After Fan Changyu carried the basket of dirty clothes out, she let out a sigh.

He had probably seen it, after all. Since he had already put it away, she would simply pretend nothing had happened.

Seeing that it was still early, she went out once more, heading to the market to buy two plump, well-fed pigs and a chicken.

Before becoming a pot of nourishing soup, the chicken had another, more important mission—it was bait for catching that gyrfalcon.

Though her father had been a butcher, he was also an excellent hunter. Fan Changyu had accompanied him into the mountains before, hunting wild boar and catching hares, so she naturally knew how to set a few traps herself.

She considered setting one in the courtyard, but worried that Changning might accidentally stumble into it and get hurt. After much thought, she finally climbed up to the loft and onto the roof, where she tied the old hen in place. Then she brought up the equipment her father used for setting traps and arranged it all on the roof as well. Only then did she climb back down, thoroughly satisfied.

Of the two pigs, one would be slaughtered tomorrow, while the other would be slaughtered today and made into cured meat.

腊肉 (làròu) is cured, salted, and often air-dried or smoked meat (traditionally pork) tied to the twelfth lunar month, Làyuè (腊月). The character 腊 (là) originally named Làjì (腊祭), an ancient end-of-year sacrificial ritual offered to gods and ancestors to give thanks for the harvest. Over time, the term came to designate the twelfth lunar month itself, a cold and dry season that naturally proved ideal for preserving meat through the winter.

As its name suggests, cured meat was traditionally made during the Twelfth Month. Meat could be kept for longer during the cold winter, but once the weather warmed, it would still spoil. Making it into cured meat allowed it to be preserved all the way into the following year.

The private tutors at the school received, in lieu of silver, an equivalent amount of cured meat as their tuition fee.

Like I mentioned in a previous chapter, the term 束脩 (shùxiū) has a bit of historical background behind it. It refers to the payment traditionally given to a teacher, originally in the form of a bundle of dried meat. The term is closely tied to the old Confucian tradition of offering dried meat to one’s teacher as a token of respect.

Many scholars also had to buy a slab of cured meat to pay their respects to their teacher for New Year’s greeting, then buy several more in early spring to use as their tuition fee.

拜年 (bàinián) — Literally “pay New Year respects.” This refers to the traditional custom of visiting elders, relatives, and teachers during the New Year to offer greetings.

In the past, whenever it came time to pay Song Yan’s tuition fee, Mother Song would take the money she had earned from embroidery and washing clothes and go to Fan Changyu’s father to buy cured meat.

Now, Fan Changyu was beginning to wonder whether there might have been a deliberate element of playing the poor, helpless widow in front of her parents.

Back then, as soon as winter arrived, Mother Song’s hands would be covered in chilblains. Her clothes had so many patches that the patched fabric actually outweighed the original cloth. She often did embroidery late into the night, yet was too thrifty to light a lamp. Instead, she would draw out only the tiniest bit of wick from the oil lamp and let it burn—truly, no more light than a soybean could give. After years of straining her eyes this way, her eyesight eventually deteriorated, and once night fell, she could barely see at all.

The widowed mother and orphaned son were their neighbors, and Mother Song had told Fan Changyu’s parents that Song Yan’s father had spent his whole life attempting the imperial examinations without ever passing, while Song Yan had been clever from a young age and was a promising scholar. She wanted to help her late husband fulfill his final wish. Unable to bear seeing the mother and son struggle, Fan Changyu’s parents had given Song Yan cured meat to use as his tuition fee.

Now, whenever Fan Changyu thought of the Song family, she could only pray that Heaven would finally open its eyes, and make absolutely sure Song Yan failed the examinations!

With resentment lending strength to her every move, she headed to the back courtyard to boil water and prepare to slaughter the pig.

When the shrill squeals of pigs reached the south room, the goat-hair brush in Xie Zheng’s hand dragged a streak of ink across the paper.

He crumpled the sheet and tossed it into the charcoal brazier at his feet. Then he leaned back, raised a hand, and rubbed the space between his brows.

His ears were already aching from the racket when the door was suddenly pushed open. A little figure clung to the doorframe, poking half her head through as she coaxed him, “Jiefu, wanna go watch the piggy get slaughtered?”

