Jiang Yanyi called from the kitchen, interrupting the conversation between the two men.

The stir-fried winter bamboo shoots with cured meat was ready, and the chicken soup had also finished simmering.

The final steps for the “Bamboo Fungus with Egg White” dish were simple: pour the simmered chicken broth into the pot, slice the soaked bamboo fungus, and briefly cook it in the broth.

Then, scoop the steamed egg white into thin slices and add it to the soup. Once that’s done, the dish is ready to be served.

The key to this soup is that it should be rich without being greasy, mild without being bland, and clear yet fragrant.

Jiang Yanyi brought the dishes out, while the old man went to fetch bowls of rice.

In the freezing winter, Jiang Yanyi first served everyone a bowl of soup.

The bowls here were all made of rough pottery, but that didn’t diminish the richness and fragrance of the soup.

One sip, and warmth spread through the entire stomach.

The soup carried the fresh flavors of chicken and bamboo fungus, yet not a single drop of oil could be seen.

The old man sighed in admiration, “This soup is delicious!”

He picked up a piece of cured meat with just the right amount of fat, wrapped it with a large mouthful of rice, and ate it, nodding repeatedly, “This meat is cooked perfectly!”

The fatty part of the cured meat was tender, while the lean part still had a good chew to it.

The flavors of garlic sprouts, fermented black beans, and winter bamboo shoots all blended together, creating an irresistible aroma.

Unlike the old man, who praised the food as he ate, Feng Shuo adhered to a “no talking while eating” principle.

He ate quietly, with elegant movements, but his chopsticks moved faster than anyone else’s.

Whenever he picked up a slice of purely lean cured meat, he would discreetly place it into Jiang Yanyi’s bowl.

By the end of the meal, the stir-fried cured meat and bamboo shoots had been completely finished, and the bamboo fungus soup had been reduced to just a thin layer at the bottom of the bowl.

Only a bit of the chicken broth in the kitchen pot remained, which the old man said he would save for dinner to mix with rice.

Jiang Yanyi felt quite full, so Feng Shuo took her for a walk in the plum grove to help digest the meal.

The old man watched as the two walked into the snow-covered distance, their figures disappearing into the white.

Sitting by the stove, he sipped his wine, his face showing a slight flush, and he softly tapped his hand to the rhythm of an old tune: “In my dreams, the orioles sing again, disrupting the passage of time. You stand in the small courtyard—smoke drifts away, and the last threads of embroidery are cast aside. This spring, how could it stir my heart as it did last year?”¹

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Perhaps because she had just eaten, Jiang Yanyi didn’t feel the cold when she went out again to admire the plum blossoms.

She walked ahead with light, quick steps, while Feng Shuo followed behind, wrapped in a large cloak.

Jiang Yanyi stood under a crooked plum tree for a moment, gazing up at the branches, then suddenly ran to the trunk and called out loudly, “Feng Shuo, come over here!”

Behind her, the red plum blossoms against the snow made a beautiful scene, but her bright, smiling eyes seemed even more radiant than the blossoms.

“What is it?” Feng Shuo’s gaze softened like never before as he walked toward her at a steady, unhurried pace.

Just as he was about to reach the tree, Jiang Yanyi suddenly shook the trunk forcefully, causing the snow on the branches to fall all over Feng Shuo.

Some even slipped down the back of his neck, making him shiver from the cold.

Jiang Yanyi laughed uncontrollably, delighted with her prank.

Feng Shuo glanced at her. “You’ve really got some nerve today, haven’t you?”

He took a step forward, ready to chase her, and Jiang Yanyi immediately turned and ran.

However, the difference in leg length and stamina was clear. She had barely run a few steps before Feng Shuo caught up with her.

Jiang Yanyi clutched her cloak tightly with both hands, her cheeks flushed from the brief run.

In a mixture of panic and defiance, she said, “Don’t you dare throw snow into my collar.”

But instead of snow, Feng Shuo bent down and kissed her cold lips.

As Jiang Yanyi and Feng Shuo prepared to return, an old man came out chasing them, carrying three jars of wine.

