had officially begun.

As the sun climbed toward midday, the warm aroma of reheated meals gradually drifted from the kitchen area.

At first, it was the usual mixture of rice, noodles, and common vegetables—a scent everyone was familiar with.

But then, from some unknown corner, a new aroma slowly spread—rich, enticing, and overpowering. It drove away all the other smells, boldly taking over every nose in the room.

This scent… it didn’t seem like something made by the school kitchen.

Though the students could only bring meals from home to be reheated, the teachers’ food was cooked fresh daily in the kitchen.

Naturally, freshly cooked dishes always smelled better than reheated ones.

The classroom suddenly fell into an odd silence—only the soft, unconscious rustle of fingers brushing across paper remained, along with the barely audible sounds of shifting bodies.

A few bold students had already turned their heads, exchanging puzzled yet eager glances.

The fragrance seemed to have substance, threading its way through the air, tickling everyone’s hearts and making their stomachs rumble.

On the lecture platform, the elderly teacher had just pulled a stern face and was about to erupt, “The sea of learning is boundless, how can one…” — but before the words left his mouth, he was interrupted by an unsolicited wave of rich, mouthwatering aroma.

He was briefly stunned. The air around his nose and mouth was filled with that tantalizing scent, so alluring that he reflexively swallowed.

Strange. Since when did Madam Zhang’s cooking become this divine? His thoughts drifted, and when he glanced down at the restless students below, he saw that all of them had craned their necks, utterly distracted, with no sign of wanting to listen to the lecture anymore.

The old teacher sighed inwardly. Ah well, food and desire are part of human nature. Even sages need to eat, don’t they? He set the scroll in his hand down on the lectern, his voice noticeably less authoritative than usual: “That’s all for today. Go eat!”

The moment the teacher finished speaking, the students below practically leapt from their chairs as if granted amnesty. The scraping of chairs rang out like thunder, and in a blur, they all surged toward the door.

They dashed with such fervor it was as if wind carried their feet. In the blink of an eye, they had reached the small side door of the servants’ quarters in the back courtyard.

The closer they got, the more that earlier faint fragrance lingering in the air seemed to take on a physical form — thick, unshakable, burrowing deep into their senses.

The entrance to the servants’ quarters was jam-packed. Everyone stood on tiptoe, craning their necks to peer inside, their gazes fixed intensely on the wooden rack beside the stove, where meal boxes were placed.

“Gulp… gulp…” The sound of swallowing echoed all around, one after another. Someone couldn’t help muttering under their breath, “My heavens, who brought that lunch? It smells amazing!”

Jing Hongyi looked curiously at the crowd jostling in front of him. He couldn’t understand why they were all standing there gawking instead of going in to eat.

He pushed through the crowd and saw that his own lunch box was already placed on the rack. Without hesitation, he grabbed it.

This wasn’t his first time bringing lunch, so no one paid him much attention.

After all, Jing Hongyi used to be able to eat properly. His father was busy and didn’t pay much attention to him, but he would always ask a nearby auntie to make a little extra for Hongyi to bring to school.

It was only after his father remarried and got him a stepmother that he no longer needed to trouble others.

But ever since getting a stepmother, he hadn’t really eaten much of anything. Most noons he simply sat in the school dormitory, smelling the delicious food around him while his stomach growled, sipping hot water to stave off hunger.

Inside the servants’ quarters, the students were all sticking out their heads, trying to find the source of that delicious smell. But with all the food mingled together, it was impossible to tell which box it was coming from.

Jing Hongyi squeezed out from the crowded mass of students, tightly guarding his lunch box in his hands.

He looked around and found a quiet corner by the wall, where he was just about to sit down and enjoy his lunch.

But the moment his fingers touched the edge of the box, a familiar voice suddenly rang out beside him: “Brother Jing! Brother Jing!”

A plump but surprisingly nimble boy plopped down unceremoniously in front of him with a loud “thud.”

Jing Hongyi looked up, a trace of confusion flickering in his eyes, but still gave a polite nod. “Brother Lin, is something the matter?”

The boy in front of him was Lin Wenjie — the young heir of the famous Songxiang Restaurant in the county town.

Though they were classmates, they had barely interacted before.

After all, Lin Wenjie’s daily meals were dishes specially prepared by top chefs from his family’s restaurant — his plump figure made that abundantly clear.

Jing Hongyi, on the other hand, was quiet by nature — the complete opposite of someone like Lin Wenjie, who was loud and boisterous.

Lin Wenjie chuckled sheepishly, rubbing his hands together with a slightly embarrassed look on his face. “So, um… Brother Jing, I wanted to ask if we could… maybe trade meals today?”

Jing Hongyi was genuinely taken aback. He never expected Lin Wenjie to ask something like that.

He hadn’t even opened his lunch box yet — he didn’t even know what was inside — so how did this young master Lin already have his eye on it?