Her dark, grape-like eyes sparkled. “Ah Jie is so good at slaughtering pigs!”

Previously, Fan Changyu had always slaughtered pigs before dawn. Xie Zheng’s knee, injured when he had tumbled down a mountainside while fleeing, had yet to fully recover, and he rarely ventured outside, so naturally, he had never seen her slaughter a pig.

Today, however, the squealing coming from the back courtyard had gone on for an unusually long time. And there were two pigs squealing at once—their cries were practically loud enough to tear the roof off.

After a moment’s consideration, Xie Zheng nodded and pushed himself to his feet with his crutches. But he was not going to watch the slaughter as Changning imagined. Rather, he figured that if those pigs kept squealing much longer, he would simply put an end to it with one stroke of the knife, if only to have some peace and quiet.

The kitchen lay just beyond the main hall, with a small door connecting it to the back courtyard. The door stood open, and Xie Zheng immediately spotted the woman beyond it. One foot was planted firmly on the pig’s back, while she wielded a rope as thick as his thumb, tying the pig—its four legs already bound—to a stone bench that looked as though it weighed a considerable amount.

Little Changning proudly tipped up her head and announced, “My Ah Jie is amazing, right?”

Xie Zheng said nothing.

Up close, the pig’s squeals were even sharper and more grating, while the force with which it thrashed was positively fierce.

Xie Zheng had seen pigs slaughtered in the army’s field kitchens before, but even there, it took several grown men to restrain a fat pig. The woman before him might look like she had little to do with the word “delicate”, but she was still a young woman, after all. How could she possibly match the strength of those burly men?

He frowned and was just about to step forward to lend a hand when he saw the woman slap the pig squarely on the head and bark, “Hold still!”

The slap landed with such a resounding smack that the pig’s squeals immediately dropped in volume, and its struggling was noticeably weaker than before.

The faintly languid look in Xie Zheng’s eyes vanished, replaced in an instant by unmistakable astonishment.

Did she knock it unconscious?

She actually knocked it unconscious????

Just how much strength does that hand have?

His impression of this woman suddenly began ricocheting back and forth between the woman who had shed tears over the phoenix man and the woman who could knock a pig unconscious with a single slap, leaving him unable to help but frown.

凤凰男 (fènghuáng nán) — Literally “phoenix man,” a term for a man who rises from a poor or humble background and marries into a comparatively better-off family. It can carry a derogatory implication of a man who uses marriage to improve his social or financial standing. Here, Xie Zheng is using it to describe Song Yan as a poor scholar who not only benefited from the Fan family, but, after becoming a juren, was already looking for a more advantageous marriage with the county magistrate’s daughter.

Fan Changyu finished tying the pig securely to the stone bench. When she turned around, she spotted Xie Zheng, along with her younger sister, who was secretly peeking half her head out from behind the door.

She immediately said, “Ningniang, how many times have I told you? Children aren’t allowed to watch pigs being slaughtered.”

Changning drew her head back behind the door with a pitiful little look, leaving only the two tiny tufts tied atop her head still poking out.

Fan Changyu was somewhat surprised to see Xie Zheng there as well. She was wearing the short tunic and trousers she specifically used for slaughtering pigs, and after having just wrestled with a pig, the wisps of hair over her forehead had fallen into a messy disarray. She looked thoroughly disheveled, yet somehow there was still a certain crisp competence and heroic spirit about her.

She was busy at the moment and had no time to dwell on their previous awkwardness. After her brief surprise, she simply said to Xie Zheng, “If you’re not in a hurry to go back to your room, keep an eye on the fire for me first.”

The water boiling in the large pot would soon be used to scald the pig and loosen its bristles.

Xie Zheng glanced at the makeshift stove and, for once, obediently went over.

After finding a wooden basin to catch the blood, Fan Changyu picked up the knife for bleeding the pig. As before, she killed it with a single stroke. When the blood gushed out, some of it inevitably spattered onto her. Her eyes remained cold and keen as she stared at the wound from which the blood poured, like a tiger or leopard watching the prey it had just torn apart.

It took quite some time before the murderous air about her finally faded.

