Chapter 4

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Translator’s Note: I’ve changed all instances of Second Fan (MC’s father) and Fan’s eldest (MC’s uncle) to Fan Er and Fan Da, respectively. They mean Second son of the Fan Family and First Son, but it makes me feel better seeing it written that way. I’ve fixed previous chapters to reflect this change.

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Fan Changyu scooped out the fragrant braised pork offal with a bamboo strainer, letting it drain. The aroma of spices blended perfectly with the meat, and the glossy, rich color of the braise looked far superior to anything she’d seen at the deli shop earlier in the day.

Changning stretched up eagerly to peek over the stove, only to feel a little disappointed when she saw it was mostly offal. “No pig ears…” she muttered.

Pig ears were her favorite.

Fan Changyu gently poked the large intestines and stomach with her chopsticks, easily piercing them to reveal how tender and full of flavor they’d become after simmering.

“Tonight, we’ll have noodles with braised intestines,” she said. “Tomorrow, I’ll braise some pig ears.”

Changning’s eyes lit up again at the promise.

While the fire burned hot on the stove, Fan Changyu ladled out some of the braising broth, cleaned the pot, and set a fresh pot of water to boil, preparing enough noodles for five people. She instructed Changning, “Go over to Aunt Zhao’s and tell them not to cook a late-night snack tonight. We’ll be having noodles with braised intestines together.”

Obediently, Changning nodded and scurried off next door to deliver the message.

Cooking the noodles didn’t take much effort. Fan Changyu set out four large bowls and one small bowl, adding seasonings to each. For extra flavor, she scooped a spoonful of rendered pork fat into each bowl, then poured in the boiling noodle water, letting the pork fat and spices melt and release their aroma, filling the air with a delicious fragrance.

Her method was simple: she ladled the noodles into each bowl, layered them with soft, tender pieces of braised intestines cut into small chunks, and finished with a sprinkle of chopped green onions. If her mother were cooking this, she’d make a pot of rich broth to replace the noodle water. That would make it even more delicious.

She set her sister’s bowl on the table, letting her eat first, then carried the other three bowls of noodle soup over to the neighbors.

As her steady, light footsteps ascended the wooden stairs connecting the ground floor to the loft, Xie Zheng opened his eyes. Moments later, a woman’s voice sounded from outside the door: “Are you awake?”

Xie Zheng replied, “The door’s not latched.” His voice was still hoarse, but it sounded much better than yesterday.

Fan Changyu nudged the door open with her elbow, carrying an oil lamp in one hand and a steaming bowl of soup noodles in the other. “I just heard from Auntie—this morning, a large falcon swooped down from the sky and crashed straight through the window of the room downstairs, shattering it completely. How could something so strange happen?”

Xie Zheng pressed his lips tightly together, staying silent. He hadn’t expected his gyrfalcon to be quite that foolish; at the sound of his whistle, it had dived straight down without a second thought.

Fan Changyu glanced at his expression and noted that while he was still pale, he looked noticeably better than he had yesterday.

Accustomed to his quiet demeanor, she placed the oil lamp on the table and said, “Luckily, that fierce bird didn’t hurt anyone. Uncle will have to fix the window downstairs when he has time. For now, this loft may be a bit cramped, but at least it’s peaceful.”

Xie Zheng finally gave a faint “Mm,” acknowledging her.

Fan Changyu held out the bowl of noodles to him. “I made a bowl for you. Just make do with it.”

Xie Zheng could already smell the enticing aroma. A layer of something unfamiliar rested atop the noodles, releasing the same meaty scent that had wafted down the entire alley earlier.

The smell sharpened his hunger. After days of enduring the bitterness of medicinal broth and plain rice porridge, this bowl of noodles before him might as well have been a delicacy. He murmured his thanks, took the bowl, and lifted his chopsticks to eat.

The noodles were smooth, and the broth was rich. Though the flour wasn’t of the highest quality, it tasted better than any noodles he’d ever had. The tender, springy meat atop the noodles had a deeply savory flavor that burst with richness at each bite.

Though he considered himself someone who had tasted a fair share of fine foods, he found himself unable to identify what this meat actually was.

Xie Zheng asked, “What is this?”

Fan Changyu, about to head back to her own bowl of braised intestine noodles, paused at his question. “Large intestine,” she replied simply.

His chopsticks froze mid-motion. Hearing the word “intestine,” a vague sense of dread stirred within him.

Seeing his puzzled expression, Fan Changyu clarified further, “It’s pig intestine.”

His face immediately shifted.

Fan Changyu had met plenty of people who didn’t like pork offal, but his expression just now hadn’t suggested he found the dish unpleasant. In fact, he had seemed to enjoy it. Seeing his sudden discomfort, she couldn’t help but ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” The response came with some difficulty.

Xie Zheng took a few discreet deep breaths to settle the queasiness rising within him.

