Chapter 38: If You Dare Touch Me, I’ll Cut Off Your Hand

“Promise me, live well, all of you. Live your lives well,” Cai Cong pleaded, gazing at their hollow, hopeless eyes. He felt compelled to return some dignity to them. This was not the Ming or Qing dynasties, where heavenly principles were disregarded. They should not be looked at with strange eyes.

“But what can we do?” someone asked bitterly. The people present were either disabled or farm women; aside from growing vegetables, they truly had no idea what else they could do.

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t know. I’ll teach you. Just learn earnestly. If you’re willing, follow me!” Cai Cong spoke more gently than he ever had, even to Cai Jie’er. His sympathy, worthless as it was, flowed freely.

“I’d gladly follow you, sir. We’re all pitiable souls; this wretched life, I doubt anyone cares about it, let alone deceives us,” said a one-armed man carrying a shoulder pole, his smile bright and carefree. Just as Cai Cong said, if anyone truly wanted to harm them, they couldn’t resist. There was no need for tricks.

“That’s true. I shed blood on the battlefield; now, missing a foot, I’ve lost my courage—what shame! Young master, tell us where to go, and we’ll be there,” said a man leaning on a crutch, stepping forward with hearty resolve. Cai Cong glanced at him; though unremarkable in appearance, he could speak for the crowd of over two hundred. He must have been someone in the past.

“Let’s go to Junyue Pavilion at East Market. Can you arrive tomorrow at noon?”

“You will not be disappointed, young master. See you at noon tomorrow,” the one-legged man replied, bowing.

“Then, until tomorrow. Let’s return,” Cai Cong said, turning to leave.

“Big brother, can we trust this child?” As soon as Cai Cong left, the one-armed man asked.

“I don’t know. But General Yuchi once told the deputy commander that a child prodigy had appeared in Chang’an, whom he admired greatly. I suppose this is the one,” the one-legged man said quietly.

“Big brother…” The one-armed man hesitated, then spoke, “Big brother, you’re General Yuchi’s fellow townsman and a squad leader. He’ll take care of you no matter what. Why suffer with us?”

“Say no more. There are plenty in the general’s fief who need help more than I do. My foot is gone, but my hands remain. I, Zhang Wen, am not useless,” the one-legged man said calmly. War was cruel; some would be bedridden for life—that was true despair.

“So, are we going tomorrow?”

“Yes. Even if not for ourselves, we should think of the others. I can tell that young master is a good man, not someone here for amusement.”

Meanwhile, Cai Cong, upon arriving at Junyue Pavilion, immediately sent people to buy ingredients. He truly couldn’t stomach the bland food of the Tang Dynasty.

“Buy all the pork, lamb, and beef you see on the streets. Ginger, star anise, cinnamon, dried tangerine peel, chopped scallions, garlic—if you can’t find them at the market, get them from the pharmacy. Just make sure to buy them all. As for anything else, use your judgment.”

“Master, aren’t cinnamon and star anise medicinal herbs? Medicine shouldn’t be eaten indiscriminately—it could cause problems,” Meng Baolai said with a grin. He realized that Cai Cong truly meant to cook.

Cai Cong shot him a contemptuous look and said leisurely, “Seems you’ve forgotten how I met General Li. You dare doubt my culinary skill? If you’ve got the nerve, don’t eat later.”

“No, please! I’ve worked hard serving you all this time. Don’t forget my contribution!” Meng Baolai wailed, remembering that the famous Beggar’s Chicken in Chang’an was made by this master. One village’s supply was insignificant for the city, and even now, demand exceeded supply.

“Help me in the kitchen and I’ll share a bit with you. Don’t ever doubt me again, or you’ll regret it,” Cai Cong said, surveying the inn. Three floors, spacious enough. He planned to renovate the third floor, turning it into a gathering place for scholars and literati.

The backyard had the kitchen and over a dozen dorm rooms, and even a sheep pen in the courtyard, showing it once housed sheep and geese. Soon, the buyers returned, hauling several carts of ingredients.

