Chapter 17.2

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Fan Changyu noticed that Xie Zheng hadn’t used the hairband she brought him but didn’t say anything about it. She had only given it to him because she knew how particular he was about cleanliness. Bathing was inconvenient in the winter, but he frequently used hot water to wipe himself down, and his hairband, which he washed often, sometimes took ages to dry. On those occasions, he would even set it by the fire to speed things up. That was why she had bought him a new one to use as a spare. She wasn’t so petty as to make a fuss over it—when she said she’d give him something, she meant it.

The soup bowl was filled to the brim and steaming hot, fresh off the stove. As Fan Changyu set it on the table, her fingers, still feeling the heat, instinctively pinched her earlobe to cool off. “Whew, so hot!”

Little Changning leaned over with concern. “Let Ningniang blow on it for you. If I blow on it, it won’t be hot anymore!”

Fan Changyu, both amused and exasperated, held out her finger for her little sister. Changning puffed up her cheeks and blew on it several times before finally stopping.

When Fan Changyu looked up, she noticed Xie Zheng staring at her with a strange expression. She instinctively wiped her face, finding nothing but smooth skin, and asked, “Is there something on my face?”

He quickly averted his gaze and replied, “No.”

Still suspicious, Fan Changyu glanced at him a couple more times before dismissing it. She placed the bowls and chopsticks on the table and said, “Try this xue wang! Ideally, it should be served fresh from the pot for the best flavor, but we didn’t have time for that today.”

The surface of the soup shimmered with a layer of hot oil infused with Sichuan peppercorns and dried chili. Beneath it were cubes of pig’s blood, along with chunks of braised intestines, pig stomach, and lungs, all layered together. Unfortunately, the household didn’t have any bean sprouts, so the usual crisp, plump sprouts weren’t there to line the bottom of the dish.

Fan Changyu scooped a piece of pig’s blood into her little sister’s bowl. Changning took a bite, immediately sucking in air as the spice hit her, but despite the heat, she stared longingly at the soup bowl. “I want more!” she exclaimed.

Fan Changyu scooped two more pieces of pig’s blood for her little sister.

Xie Zheng, meanwhile, was observing the dish—a stew-like concoction he had never seen before. The soup didn’t seem drinkable, and the Fan family didn’t use communal chopsticks. With stir-fried dishes, it wasn’t much of an issue since everyone could take food from different sides. But with this pot of stew, it seemed nearly impossible to avoid sharing the same spot.

While he hesitated, the Fan sisters had already finished half their bowls of rice. Noticing that he was only eating rice and avoiding the dish, Fan Changyu asked curiously, “You don’t like spicy food?”

“…Not exactly.”

Finally, he pushed past his fastidiousness and, with a furrowed brow, picked up a piece of the dark red pig’s blood. The first sensation was a numbing spiciness that spread across his palate. The blood cube required no chewing—just a slight press, and it melted in his mouth. To his surprise, it was delicious.

One bite led to another, and soon he was sampling the braised offal pieces. The combination of the marinade’s deep fragrance and the spiciness of the hotpot created an irresistible flavor. Before he knew it, he couldn’t stop reaching for more.

By the time the meal was over, Xie Zheng had almost forgotten his usual fastidiousness about eating. As Fan Changyu had promised, the spice quickly made him break into a sweat, leaving him feeling warm and oblivious to the biting cold outside.

He asked, “Is this a local specialty?”

Fan Changyu replied, “You could say that. It’s a signature dish from Yixiang Lou in town. The lady boss there knows how to cook all kinds of dishes!”

For a brief moment, Xie Zheng entertained the thought of introducing this dish to the army but quickly dismissed it. Military meals prioritized quantity over quality; they could never achieve such refinement. Besides, ingredients like chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns were far too expensive to be practical.

After clearing the table, Fan Changyu carried the gyrfalcon in its coop to the fire pit in Xie Zheng’s room. Before leaving, she reminded him, “There’s still half a pig’s lung in the kitchen. Later, chop it up and feed it to the gyrfalcon.”

Scratching her head, she added somewhat sheepishly, “If you have time, could you also try training it?”

Xie Zheng’s lazy gaze swept over her, but it carried a sharpness that felt like slow torture. “…Alright,” he said flatly.

In the coop, the gyrfalcon shrank its neck timidly, looking more like an oversized quail than a majestic bird of prey.

Satisfied, Fan Changyu left to push her cart to the butcher shop. The snow was heavy today, and at this hour, there were still few people on the streets.

When she reached the butcher street, it was just as quiet and desolate. After unlocking the shop door and clearing the snow from the eaves, she noticed something unusual. The brick stove she had built outside the shop had been smashed to pieces.

Fan Changyu couldn’t help but laugh out of sheer frustration. Her shop had only been selling braised meat for a few days, and someone was already so envious they resorted to smashing her things?

After the incident with Fan Da and the gambling hall, she had gained a reputation for being fierce and bold. That notoriety often had its advantages.

She immediately threw down her broom, put her hands on her hips, and bellowed, “Which turtle-born bastard smashed your grandma’s stove? Too scared to face me directly, so you skulk around doing this kind of dirty trick? What, was your ancestor a pond turtle or something?”

Trained in martial arts since childhood, she used her diaphragm to project her voice. Her shouts echoed through the entire street.

The butchers in the neighboring shops kept their heads down, saying nothing. Only Butcher Guo, catching her sharp gaze, hastily shouted, “Why are you looking at me? I didn’t smash it!”

Fan Changyu didn’t actually suspect him—his expression was full of schadenfreude but completely devoid of any guilt.

Just then, one of the butcher wives seemed to recall something. “Oh no, Changyu,” she said suddenly, “your shop was closed for a month before this, wasn’t it? Did you forget to pay the protection fee?”

It was the first time Fan Changyu had ever heard of a “protection fee.” Confused, she asked, “What’s that?”

The butcher’s wife sighed. “Running a business here isn’t just about paying monthly taxes to the government. You also have to give a little something to the gang leader who runs this street. From the looks of it, your shop’s success these past few days must’ve caught their attention. If you ask me, they’ll probably show up later today.”

Fan Changyu quickly put two and two together. The smashed stove from last night was likely their warning shot. It was almost certain they’d come by today to demand payment.

After thanking the butcher’s wife, she got to work setting up her stall, arranging the fresh meat and braised dishes neatly on the cutting board. Behind the door, she placed a long staff within easy reach. Then she continued selling meat, quietly waiting for the troublemakers to show up.

Sure enough, around the third quarter of the hour, a group of street thugs came swaggering through the meat market, their attitudes as arrogant as could be. Passersby cleared the way to avoid them, stepping aside in silence.

Hearing the commotion, Fan Changyu glanced outside her shop.

Well, well, old acquaintances!