Chapter Thirty-Nine: Old Grievances

Fifty years ago, in the waning days of the Hu Dynasty, the struggles within the imperial palace were especially fierce. The eldest prince, though born of a concubine, was gifted and excelled in both the civil and military arts. The second prince, son of Empress Hu, was renowned for his divine strength and unmatched bravery. These two, and the factions that rallied around each, waged relentless battles for power, heedless of the disasters and wars ravaging the nation. Meanwhile, the third prince, Hei Han Temur, partly to sully his own name and partly from genuine passion, feigned a deep obsession with the culinary arts, immersing himself in the world of cuisine. His elder brothers, delighted to see their sibling "abandoning his proper duties," gathered rare and precious cookbooks for him, thinking to distract him further. Unexpectedly, Hei Han Temur’s pretense became reality—he fell hopelessly in love with the art of cooking.

Blessed with both resources and talent, Hei Han Temur quickly mastered the craft, challenging renowned chefs throughout the land and emerging victorious time and again. Just as he began to believe himself unrivaled, word came of a young prodigy chef from Yangzhou named Yi Shan, whose exquisite skills and generous spirit had earned him wide acclaim. Unwilling to accept this, the third prince challenged Yi Shan, agreeing that the loser would become the disciple of the victor. In a contest spanning sixteen cities and eighteen dishes, Yi Shan narrowly triumphed. The two, having met as rivals, soon became friends, and their playful wager was left at that. Yet another matter would soon drive a wedge between them.

While traveling together, they encountered a famed beauty and chef in Sichuan named Kou Jingxiang, who, with her younger sister, established the Sichuan cuisine tradition and gained much renown in Chengdu. Both men were captivated and vied for her affection. Ultimately, due to Hei Han Temur’s Hu heritage and Yi Shan’s outstanding talents, Kou Jingxiang chose Yi Shan as her husband. Together, they opened a tavern called Jingxiang House, serving food to the poor. Disheartened, the third prince returned to the palace, and the matter was set aside.

The reigning Hu Emperor, both lascivious and vain, heard of Yi Shan’s unrivaled butchery skills and, on the occasion of his sixtieth birthday, wished to command Yi Shan and his third son to prepare a grand banquet showcasing both Hu and Han cuisine, to display his might and the unity of the peoples. But by then, the land lay in ruin, and the Han people had been reduced to the status of beasts. How could Yi Shan cook for such a man? He refused on the spot. The Hu Emperor, enraged, dispatched troops to arrest Yi Shan and his wife, placing the third prince in command. Hei Han Temur had intended to let them escape, but amidst the chaos, Kou Jingxiang was mistakenly killed by the soldiers. Both men were left in utter despair.

A few years later, the empire was in chaos. Heroes among the Han rose up to drive out the Hu usurpers and restore their land. The Hu dynasty collapsed, and the third prince, cast adrift among the common people, was hunted and nearly killed—only to be rescued by the leader of a rebel band, none other than his old friend Yi Shan.

Their reunion was marked by deep emotion. When the Han king had unified the realm, the two grief-stricken men opened another Jingxiang House in the capital of Luo, with the third prince concealing his identity and serving as Yi Shan’s chief disciple.

“That is the story of those years. This bamboo porridge is a recipe passed down in Jingxiang’s family, created especially for her husband. Whenever Yi Shan saw it, it reminded him of her, and from that day on he never ate porridge again…” Old Hei finished his tale, his eyes filled with complicated emotions.

Turning to Zhang Fu, Old Hei said, “I know you mean well, but think about it—even Yi Shan could not make this dish. What makes you think you can succeed?”

“But Master is dying!” Zhang Fu’s voice trembled with tears. “I overheard Doctor Lu outside. Master suffered a hidden wound years ago, and now the illness has reached his vitals. He has no more than half a year…”

“How—how can that be!” Old Hei’s face turned ashen. “So that’s why… no wonder he’s been saying such strange things lately…”

The three fell silent. After a long pause, Zhou Qian finally said, “I believe making the bamboo porridge is Master Yi Shan’s greatest wish. We must do our utmost to fulfill it for him!”

“If even Master couldn’t do it, how can you?” Zhang Fu replied, despairing.

“Do what we can, and leave the rest to fate. If we do not try our utmost, how can we accept the outcome?” Zhou Qian shook his head. As long as there was a thread of hope, he would give his all. That was his creed: to act without regret, come what may—his way of both life and the sword.

“There may still be one person in this world who knows how to make bamboo porridge!” Old Hei suddenly declared.

Zhou Qian and Zhang Fu’s eyes lit up. “Who?”

“Jingxiang’s younger sister—the famed chef who carried on the legacy of Sichuan cuisine: Mapo!”

“But Mapo is as elusive as a dragon—no one knows where she is. How could we possibly find her?” Zhang Fu muttered.

“I could try seeking help from the Six Doors and the Beggars’ Sect. With their connections, perhaps we could find a clue,” Zhou Qian offered.

“Oh? You’d enlist the help of both court and underworld?” Old Hei’s eyes shone. “That’s a good idea—but do you really have such influence?” he asked, skeptical.

“Don’t worry. I promise you both, within three days, I’ll bring you a definite answer!” Zhou Qian vowed.

