18 Braised Delicacies

“From what I know, none of the doctors or academic directors currently teaching at the Imperial Academy privately take on students,” Hang Yao said, “but there is one Mr. Du, who taught there a few years ago, and he has taken a few young boys as pupils at his home.”

This Mr. Du was a successful candidate in the provincial examinations, highly learned, but due to health issues, he resigned to recuperate at home. Now restless, he has been giving basic lessons to a handful of children.

Upon hearing this, Wen Zhongxia immediately put down her rag and sat down to inquire carefully.

That day at the bookshop, she had mentioned the matter casually, never imagining that this guest she had met only two or three times would actually follow up on it.

Had it been someone else, even if they did not show it, they might have thought that a commoner running a roadside food stall who could barely recognize a few characters was foolishly dreaming of finding a teacher from the Imperial Academy.

But the person before her held no such prejudice. For that alone, Wen Zhongxia decided to forgive him for saying her handwriting was poor.

She asked more about the elderly scholar’s situation and grew increasingly convinced that it was a perfect match.

If she could send her little brother there for a year or so of study, then have him take the elementary exam for the Imperial Academy next year, his chances of success would greatly improve.

“However,” Hang Yao paused, “his tuition is rather expensive.”

Wen Zhongxia was not surprised. Renowned teachers naturally commanded higher fees.

She resolved to work harder selling food, save up enough money, and then visit him again.

Wen Zhongxia rose gracefully and gave him a proper bow. “Thank you, sir, for your guidance.”

“Thank you, big brother,” Wen Mengdong also jumped down from the bench, clasped his small hands, and bowed deeply.

Hang Yao quickly stood up and waved off their courtesy. “Nothing is settled yet; no need for formalities.”

“Whether this plan succeeds or not, I will remember your kindness. Tonight, the meal is on me. From now on, you are our VIP—no, our honored guest. Whenever you come to eat, I’ll give you a twenty percent discount.”

Wen Zhongxia made a gesture for “eight” with her fingers, a gentle smile curving her lips, her eyes bright and warm.

Hang Yao’s eyes flickered with a faint smile. Since this was a humble little business, he would not take advantage of such favors; he only said that if the plan worked out, he would treat them to a meal in return.

“Certainly, certainly,” Wen Zhongxia agreed at once.

Hang Yao enjoyed the meal thoroughly, as if the delicious food had filled the emptiness and restlessness of the past few days.

“Good day, Doctor,” a student called out as they passed in the corridor, startled enough to shiver.

Hang Yao nodded slightly and passed by with a light, effortless air.

The student stared in disbelief. What had come over Doctor Hang today? He hadn’t even questioned why the student hadn’t been in class.

……

With the marinated offal officially on sale, Wen Zhongxia was initially cautious and prepared only three sets of offal, which quickly sold out.

These marinated dishes were delicious both hot and cold, and some students, learning on their own, even asked Wen Zhongxia to stuff the marinated offal into the white flatbread.

The white flatbread was versatile; she had herself enjoyed it filled with shredded green pepper and pork, cumin lamb, and even messy, golden, crispy fried treats, the oil dripping and aroma irresistible.

The students loved the dishes but found “pig offal” an unappealing name, so they gave it a more elegant title: “Braised Pig Treasure,” which made Wen Zhongxia laugh for a while.

Seeing everyone’s enthusiasm for the marinated dishes, she planned to prepare some vegetarian options next—lotus root slices, potatoes, dried tofu, shiitake mushrooms, edamame…

These lightly flavored vegetables, when marinated, absorbed the rich meaty taste without being greasy, making them excellent companions for rice or wine.

At the Feng residence—

Feng Yuan jumped down from the carriage, carrying a package wrapped in oil paper, and hurried inside, lifting his hem as he ran.

A servant followed, calling out, “Young master, you should pay respects to madam first.”

“I’ll go later,” Feng Yuan replied without looking back. “Tell her I’m too tired from studying and need to rest.”

The servant watched his master’s swift departure and muttered to himself—again, whenever the young master slacked off, he was the one who got scolded.

Feng Yuan rushed into his room, ordered the servants to bring dishes, then closed the door and carefully unwrapped the precious package, revealing the rich, fragrant marinated dishes poured onto a plate.

Beside it, a small pot of wine.

Perfect.

The moment he got the “Braised Pig Treasure” in his hands, he felt it was the ideal accompaniment for his wine, so he had restrained himself all afternoon, waiting until school was out to go home.

His eyes gleamed with anticipation as he finally lifted a piece of marinated pork intestine.

Just then, the servant’s urgent voice came from outside the door.

“Young master, trouble! Master and madam have returned and are waiting for you in the main hall.”

At the mention of his father, Feng Yuan’s hand trembled involuntarily.

Fearless of everything else, he dreaded his father most.

Reluctantly, he set down his chopsticks, paid his respects, and promised to return to savor the dish later.

No sooner had the visitor left than Feng Xin, fanning himself leisurely, strolled in.

His younger brother was the playful one, never returning home on time after school. Today, arriving so early and retreating straight to his room was unusual.

Could he be hiding something good?

He pushed open the door and was immediately greeted by the strong aroma.

