Chapter Ten: The Snail Child

In the spring of the first year of Jingyou, Wang Rouhua began selling noodle soup in Bianjing. A bowl of noodles with extra soup cost ten coins, while a bowl with most of the broth drained set you back thirty. Though her prices were steep, the portions were generous, the fat and oil abundant, and, most memorably, each bowl was crowned with a slice of succulent pork belly that sizzled with flavor at every bite—a taste that lingered in memory long after the meal was done.

No one quite knew the secret of her meat: it melted in the mouth, without even a hint of the usual gaminess, transformed from something humble into a delicacy. Though her shop hadn’t yet become the rage of the capital, the laborers who worked at the Shuixi Gate all made a habit of stopping by for an extra-large bowl of dry noodles after their shifts, only heading home once thoroughly satisfied.

Yang Huaiyu, however, was not one to frequent Seventh Brother’s Noodle Shop. How could a mere bamboo shack dare call itself a shop? Even the scraps fed to the Yang family’s dogs were better than a bowl of those noodles.

“Our noodle soup topping is a family recipe!” Wang Rouhua would always say, no matter who asked about her method for cooking meat.

But this time, Yang Huaiyu found himself ushered into the shop by his brothers from the worksite. Ever since he’d accidentally killed the drunkard Liu Aqie with an arrow on a snowy night, he’d been convicted of murder by the Kaifeng Prefecture. As the act had been in the line of duty, he’d escaped execution, but lost his position as Palace Guard. Unwilling to be exiled to Cangzhou’s prison city, or have his face branded, he’d chosen instead to serve at the nearby Shuixi Gate.

In his dreams, he cursed the ill-fated Liu Aqie time and again—why couldn’t the wretch have taken one more step toward the city wall? If it had been within ten paces, killing him would have been considered meritorious. But Liu Aqie fell, crossbow bolt pinning him to the ground, exactly eleven paces from the palace.

“Iron Lady Wang, our Brother Jade is here! Quick, six bowls of noodles for the gentlemen—dry style, and don’t skimp on the toppings!” called out Chen Shichao, the cook at Shuixi Gate, as he bustled the group to an empty table and settled Yang Huaiyu in the center.

“Don’t let the shabby shop fool you, Brother Jade. The lady here makes a bowl of noodles like no other. I’ve eaten noodles all over, but these are the best,” Chen boasted.

Yang Huaiyu glanced coldly at Iron Lady Wang, who was watching him from her place at the stove. “We’ll see after I’ve tasted them. Mine better have extra scallions and garlic. No greens.”

Wang Rouhua frowned in puzzlement—the petty officer sitting in the middle seemed strangely familiar, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen him. She quickly dismissed the thought. So many people passed through her shop these days, who could remember every face? She turned away to prepare their noodles.

Meanwhile, little Tie Xinyuan, with a rope tied around his foot, was delighted to see Yang Huaiyu arrive. At last, the opportunity to slip mushrooms into the man’s bowl! He wasn’t the least bit worried anyone would suspect the shop. He’d tested it on a chicken—the mushrooms took effect in the time it takes to burn a stick of incense. Adjusting for a man’s size, a handful of mushroom powder in Yang Huaiyu’s bowl would take at least two hours to show its effects. Who would ever connect his madness to something he’d eaten at their humble shop two hours before?

Mushrooms heightened flavor, Tie Xinyuan thought with a malicious grin as he walked to the stove. He promised himself that Yang Huaiyu’s noodles would taste better than anyone else’s.

His mother was busy adding toppings to other bowls. The remaining five bowls sat in front of him, and the others’ view was blocked by the stove—this was the perfect moment to poison the food.

Suddenly, with a thud, Tie Xinyuan slipped and fell, mushroom powder scattering all over the floor. The rope tied to his foot had drawn tight. Just one more step, and he would have succeeded.

Wang Rouhua rushed over, scooping him up. She noticed his palm was coated in some odd residue and, thinking it was just dirt, washed his little hand in a basin before settling him back into a padded tub. She tied his rope even shorter to keep him from getting near the stove again.

Tie Xinyuan sulked, supporting his chin with both hands as he watched Yang Huaiyu wolf down his noodles and toss the empty porcelain bowl carelessly onto the table, muttering, “Nothing special.” Then, surrounded by Chen Shichao and the others, Yang Huaiyu tossed a pile of coins on the table and strode out.