Feng Shuo raised an eyebrow in surprise and said, “Are you planning to gift these to me?”

The old man handed him one jar and said, “This jar is for you, and as for the other two, I need you to do me a favor and deliver them to Shili Gang (Ten-Mile Post).”

Jiang Yanyi wasn’t familiar with Shili Gang, but upon hearing the name, Feng Shuo’s brows furrowed slightly.

The old man explained, “The soldiers stationed there haven’t had a hot meal in days, sometimes even weeks. They survive on cold buckwheat cakes every day. In this freezing weather, they can’t keep warm without some wine.”

Feng Shuo didn’t say much, simply accepting the three jars of wine.

The old man then turned to Jiang Yanyi, “As for the wine you ordered, I’ll bring it to you in a few days.”

Jiang Yanyi, concerned that the old man might have trouble delivering the wine from his remote location, replied, “You can set a date for me, and I’ll arrange for someone to pick it up, so you won’t have to go through the trouble.”

The old man laughed, “It’s no trouble at all. I happen to be heading into the city anyway.”

Jiang Yanyi assumed that the old man must have some acquaintances in Xizhou City, but Feng Shuo’s eyes momentarily flickered with something unspoken when he heard this.

To reach Shili Gang, they needed to travel further out into the countryside.

After leaving the plum grove, they passed a small village.

The village was lined with low, yellow clay houses, and there were hardly any people visible outside.

The few children playing outside were thin and frail, with gaunt faces, barely skin and bones.

They wore thin clothes and made snowballs to gnaw on.

When the children saw them passing on horseback, most quickly hid, their eyes filled with fear.

Jiang Yanyi had thought the families she had seen in the southern part of the city were already destitute, but this village showed her that she had greatly underestimated the hardships of the world.

Feng Shuo sat behind her, and though she couldn’t see the expression on his face, she could hear the somber tone in his voice, “Even without war, life is hard for these people. If chaos erupts, I can’t imagine what kind of life they’ll have.”

Xizhou was a poor region.

Even the prosperity of its main city could only rival that of a small town in other provinces.

The poverty in the villages outside the city was deeply rooted and couldn’t be changed overnight.

Feng Shuo remained silent for the rest of the journey.

Shili Gang lay beyond the village, and from a distance, they could see a watchtower with a fire brazier burning on top.

The thatched roof of the tower was covered in thick snow.

Near the fire, the rising heat had melted part of the snow, revealing the dry yellow thatch beneath.

Two sentries, hunched against the cold, stood on the watchtower.

When they spotted the riders approaching, they raised their bows and shouted something.

Feng Shou made a hand gesture, and the sentries lowered their bows.

At the base of the tower, another fire burned, where three soldiers huddled together for warmth.

Above the fire, a pot of snow was boiling, as the frozen lake meant they had to melt snow for drinking water.

One of the soldiers was roasting something that looked like a cake over the fire. It was unclear if the cake was burnt or just naturally black.

When it was ready, he handed it to his companions, who ate it without concern for the ash sticking to it.

Feng Shuo dismounted and carried the wine jars over.

The soldiers, being low-ranking, didn’t recognize Feng Shuo.

They had only seen the military hand signs he used and assumed he was a junior officer.

When Feng Shuo handed over the three jars, the lead soldier laughed, “Weren’t we only supposed to get two jars?”

Feng Shuo patted him on the shoulder and said, “Consider the third jar a gift for you all. But be careful not to drink too much and neglect your duties.”

The lead soldier, shivering in his dirty, tattered uniform, grinned and replied, “Don’t worry, young general. We’ll be relying on these jars to stay warm for the rest of the month. If we drink it all too quickly, we’ll freeze to death out here.”

Feng Shuo’s expression darkened slightly, and he asked, “Do you have enough rations?”

The soldier roasting the cakes answered, “We’ve got enough food, but the buckwheat cakes get rock-hard after a while in the cold. We have to roast them over the fire before we can eat them.”

Their voices were loud enough that Jiang Yanyi could hear clearly from her position on horseback.

She also saw the blackened cakes they were roasting, pulled from the ashes, burnt beyond recognition.