Clever boy, sneaking here to eat secretly.

He sat down without hesitation and eyed the plate closely. The closer he got, the more tempting the rich meaty aroma became.

“To think this brat actually likes pig offal.”

Feng Xin knew his brother well; he was very picky, favoring rare delicacies, usually dining at Pan’s or Fan’s restaurant. Ordinary dishes rarely pleased him.

Today, the sun must have risen in the west.

Unlike him, Feng Xin was adventurous with food. For example, the popcorn he bought at the market a while back was a delightful surprise—shame the young lady stopped selling it later.

Now that his brother cherished this food so much, he had to try it too. He picked up a chopstickful and popped it into his mouth, his eyes lighting up instantly.

Having barely endured their father’s lecture, Feng Yuan hurried back, only to find his door wide open.

He felt a chill—only one person in the household dared to barge into his room so recklessly.

He rushed over and saw his elder brother sitting cross-legged on his spot, alternating bites of marinated offal and sips of wine, eyes half-closed in bliss.

“My pig treasure!”

Feng Yuan lunged forward, his face filled with grief.

The entire plate was now down to a few small pieces, pitifully soaked in glossy sauce, mirroring his miserable mood.

Feng Xin smacked his lips, showing no guilt. “It tastes really good. Where did you buy it? Next time, buy more—this isn’t enough.”

Feng Yuan felt like he had been stabbed in the chest again.

“Brother, how could you enter my room without permission? I haven’t even eaten yet!”

He hugged the plate to his chest, glaring angrily.

Feng Xin laughed, “It’s just a plate of marinated offal. You’re usually not this stingy with rare delicacies.”

“You just don’t understand!” Feng Yuan snapped.

He had gone to great lengths to have a servant queue to buy it, having once declared he would never eat anything made by Mrs. Wen, so he dared not open it in front of his academy classmates and even skipped the tavern after school just to enjoy it alone.

And yet, he had only left for a moment and it was gone!

Among the few remaining pieces were pig heart and liver, but the marinated pork intestines he wanted most were all gone.

Still, he didn’t fuss over those few pieces and grabbed his brother’s chopsticks to shovel them into his mouth.

The texture was tender and smooth, richly flavorful, which only made his heart ache more.

Seeing his brother’s vexed expression, Feng Xin chuckled again. “Since I left you one bite, tell me—where did you buy this? Could it be a new creation from the chef at Pan’s?”

Feng Yuan said, “Don’t talk about what you left; the whole plate should have been mine.”

“Alright, tell me the place and I’ll buy some to make it up to you,” Feng Xin coaxed, like calming a child.

Feng Yuan calmed down after a while, then grumbled, “It’s from a food stall in front of the Imperial Academy. You have to line up to get it!”

“Never thought my picky brother would end up eating street food. Very good, you’re becoming more like me,” Feng Xin laughed heartily.

“Do you want to know more? If you laugh again, I won’t tell.”

“No need. You said it’s in front of the Imperial Academy. I’ll find it myself.”

Feng Xin snapped open his folding fan and left satisfied.

Feng Yuan was nearly spitting blood from anger. From now on, his room would be locked!

True to form, Feng Xin went to the stall at noon the next day.

The location was easy to find—the busiest food stall around.

When he arrived, he was surprised to find the owner was the same young lady who had sold popcorn.

Wen Zhongxia instantly recognized him as the generous young master Feng.

“Miss, no wonder you stopped selling popcorn at the market. So you’ve started a big business here,” Feng Xin remarked admiringly.

Wen Zhongxia smiled, “You flatter me. It’s just a humble livelihood.”

Feng Xin noticed her stall sold not only marinated dishes but also hand-pulled pancakes, meat sandwiches, and more—none of which he had tried.

His brother had guarded so many delicacies without telling him—how infuriating.

“Miss, I’ll have one of each.”

“You sure you can finish? Waste is not allowed here.”

“Don’t underestimate me—I’ll finish every bite.”

Just then, a customer left, and Feng Xin sat down. Clad in splendid silk, he stood out sharply among the simple students.

Wen Zhongxia served the food, and Feng Xin looked at the plates. “You have vegetarian marinated dishes too?”

“We just started these fresh today. You’re in luck to be here now.”

“No wonder those vegetarian ones weren’t among what my brother brought home yesterday.”

Feng Xin’s first bite was a lotus root slice—soft, substantial, and thoroughly soaked with fragrant marinade. Several chews revealed a subtle spicy aftertaste that whetted his appetite.

“Compared to the marinated offal I had yesterday, this has a distinct flavor.”

“Have you tried my marinated dishes before, young master?” Wen Zhongxia asked curiously.

Feng Xin ate as he spoke. “My brother bought them; he studies nearby at the Imperial Academy.”

“The Imperial Academy? With the surname Feng?”

Wen Zhongxia paused her chopping and turned to look at him. “Your brother isn’t… Feng Yuan, is he?”

“You know him? Then he must be a regular customer of yours.”

A regular customer?

Wen Zhongxia was puzzled. When had that arrogant rich young master ever become her regular customer? After that one time he caused trouble, she hadn’t seen him again.