12 Braised Chicken

At the first light of dawn, willows hung with drooping silken threads.

Before Hang Yao’s carriage reached the gate of the Imperial Academy, he had already glimpsed through the lifted curtain the bustling crowd not far off.

Once the carriage came to a halt, he alighted and first walked over to greet an elderly man with graying hair.

This was Doctor Sun, formerly a Hanlin Academician renowned for his vast knowledge. Due to his advanced age and waning interest in politics, he had requested to teach at the academy instead.

Doctor Sun stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Chuchen, do you know what’s going on over there? So many people gathered, shouting and clamoring. Such disorder is unbecoming.”

Hang Yao naturally saw the small food stall selling hand-grabbed cakes. Just as he was about to explain, Doctor Sun’s attendant returned running from that direction.

“Sir, I have inquired. It’s a small food stall selling a snack called qingtuan. The students are lining up to buy them. It’s said to be a special treat for the Qingming Festival.”

At the mention of food, Doctor Sun’s demeanor changed. “Qingtuan? I’ve never heard of it. Why didn’t you buy some for me?”

“I asked,” the attendant scratched his head, “but the young lady selling the qingtuan said the current batches are sold out. If you want some, you’ll have to wait until they make more. Not sure how long that will take.”

Doctor Sun sighed with some regret. “In that case, never mind.”

It would be even more disorderly if a teacher joined the students in scrambling for snacks.

“Chuchen, let’s go inside together.”

Hang Yao nodded and cast a distant glance at the stall, where only a mass of light gray tunics could be seen from behind.

The students nearby were completely oblivious to the quiet gazes of the two doctors behind them, their focus entirely fixed on the steaming baskets before Lady Wen.

“Don’t crowd! Those who come later, please queue up at the back.”

“Lady Wen, please save me one!”

“Brother Zhang, you’re so unfair! You didn’t even call me when you came.”

Listening to the various complaints from the crowd behind, Qin Qian and Zeng Nian, who were next in line, secretly rejoiced—they were fortunate to have arrived early.

Then two more people approached ahead. Qin Qian’s eyes widened in surprise. “Abbot, you’re here too?”

Lu Tianchuan turned around with a slightly embarrassed expression. “Good morning, brothers.”

Zeng Nian asked, “Brother Lu, weren’t you supposed to have breakfast at home before coming?”

“I did, but as soon as I smelled Lady Wen’s stall, my stomach grumbled, so…”

Qin Qian and Zeng Nian shared a knowing smile; they had all been there before.

In truth, none of them had ever tasted qingtuan, but the deep jade-green color made it seem irresistibly delicious.

When their turn finally came, they each bought one of every flavor.

The qingtuan was still warm, its surface brushed with a layer of cooked oil that made the color shine even more vividly. The glutinous skin dented under a poke, then bounced back.

“Phew… that was close,” Qin Qian was the most eager. Not knowing which flavor was which, he bit into one filled with molten sesame paste. Fortunately, he caught the filling with the oil paper; otherwise, he would have been heartbroken if it had fallen on the ground.

The sesame filling was moist with a slight graininess, full of rich sesame aroma.

Zeng Nian praised the qingtuan filled with shepherd’s purse and pork, a whole green ball of tender greens wrapped in deep green skin. The greens absorbed oil well, making a perfect match with the pork.

“We really should have bought more,” Lu Tianchuan regretted after finishing a bamboo shoot and meat qingtuan.

Qin Qian nodded repeatedly. “Absolutely right.”

However, when they turned back to find the line had grown even longer, they instantly regretted their decision.

Wen Zhongxia and Xu Xiu had been so busy all morning they hadn’t even had time to drink water. The responsibility of collecting money fell entirely to little Wen Mengdong, whose fingers ached from counting coins.

Wen Zhongxia had underestimated everyone’s enthusiasm for qingtuan. The dough and fillings prepared the day before were all sold out by morning, and many people still hadn’t been able to buy any.

After the students dispersed, the three of them sat for a long while before they could finally catch their breath.

Running a stall to make money was truly exhausting.

---

“Big sister,” Wen Mengdong brought over the cashbox, blinking his large eyes anxiously, “so many customers are paying, I couldn’t count fast enough several times.”

“It’s alright, you’re doing great.” Most students at the Imperial Academy should be honest; there wouldn’t be many deliberately shortchanging customers.

Seeing all the copper coins, Wen Zhongxia felt her aches in hands and back ease considerably.

She decided tomorrow to limit the number each person could buy, otherwise some would buy ten at once, and many others would miss out, which would not help promote the stall.

That day, she hurriedly prepared twice as many ingredients as the day before, determined to let more customers taste the delicious qingtuan.

For the students, the good news was that Lady Wen made plenty of qingtuan today; the bad news was each person could buy no more than four at a time, and to buy more, they’d have to queue again.

It was a moment of mixed feelings—unsure whether to rejoice or worry.

---

After answering students’ questions in the corridor, Hang Yao quickly returned to his quarters.

Crossing the threshold, he heard Doctor Sun and Scholar Yang whispering by the desk.

“Chuchen, you’re back,” Yang Xuezheng smiled upon seeing Hang Yao. “Have you tried qingtuan?”

Hang Yao put down his book and glanced at the oil paper packages in their hands. “Not yet.”

