Chapter Seventy-Five: Fine Wine of Wanderers

Although Su Meng had expressed her desire to leave Annan Prefecture, the family had lived in Qingyang County for over a decade and laid down some roots. Departing would require extensive preparations and careful arrangements.

First, Su Meng spent several days teaching Ma Xue'e her skills in disguise: how to craft human-skin masks, the formulas for disguising ointments, and their exact methods of application. Fortunately, Ma Xue'e was both perceptive and naturally gifted in this area. She learned quickly, mastering the essentials with ease—more than enough to handle ordinary situations.

Qing Gu and Luo Changning did not remain idle either. Each day, they drove the carriage around town, purchasing supplies they would need on their journey, then stowing everything into the spatial Jade Toad. This not only saved space and effort, but also made them less conspicuous on the road.

Besides these tasks, Luo Changning made sure to set aside time every day for gatherings with Xiang Yinglong and the brothers he was close to at the Luoyang Martial Arts School. In this second life, he cherished relationships above all else—be it family bonds or brotherhood, these were things he could never forsake.

At the Luoyang Martial Arts School, beside the training ground, there was a patch of grass, under a towering banyan tree that had stood for a century. Beneath its shade, a group of boys in their teens sat together, drinking wine. The wine was not strong spirits, but Bamboo Leaf Green—a drink of men of the rivers and lakes, a drink for men of honor and brotherhood.

Their vessels were neither goblets nor ceremonial cups, not even fine porcelain bowls, but the most ordinary of earthenware. The young men sat directly on the grass, without even laying down a reed mat. In the south, even in autumn, the grass had not yet withered and yellowed—save for the occasional patch, it remained lush, green, and brimming with vitality, even a little prickly.

But Luo Changning and the others paid no heed to such minor discomforts, continuing to drink heartily and eat with abandon.

The feast was a whole roasted lamb. They had cleared a patch of earth in the center, removing all the grass, then lit a fire and set the properly prepared lamb—fresh from the pasture—on a spit to roast.

Lamb, of course, was far more delicious than goat; its meat tender and delicate, of an entirely different class. Whether to call the lamb fortunate or unfortunate was unclear—for the sake of these young men, it met an early end to its vegetarian days. Though a few days of life were cut short, escaping the coming winter’s chill might be considered a blessing of sorts.

Winter in the south and winter in the north were both cold, but in different ways: one seeped into the bones, inescapable even through layers of clothing; the other was a desolate, wind-scoured chill. The former left nowhere to hide, the damp cold penetrating to the marrow with a shudder. Sheep, unlike people, could not practice martial arts or shield themselves with inner strength. To survive winter, they relied solely on their coats—thick as they were, even they could not keep all the cold at bay.

In the end, this lamb, not yet a year old and unacquainted with a southern winter, became a delicacy for Luo Changning and his martial brothers. As for why they chose roast lamb over roast beef, it was not because—like in ancient times on the Dilong Continent—draft oxen were too highly valued to be eaten. It was simply that Xiang Yinglong preferred roast lamb.

So these half-grown boys ate, drank, laughed, and made merry, driving the hard-training students on the field nearby nearly mad with envy.

Who could blame them? How could they not be both envious and frustrated? While they sweated through their drills, the young master and his brothers lounged nearby, roasting lamb over an open fire. The air was thick with the scent of Bamboo Leaf Green and roast meat, enough to make anyone’s mouth water.

One young disciple, unable to resist, swallowed his saliva and muttered, “If I’d known it would turn out like this, I would’ve made sure the young master noticed me before—maybe I’d be over there eating and drinking too. I wonder what they put in that lamb to make it smell so good!”

A fellow disciple, holding his stance in a horse, rolled his eyes. “Focus on your training. It’s only a roast lamb—haven’t you had that before? Where’s your backbone? For a martial artist, skill comes first. The young master and his friends are just slacking off. Soon enough, we’ll surpass them!”

The first boy rolled his eyes in secret: Hmph, who’s really lacking backbone? Your stomach’s been growling for ages!

Meanwhile, those feasting on the grass paid no mind to the impropriety of their behavior, continuing to gorge themselves with gusto. Luo Changning felt a pang of emotion—of all the things he would miss about Annan Prefecture, these dear brothers were dearest to his heart.

He shot a subtle glance at the ever-active, smooth-talking Mo Feng—though, of course, that one didn’t count.

“Hey, young master, what did you put in today’s roast lamb? It’s so much more fragrant than usual! My fingers are itching to eat, my mouth’s watering!” Chen Xiangru said, gnawing on a piece of lamb.

Xiang Yinglong replied, “I picked up a spice at the market in Heishui County the other day, something called cumin. Yes, that’s it—cumin. The vendor said it’s a new thing brought over from a vassal kingdom out west. Though it’s new to us, it’s already common in the other twelve provinces of Qianwu. Folks in Qiuhe Prefecture just haven’t caught on yet.”

He scratched his head and grinned. “The vendor told me to sprinkle a pinch of it on the meat when roasting, and the aroma would be irresistible. I was skeptical, but I bought some just to try. Turns out, the vendor wasn’t lying—using cumin as a seasoning for roast meat is truly unforgettable!”

Luo Changning tore off a chunk of lamb leg, chewing and sighing inwardly: No matter the world or the continent, cumin was always a rare treat for him.

On the Dilong Continent, globalization was well established, and cumin powder was no luxury—any family, no matter how poor, could afford it. But back at the orphanage, his own treatment had always been poor; having steamed buns and rice was considered good fortune, never mind cumin-roasted meat.

Yet compared to cumin, Luo Changning preferred chili sauce. Thankfully on the Yaohua Continent, chili peppers grew everywhere and were as cheap as could be, allowing him to indulge to his heart’s content.

A group of half-grown boys could polish off a whole roast lamb with ease. After the meal and a few drinks, they dispersed. As for the bones and leftovers, the servants would handle the cleaning—it was no concern of theirs.

Chen Xiangru and the others, having digested, returned to the training ground to resume their drills. And as for Xiang Yinglong, the young master of the martial arts school and Luo Changning’s lifelong friend, he stayed by his side, keeping him company as always.