“Hurry, put everything in the kitchen. My sweet and sour ribs! Braised beef brisket! Red-braised pork!” Cai Cong’s eyes sparkled. For months, he’d eaten pig’s fodder—even the imperial kitchen’s dishes were pig’s fodder: a whole chicken boiled, a pinch of salt, and served boldly. In modern times, the chef would be fired, but Li Shimin claimed the chicken was perfectly tender!

The noodles cooked by Empress Changsun—who knew how much pepper she used? The noodles were hard, the broth all pepper, and Li Shimin said he loved them best. Under Cai Cong’s sympathetic gaze, he slurped the lot, then patted Cai Cong’s head, saying he didn’t know how to enjoy life.

“This time, I’ll show you what good food really is.”

Cai Cong dashed to the kitchen, organizing everyone—boiling water, chopping meat, simmering soup, preparing seasonings.

Standing on a stool, Cai Cong wielded his wooden spatula expertly, stirring the meat as it slowly turned golden, filling the air with its aroma. “Baolai, bring me chopped scallions and salt. And you, stop right there! The beef brisket isn’t ready. Touch it and I’ll chop your hand off,” Cai Cong barked, focused on the meat yet aware of the whole kitchen.

The one tempted by the aroma awkwardly replaced the lid, smiling sheepishly, “I was just looking, not eating.”

“Master, why don’t we eat first and cook more later?” Meng Baolai’s Adam’s apple bobbed; he’d never realized how hungry he was. Had it not been for Cai Cong’s temper, he’d have snatched food already.

“No! Wait till I finish everything. Damn it, you know how much I wanted to die from those meals lately? Whoever touches my dishes, I’ll go berserk,” Cai Cong cursed. Everyone nodded in agreement; compared to Cai Cong’s cooking, what they’d eaten was pig’s fodder.

Eighteen dishes gradually emerged, their aroma wafting down the street. Passersby stopped, drawn by the scent, and gathered at Junyue Pavilion’s door.

“What’s going on? Why aren’t they open? Shopkeeper, hurry and open up! We want to eat!” Some knocked, but no one answered, and the banging grew louder.

“Someone’s knocking. Go check,” Cai Cong said, without pausing his movements, chopsticks moving constantly.

“Old Jiu, go see. They’re going to break the door down!” Meng Baolai mumbled with his mouth full of meat.

“Ajie, as squad leader, I order you to check,” Old Jiu, his nose red from drink, refused to leave, munching on preserved pork.

“If you eat it all, I’ll be livid,” the guard named Ajie grumbled, hand on his sword, descending the stairs.

“Which country bumpkin is banging on the door?” Ajie flung the door open, glaring fiercely.

“We… we’re here to eat,” the knockers stammered, shrinking into the crowd.

“Disperse! The new owner is testing dishes. When we open, there will be a notice,” Ajie, annoyed at being interrupted, wanted to drive them away, but worried about the restaurant’s reputation, ended up sending them off gently.

Without waiting for their reaction, he slammed the door and hurried upstairs, knowing those gluttons would eat everything if he delayed.

“You’re monsters!” he cried as he reached the top—the two tables had not a drop of soup left.

Old Jiu scraped the remnants from his plate with a bun, satisfied. “Young man, next time move faster. You’re only fit to wash plates.”

“Damn it, these plates are so clean, I don’t think they even need washing,” Ajie complained, staring at plates cleaner than his own face.

“Haha, don’t be upset. The young master’s already cooking again, and you’ll get a share soon,” Meng Baolai lazily said, picking his teeth.

“I’m claiming it all for myself. None of you gets any.”

“In your dreams! The young master made these delicacies to thank the Yan family and Mr. Li Gang. Getting a taste is already great luck. You dare try and hog it all?” Meng Baolai retorted, though he was curious what dish would be sent to the great scholar.

Managed to write a chapter, will try for another tonight. Enjoy for now. Thanks to Ajie for the tip—how did you know I had a character named Jie? I hadn’t settled on a surname, but now it’s decided.

(End of chapter)