The sun had yet to set and Wang Rouhua’s noodles were already sold out. Reluctantly, she apologized to arriving customers, “We’ll prepare more tomorrow; sorry for today.” The disappointed customers shuffled away. Wang Rouhua packed her chest, stove, and utensils onto a handcart, slung Tie Xinyuan on her back, and the pair made their way home through the bustling crowd beneath the palace walls.

Their fox waited eagerly at the door, fur bristling with excitement at their return, though it never strayed more than ten paces from the city wall. Wang Rouhua wheeled the cart to their door but, too excited to unpack, rushed inside clutching her money pouch—counting the day’s earnings was her favorite moment.

While she tallied the coins, the fox sprawled on Tie Xinyuan’s shoulder, licking him incessantly. Annoyed, he pushed it away; today its breath reeked of roast lamb, heavy with spices.

Spices were dear in Great Song—so expensive that ordinary folk could rarely afford them. Whether pepper or star anise, all came from distant lands; none could be found locally. By the time the spice ships and camel caravans reached the capital, spices were as precious as copper coins.

Wang Rouhua could only afford a pinch of each for experimentation, so the fox volunteered to fetch more from the palace itself.

She never understood why her meats, cooked in ordinary broth, tasted so delicious, attributing it to the protection of the Seventh Brother.

After counting her coins, fatigue set in. She dragged her tools home, washed them, then ladled a bowl of thick millet porridge, tore some bread into it for her son, and collapsed onto the bed.

Tie Xinyuan idly ate porridge-soaked bread while his mother snored cheerfully. The fox sniffed his bowl, lost interest, and curled up at his feet. After finishing, Tie Xinyuan washed his wooden bowl and placed it on the table, then retrieved a large bundle of spices the fox had fetched from beneath the bed and began sorting through them.

His mother usually slept a full hour after work. With the stove cold, Tie Xinyuan added some firewood, bringing the marinade pot to a boil. He nudged the fox, which leapt onto the stove with the spice pouch in its mouth and tossed the seasonings into the pot—a task it had performed many times.

The flickering fire cast shadows across Tie Xinyuan’s youthful face, where adult emotions flitted strangely. Today’s failed attempt at revenge forced him to reconsider. He’d acted far too rashly, acting on impulse without forethought.

He could imagine the consequences: if anything happened to Yang Huaiyu, the Yang family would not let it rest. Even if suspicion didn’t fall on their little shop, its destruction by the powerful Yang household was all too likely. His mother depended on this modest shop to support them; Tie Xinyuan dared not imagine her heartbreak if it were lost.

Only a grown eagle could soar through the heavens; a fledgling should tuck away its claws until its feathers were fully grown.

With a sigh, Tie Xinyuan handed a small pouch of mushroom powder from his belly pocket to the fox, which darted out to hide it—its natural instinct.

He hummed a little tune to himself:

“Little girl,
Up at dawn,
Trousers in hand to the latrine.
But what if someone’s there?
Guess you’ll just have to pee your pants…”

He sang softly, trying not to feel dejected, and kept feeding the fire. The marinade had to be brought to a rolling boil to sterilize, then slow-cooked to perfection.

His mother never understood why her bundle of spices disappeared so quickly, nor did she realize that fresh spices had to be constantly added to the marinade. Whether a former noblewoman or now a peasant, she’d never learned the art of seasoning.

The fire gradually died down, and a rich aroma of marinade filled the house. Tie Xinyuan opened the door to let the smell dissipate. His exhausted mother would soon awaken, and if she found out how much he’d done while she slept, she’d be terrified.

Sitting on the threshold, watching the fox sniff here and there for hidden treasures, Tie Xinyuan’s spirits lifted. For now, his only duty was to keep his long-suffering mother happy.

Wang Rouhua rubbed her eyes and got up, sniffing the lingering aroma in the room. She hurried to check the still-hot marinade pot, lifted the lid, and inhaled deeply, her face awash with pleasure.

Seeing her son watching the fox from the doorway, she scooped him up and laid him on her still-warm bed. Tie Xinyuan proudly pointed at the clean bowl and spoon on the table, seeking praise. Wang Rouhua, upon inspection, planted a kiss on his cheek and exclaimed, “What a good boy! Whose child of only a year and a bit is as clever as mine?”

Her long isolation had made her forget what was normal for a child’s development. She rarely spoke to anyone outside of business, and the only people around the Shuixi Gate were porters and soldiers, none of whom ever remarked on children. So, every oddity in Tie Xinyuan’s behavior seemed perfectly natural to her. With a mother’s heart, she simply believed her son was meant to be so clever.

PS: The immortal topic continues—please collect and recommend!