Fan Changyu, still thinking about her own bowl of noodles and worried they might overcook if she lingered, said, “I’ll head back, then. When you’re done, just leave the bowl on the cabinet. Auntie will come by to collect it later.”

The door closed softly, followed by the sound of her footsteps descending the stairs. Xie Zheng stared at the bowl of noodles in his hand, his brow furrowed as he debated whether to keep eating.

He wasn’t one to be overly picky. During hard times on the march, he’d gnawed on tree bark and grass roots before—but he’d never eaten the large intestine of an animal. Pig intestine? Isn’t that where pig waste goes? Just thinking about it made his appetite waver.

Yet, considering his current state and the fact that this was the most nourishing meal he’d had in days, he wavered. After a long internal struggle, he finally picked up the noodles again and awkwardly brought them to his mouth. Those given great burdens from heaven must first endure trials of the heart and strength…

It was surprisingly good.

That night, Xie Zheng—who rarely dreamed—had a bizarre vision. In it, the woman who had saved him appeared, cheerfully herding a pig along a path. Suddenly, she whipped out a large knife, sliced open the pig’s belly, and pulled out a long strand of intestine, looking at him with a grin. “This is intestine—I’ll cook it just for you.”

The sound of squealing pigs, both from his dream and in reality, jolted Xie Zheng awake, realizing he was lying in bed. The squeals continued from next door, and a quick glance out the window showed that dawn had barely broken. Downstairs, however, there were already sounds of movement—likely the elderly couple had woken up to help the woman slaughter the pig.

Recalling his strange dream, Xie Zheng’s expression darkened. Herding pigs, slaughtering pigs, pig intestines… everything related to that woman seemed inextricably tied to pigs.

He pressed his fingers to his brow and closed his eyes again, trying to block out the sharp, grating cries of the pig. Just a few more days, he told himself. The gyrfalcon had already taken a message back, and his old comrades would soon come looking for him. It wouldn’t be long before he could leave this place. He would leave a generous sum of money behind for the woman and the old couple in gratitude.

Meanwhile, in the Fan family’s backyard, Fan Changyu had already tied the pig securely to the slaughtering bench with a thick rope. Strong as her father had been, she had inherited his strength, and the pig, which would normally take several men to restrain, was easily held down by her alone.

The slaughtering bench at their home wasn’t made of wood; instead, her father had specially commissioned a stone bench for the task. Once the pig was tied to it, no amount of struggling could move it even an inch, eliminating the need for anyone to hold down the pig’s tail.

With a swift, practiced motion, Fan Changyu plunged a long, sharp bloodletting knife under the pig’s neck, nearly up to the hilt. The piercing squeal stopped instantly, and blood flowed freely from the wound, filling the wooden basin beneath until it was brimming.

For a successful slaughter, it was traditional to kill with a single strike, which was considered auspicious, and to drain as much blood as possible.

Aunt Zhao, who had come over to help, saw the full basin of pig blood and laughed in satisfaction. “This should be enough pig blood to last us several days!”

Fan Changyu didn’t respond, pulling out the bloodletting knife with an unusually stern expression. A few droplets of blood had splattered onto her face and sleeves. Every time she slaughtered a pig, it was as though she transformed into someone else—a cold fierceness took over, an aura that kept people at a respectful distance. It was a quiet, intimidating quality unique to those who dealt in life and death.

After draining the blood, Fan Changyu untied the ropes and dragged the pig over to the large pot of boiling water. She ladled the hot water over the pig’s skin, scalding the hair, then used a scraper to remove it.

At the doorway, Changning poked her head out, watching curiously. Aunt Zhao called over to her, “Ning, go play outside. Kids shouldn’t watch this; you’ll end up having nightmares.”

Changning muttered, “I’m not scared,” but still shuffled reluctantly out of the yard.

Once Fan Changyu finished scraping the hair, she rinsed the pig thoroughly. She barely needed any help from Carpenter Zhao or Aunt Zhao, handling most of the work herself. She hoisted the pig onto an iron hook attached to a post in the yard and, with a splitting knife, neatly cut it in half.

One half remained on the iron hook, while she hefted the other half onto a makeshift worktable—a door balanced on two benches—and began portioning the meat.

The elderly Zhao couple looked on, speechless, before muttering in amazement, “This girl really takes after her father…”

After portioning the meat, Fan Changyu quickly loaded it onto a cart, ready to haul it to the meat market. The twenty pounds of meat Chef Li from Yixiang Restaurant had ordered the day before was sent along with Carpenter Zhao, who kindly offered to make the delivery. She decided to pack a bit of braised offal for Chef Li as well—not to push her own braised goods, as he was a chef at a respected establishment, and she had no intention of overstepping her bounds. It was simply a gesture of appreciation for his steady business.

Arriving at the meat market, Fan Changyu was among the early vendors; only a few stalls were open, with butchers arranging fresh cuts of pork outside their doors. A familiar face spotted her and, surprised, called out, “Well, Changyu, are you reopening your family’s meat stall?”