Doctor Sun, who had few hobbies besides his love of good food, held the package happily. “These were bought by students as a gift for me. You know, Chuchen, I never accept gifts from students, but these four small treats are a token of their filial piety. I grudgingly accepted them.”

Hang Yao looked at his face, the wrinkles deepened by his smile—it was not grudging at all.

Yang Xuezheng said, “I had my attendant queue for a long time to get these.”

“Chuchen, would you like to try one?” he extended the package.

Hang Yao glanced at the jade-green buns, which seemed to emit a faint fresh grass scent.

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry now.”

Yang Xuezheng barely breathed a sigh of relief. He was merely being polite; he himself could hardly get enough of these snacks.

Doctor Sun chuckled, “I told you, Chuchen isn’t fond of such things. He prefers the dining hall fare.”

Hang Yao: …

The two walked out together, exchanging their thoughts.

“Red bean paste filling is the best—sweet but not cloying.”

“The name qingtuan is perfect: simple and clear, and the taste is wonderful. I can’t help but want to compose a poem about it…”

Listening to Doctor Sun’s fading voice, Hang Yao sat quietly for a long while.

It was not yet noon, but approaching lunchtime.

When the bell rang, the students would quickly swarm the food stall, and the qingtuan would likely sell out soon.

The more he thought about it, the more restless he became, so he rose and went outside.

---

Lady Wen’s purchase limit proved effective. Today they were not as overwhelmed, and the ingredients would suffice to sell another one or two rounds at noon.

Before the students were dismissed, the three women ate their lunch first. When busy for more than an hour, one must eat well to keep up strength.

Wen Zhongxia planned to make braised chicken with yellow sauce. The rooster was a free-range farm chicken, plump and heavy at over three pounds. It had been cleaned and chopped into pieces at home.

At the stall, with a pot and stove, she would cook it fresh on site.

This kind of chicken was neither gamey nor dry. After stir-frying briefly, a rich meaty aroma filled the air.

Nearby stall owners sniffed the fragrant scent quietly, wondering how Lady Wen’s cooking always smelled so good.

After the skin turned slightly golden, she added scallions, ginger, garlic, and sauce to stir-fry and color the dish, then added water and simmered on low heat.

There were plenty of side ingredients—potatoes cut into rolling blocks, fresh shiitake mushrooms scored on top like little flowers, and tofu skin to absorb the broth—guaranteeing deliciousness.

The clay pot steamed on the stove, the heat causing the lid to bang rhythmically.

---

When the broth had reduced sufficiently, Wen Zhongxia clutched the pot’s ear with a cloth and set it carefully on a stool.

The three sat around the pot, with a table on the other side shielding them from the street, creating a small dining nook.

The chicken was tender to the point of falling apart, soaked in thick broth, sliding down with hardly a need to chew. The broth was savory and fragrant—so good it could be eaten with rice alone.

Wen Zhongxia especially loved the side ingredients in the braised chicken. The potatoes were so soft they almost turned to mash, and the unique aroma of the shiitake mushrooms was fully released.

The long, wide strips of tofu skin soaked in broth, wrapped around a piece of chicken, delivered to the mouth, made the morning’s fatigue instantly vanish.

The three were famished, and quickly consumed more than half the large pot.

They could even have another bowl of rice.

---

“Is anyone here?”

As Wen Zhongxia stirred broth into her rice and brought a spoonful to her mouth, she heard a call.

She sat up instinctively and looked over—it was the handsome customer from last time.

Why was he here now? The class hadn’t been dismissed yet.

Hang Yao hadn’t expected to encounter this scene either. The young lady’s cheeks were puffed out, like a hamster storing food.

He felt he had come at an inconvenient time, as if disturbing their meal.

“Sorry, I’ll come back later.”

“It’s fine.”

Wen Zhongxia quickly swallowed her mouthful, wiped her mouth, and put on a welcoming smile. “Sir, what would you like to buy?”

“Do you still have qingtuan?” Hang Yao asked calmly.

“Yes, but there’s a limit of four per person per purchase. Which flavors would you like?”

“One of each, please.”

“Please wait a moment.” Wen Zhongxia opened the steamer and used bamboo tongs to pick out the qingtuan.

Hang Yao, tall and standing by the counter, immediately noticed the clay pot on the stool. Half of the braised chicken remained inside, the golden meat glistening with oil, and the shiitake mushrooms cut like flowers.

Xu Xiu, seeing a customer arrive, had already put down her bowl and chopsticks, but little Wen Mengdong was still engrossed in eating, gently nibbling a piece of chicken and then spitting out a small bone.

So tender.

Hang Yao’s mouth salivated involuntarily.

“Sir, sir.”

Wen Zhongxia called again, snapping Hang Yao back to reality, and he quickly averted his gaze.

“That’s braised chicken, homemade. Just a quick lunch,” Wen Zhongxia smiled as she handed over the oil-paper package. “Your qingtuan is ready.”

Hang Yao’s ears flushed. He paid, took the package, and turned to leave.

He had stared fixedly at someone else’s lunch—how improper.

The desire for food truly was a dangerous thing.

After a few steps, he turned back, looking serious but speaking softly: “Next time, have a different master write your signboard.”

Wen Zhongxia: …

Had her calligraphy been rejected?