Though neither man dared hope too much, even a sliver of possibility brought comfort. As soon as they left Jingxiang House, Zhou Qian hurried to the Luo Prefecture yamen, where he sought out Fei Wuji. Without preamble, he said, “Master sent me to ask your help in finding someone!” Clearly, Zhou Qian had learned some bluster from Li Erge.

After bidding Fei Wuji farewell, Zhou Qian wandered to a ruined temple on the outskirts, where a few beggars eyed him warily. He recited, “Heaven has nine mouths, the earth spreads five mats, North, South, East, West—all are broken; I alone sleep at the center,” and made a few curious gestures with his right hand.

“The code’s right—which branch are you from?” the beggar chief asked doubtfully.

“My elder brother is a third-generation Pure Clothes disciple, Branch Master of Hubei, Wang Hu. I’d like you to send him a message—quickly!” Zhou Qian explained, relieved to find the information Wang Hu had given him was true.

Back at the Hu Mansion, he had a servant deliver an invitation to Song Ci, asking him to join a banquet at Jingxiang House the next day. With these three matters handled, Zhou Qian breathed a sigh of relief. “Looks like I have no choice but to go to Sichuan myself,” he thought.

The next morning, after washing up, Zhou Qian hurried to Jingxiang House, greeted Old Hei and Zhang Fu with a reassuring look, and went to a private room. Before long, Song Ci arrived. Zhou Qian greeted him with a smile, “Uncle Song, you’re a bit late.”

Song Ci’s cadaverous face managed a faint smile. “You sly boy, inviting me for a meal when there’s nothing urgent—what are you plotting?”

“It’s not really a feast—just a few simple dishes as thanks for your help with the last case. It’s only a token of my gratitude.”

Just then, Li Puyuan brought out a dish—poached fish in clear broth. Zhou Qian smiled at him, then said to Song Ci, “Uncle Song, can you guess what this dish is?”

Song Ci was taken aback. “How would I know? I’m not one for gourmet indulgence.”

Zhou Qian paused. “Please, try to guess. This dish is connected to your hometown.”

But Song Ci shook his head. “I truly don’t know.”

A flicker of doubt crossed Zhou Qian’s eyes, but he urged his guest to eat and drink. When the meal was half over, Zhou Qian finally broached his real topic, “Uncle Song, I have a question for you.”

Song Ci laughed, “I knew there was no such thing as a free lunch! Go ahead.”

“Is there any way to determine the blood relation between a corpse and a living person?”

Song Ci pondered, then produced a small booklet from his sleeve. “This is my ‘Case-Solving Notes for Redressing Injustice.’ It contains such a method. You may study it.”

Zhou Qian was startled and declined, “I only need one method. This booklet is the fruit of your life’s work—what use would it be to an outsider like me?”

But Song Ci insisted, “Your master once saved my father’s life. This is all I can do in return—please accept it.”

Unable to refuse, Zhou Qian accepted the booklet, but his doubts only deepened.

Neither man was fond of wine, so the meal was quickly finished. After Song Ci left, Zhou Qian muttered to himself, “It doesn’t make sense… it just doesn’t make sense…”

After some thought, Zhou Qian sought out Li Sanshan for advice, only to find Li Erge drunk and brawling at a pleasure boat. With little choice, Zhou Qian dispatched his opponent in a few moves and carried Li Erge out, forgetting even to pay the courtesan’s bill.

For Li Erge, Zhou Qian wasted few words—he simply tossed him into the river, and the man sobered instantly.

Zhou Qian shared his doubts with Li Sanshan, who wiped his wet head and grinned mischievously, “Is this poached fish really so famous? Why haven’t I ever heard of it?”

Zhou Qian explained, “Qingshui Town is famous for its clearwater fish—a local treasure. This dish is a specialty, and any chef knows it. Nine out of ten people in Qingshui Town can make it, and all have eaten it. My Uncle Song lived there for nineteen years, yet he claims never to have heard of it—isn’t that strange? And if he knew the answer, why not just tell me the method instead of making me search through his book? Unless… he doesn’t know either?”

“Even if you’ve never tasted pork, you’ve seen a pig run by. And if you haven’t, you still know what a pig looks like!” Li Sanshan stroked his smooth chin and said slyly, “We should test your Uncle Song and see what’s what!”

The next day, as Song Ci stepped out, he was met by a group of young and old, banging gongs and beating drums, who knelt before him, wailing, “Thank you for righting our family’s injustice! Because of you, the Sun clan of Hetian Village has been cleared of suspicion. Hearing you’re in Luo, we’ve come to thank you!”

The commotion drew a large crowd. Song Ci had to calm the old matron, accept a plaque inscribed with “Upright as the Blue Sky,” and finally sent them away.

From a nearby stall, Li Erge, hat brim pulled low, sneered, “So the famous Song Qingtian, who can distinguish the bones of the dead, can’t even recognize those he’s saved?”

“If he couldn’t, so be it. But with his upright character, he’d never accept such a plaque if he were unsure.” The two exchanged glances, the same thought in their eyes—“This Song Ci is an impostor!”

Li Erge was simply delighted at how convincing the actors he’d hired from the pleasure boat were—what a fine jest! But Zhou Qian, knowing the truth, was deeply troubled, for this could be part of a far-reaching plot against the martial world of the South and the imperial court.