The moment she looked up, she found the man behind the stove staring at her with an unreadable expression.

His gaze had always been cool and detached, but now there was something deeper in his eyes, something impossible to fathom, like the unfathomable depths of an ancient well.

Fan Changyu put away the knife, the ferocity about her fading with it. Puzzled, she asked, “Did I scare you?”

Xie Zheng tossed another piece of firewood into the stove. The firelight cast shifting shadows across his refined features, making them alternately bright and dim. He seemed to find her question genuinely amusing, as the corners of his lips lazily curved upward. “Not to that extent.”

Fan Changyu dragged the slaughtered pig over, then glanced at him. “You can go back inside. Once the hot water hits the pig hair, the smell will be awful.”

Xie Zheng remained seated. All he said was, “I’ve smelled worse.”

The stench of corpses rotting in piles.

Is there something strange about him today?

Fan Changyu decided not to bother with him anymore. She drenched the pig thoroughly with scalding water before beginning to scrape off its bristles.

Sitting on the low stool behind the stove, Xie Zheng watched her work, the corner of his eyes lifting slightly.

Suddenly, he thought he preferred her much better like this—slaughtering pigs.

He asked, “Your martial arts, your father taught you?”

Fan Changyu’s hand paused as she scraped the pig’s bristles. After a moment, she continued. “En. My father traveled far and wide as an armed escort. He studied under many masters and picked up a little of all sorts of skills for staying alive. I just followed along and learned a few moves here and there.”

Xie Zheng did not ask any further. He simply continued watching her scrape the pig, a touch of languor in his expression. Yet his features were undeniably handsome, and even sitting amid a pile of firewood, he was a pleasing sight to behold.

Before nightfall, Fan Changyu finished dividing up the pork. She set aside a small piece to make braised meat for dinner, while the rest she rubbed evenly with coarse salt. She arranged the pieces neatly in a clean stone crock in the courtyard, meat-side down and skin-side up, then covered the crock with a bamboo winnowing basket.

To make cured pork, the meat first had to be rubbed with salt and left to cure for seven or eight days, after which it would be smoked over cypress branches.

Salt was a coveted commodity in those days, but Qingping County produced large quantities of green salt, so it was not particularly expensive locally. One jin (500 g) could be bought for just over a dozen wen.

青盐 (qīngyán) — Literally “green salt,” this refers to a type of naturally occurring salt traditionally associated with inland salt lakes, which could have a bluish, greenish, or grayish tint due to mineral impurities.

Salt merchants, using their salt permits to purchase salt and transport it elsewhere for sale, could turn a profit of several times the original price. It was said that in some places, merchants could name their own price, with salt selling for as much as a hundred wen per jin. The common people in those places were the ones who truly suffered.

盐引 (yányǐn) — A government-issued permit for the purchase and transport of salt under China’s historical state salt monopoly. Salt was tightly regulated and merchants needed a yanyin to legally obtain salt from designated producers and transport it elsewhere for sale.

Taking advantage of the large pot and the fact that the fire beneath it had not yet died down from boiling the water, Fan Changyu put the cleaned pork, pork bones, and various pig offal straight into it to blanch.

The pork belly was for braised pork rice that night, the pork bones were for making the soup base, while the pig offal and pig’s head meat would be taken to the butcher shop to sell the next morning.

After blanching the meat, she lifted the whole potful out with two bamboo draining baskets. She replaced the water with fresh water, tossed in an assortment of spices and seasonings, and, once it came to a boil, added some of the old master stock from her previous batch of master stock. Then she put the meat and bones back in to simmer in the seasoned broth.

As the fierce flames once again brought the master stock in the pot to a rolling boil, the rich aroma of meat began creeping out through the gaps beneath the lid.

Fan Changyu had eaten only a single steamed bun for lunch, then spent the entire afternoon doing strenuous physical work. Even she couldn’t stop her stomach from growling twice at the smell.

Changning sniffed, looking utterly pitiful with hunger. “Ah Jie, hungry…”

The only person who remained completely unmoved by the enticing aroma was Xie Zheng, who sat behind the stove tending the fire with an utterly impassive expression.