Fan Changyu answered with a brisk “Yes.”

She unlocked the doors of her family’s shop, closed for over a month. Inside, everything was neat and tidy, arranged exactly as her father had kept it. A fine layer of dust had settled over the surfaces, but everything else was just as he had left it.

Thinking of her father, Fan Changyu felt a pang in her heart but quickly pushed the sorrow aside—now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. She fetched water and gave the shop a thorough cleaning, inside and out, before arranging the freshly butchered pork on the counter. She also set out the braised offal she had prepared the night before.

It wasn’t until around mid-morning that a few people began trickling into the market to buy groceries. The location of Fan Changyu’s meat shop was prime, and compared to the other stalls, where stocky men or older women usually stood, her presence as a young woman seemed to invite more interest. Several of the older women passing by, thinking they might get a better deal from her, stopped to ask about the prices.

With a friendly smile, Fan Changyu quoted her prices and added that, to celebrate the reopening, anyone buying a pound of fresh pork would receive a free ounce of braised offal. The offer of free braised meat caught their interest, and many ended up buying pork from her stall.

Her first few hours of business proved brisk, with several sales right from the start, making her stall the only one bustling with customers among the neighboring butchers.

The butcher from the stall across the way, envious of her brisk business, shouted, “Fan girl, business has its rules! All of us here at the market sell at the same price. What’s the meaning of you giving extras with your meat?”

Fan Changyu knew that this man had never gotten along with her father, so she wasn’t intimidated in the least. With a quick and clever retort, she replied, “Uncle Guo, that’s unfair of you. Isn’t the price at my stall the same as everyone else’s? How am I breaking any rules? I’m only giving a little extra today to celebrate reopening. Since when is that against market rules? Or are you thinking, just because I don’t have my parents around anymore, that I’m easy to bully as an orphaned girl?”

Her words left him speechless, his sallow face turning red with frustration. “You’ve got a sharp tongue—I can’t argue with you!”

A nearby butcher who had been on good terms with the Fan family chimed in, “Come on, Old Guo, the girl’s only selling one pig today. Why get so worked up over something small with a youngster?”

Not wanting to be seen as bullying the younger generation, Butcher Guo grumbled, “Fine, go ahead with your extras today, but don’t think you’ll be doing it tomorrow!”

Fan Changyu had only planned to give out extras for one day; tomorrow, the braised offal would be for sale. She replied simply, “Of course.” Butcher Guo finally backed off.

Waiting passively for people to approach meant her meat sold slowly, though Guo’s increasingly twisted expression was amusing to watch. Some curious buyers initially went over to check his prices but were put off by his fierce demeanor and didn’t dare to ask.

Since she was only offering the extras for one day, Fan Changyu decided to make the most of it to build up her reputation. Once the market got busier with foot traffic, she boldly began calling out, “Fresh pork for sale! Buy one pound, get a free ounce of braised offal!”

The shout was effective; people quickly gathered around, asking about her prices. As she bargained with customers, her hands moved skillfully, chopping and cutting portions of meat. She even made a show of “reluctantly” discounting a few coins here and there, and before the morning market was half over, her pork was nearly sold out—far exceeding her expectations.

Meanwhile, Butcher Guo’s expression across the way soured so much, it rivaled the stench of an outhouse.

Fan Changyu ignored him, tidied up her stall, packed her knives into a satchel, slung it over her shoulder, and locked up. With a full money pouch in hand, she headed off to the tile market to buy two more pigs.

Passing by Butcher Guo’s stall, he shot her a fierce look and growled, “Try giving away any more of that junk tomorrow, and don’t say I didn’t warn you for taking advantage of being an orphan!”

Fan Changyu snorted coldly, dismissing him. Tomorrow, I’m not giving it away. I’m selling it!

As she walked, she mentally tallied up her earnings. This ninety-pound pig, after deducting the head and offal, yielded about seventy pounds of meat. Sold at the fresh pork price, it brought in a gross profit of over two strings of cash. And with the head and offal to be braised and sold tomorrow, she’d have another income stream! After subtracting the cost of the pig, she’d net over a full string of cash in profit!

Feeling the heavy weight of the money pouch against her chest, Fan Changyu’s steps grew lighter, her earlier irritation at Butcher Guo now completely forgotten.

But as she left the meat market and was just nearing the tile market, she heard someone urgently calling her name, “Changyu! Changyu!”

She turned to see Carpenter Zhao running toward her, his face filled with worry. Fan Changyu quickly asked, “What happened, Uncle Zhao?”

Carpenter Zhao, still catching his breath, replied, “You need to go home right away! Your uncle brought some men from the gambling den—they broke down your door and are tearing through your things, looking for the land deeds. Your auntie and I tried to stop them, but these old bones couldn’t hold them back!”