Fan Changyu covered her stomach, feeling rather embarrassed. She got up and headed inside. “The meat isn’t done yet. I’ll go get a couple of sweet potatoes to roast first.”

What she didn’t know was that, after she went inside, the man behind the stove remained just as expressionless as ever—but his Adam’s apple nevertheless bobbed slowly once.

Xie Zheng cast an impatient glance at the steaming pot. Does this stuff really take that long to cook?

Little Changning covered her mouth, giggling. “Jiefu, you’re hungry too, right?”

Xie Zheng had no desire to indulge the annoying child. He closed his eyes. “No.”

Fan Changyu brought two sweet potatoes and buried them in the ashes beneath the stove. Xie Zheng remained seated on the lone stool behind the stove. Since his legs were still inconvenient, Fan Changyu didn’t make him get up; instead, she squatted beside him and used a pair of fire tongs to rake the ash over the sweet potatoes.

The stove opening was small and square, limiting Fan Changyu’s view. She had to lean slightly toward him to check whether the sweet potatoes were properly covered.

They had ended up rather close. Xie Zheng frowned and shifted backward, but the space was simply too cramped. Fan Changyu’s hair bun barely brushed beneath his chin. She herself didn’t notice, but Xie Zheng’s expression tightened slightly.

She had already changed out of the clothes she wore for slaughtering pigs, and there was a faint, indescribably delicate fragrance lingering on both her clothes and in her hair. It was probably the incense she had mentioned before—one her mother made herself.

Where her hair bun had brushed against him, there was a faint coolness, accompanied by a soft, ticklish itch that made him want to reach up and scratch it.

Xie Zheng frowned and was just about to speak when Fan Changyu finished burying the sweet potatoes and moved back.

Seeing him shift away, Fan Changyu felt rather embarrassed. “Did I crowd you just now?”

The spot beneath his chin where her hair had brushed against it was still tingling.

Xie Zheng avoided her gaze and simply said, “No.”

Snow began drifting down from the sky once more. Fan Changyu sat on the stool and played fan hua sheng with her younger sister. Firelight illuminated the sisters’ faces, and when they smiled, the shape of their brows and eyes was strikingly alike, as though their warmth alone could melt away the chill of the entire winter night.

翻花绳 (fān huā shéng) — A traditional children's string game in which a loop of string is manipulated between the fingers to form different patterns and shapes. It is also known as cat’s cradle.

Xie Zheng watched her for a while before turning his gaze toward the snow filling the sky.

When a delicate sweetness began mingling with the rich aroma of meat, Fan Changyu once again squeezed herself directly beside Xie Zheng and used the fire tongs to dig out the two sweet potatoes.

Their skins had roasted to a charred gray, and they were scorching hot and soft beneath her gentle squeeze.

The sweet potatoes’ skins had roasted to a charred gray, and they were scorching hot and soft beneath a light squeeze.

Fan Changyu gave one to Xie Zheng, while she and her younger sister shared the other.

Fan Changyu was rather rough-handed about it. With one firm pull, she snapped the sweet potato in two, revealing its golden-orange flesh. Wisps of steam still curled from the tips, and even the smell alone made it seem sweet.

She gave half to her younger sister. The two of them ate while hissing through their teeth at the heat, and the sweet potato tasted even sweeter once it was in their mouths. Without realizing it, they even got a little of the charred black skin around their mouths.

Xie Zheng peeled away the skin and took a bite as well. It was indeed much sweeter than the roasted sweet potatoes he remembered.

The real star of tonight’s meal was, naturally, the meat that had been simmering in the master stock for over an hour. The pork belly, already infused through and through with the fragrance of the seasoned broth, was diced and stir-fried with diced shiitake mushrooms. Once the mushrooms released their rich aroma, Fan Changyu added a spoonful of braising broth, scooped the meat out, and piled it over a bowl of white rice. Finally, she topped it with a braised egg cut in half.

Xie Zheng ate the fullest meal he had enjoyed since falling into such dire circumstances, and his mood remained remarkably good even as he went to sleep that night.

Of course, if that gyrfalcon hadn’t suddenly let out a hoarse, ear-piercing cry from the roof, his good mood might have lasted a little longer.